'There is a white boy by the barracks waiting under a tree who is not a white boy,' he stammered to the first bazar letter-writer he came across.

'He needs thee.' 'Will he pay ?' said the spruce scribe, gathering up his desk and pens and sealing-wax all in order.
'I do not know.

He is not like other boys.

Go and see.

It is well worth.' Kim danced with impatience when the slim young Kayeth hove in sight.
As soon as his voice could carry he cursed him volubly.
'First I will take my pay,' the letter-writer said.