D'you add prophecy to your other gifts?
Take him along, sergeant.

Take up a suit for him from the Drums, an' take care he doesn't slip through your fingers.

Who says the age of miracles is gone by?
I think I'll go to bed.

My poor mind's weakening.' At the far end of the camp, silent as a wild animal, an hour later sat Kim, newly washed all over, in a horrible stiff suit that rasped his arms and legs.
'A most amazin' young bird,' said the sergeant.

'He turns up in charge of a yellow-headed buck-Brahmin priest, with his father's Lodge certificates round his neck, talkin' God knows what all of a red bull.
The buck-Brahmin evaporates without explanations, an' the bhoy sets cross-legged on the Chaplain's bed prophesyin' bloody war to the men at large.