I do not love Hindus . ' That was no cheerful night ; the room being overfull of voices and music . Kim was waked twice by someone calling his name . The second time he set out in search , and ended by bruising his nose against a box that certainly spoke with a human tongue , but in no sort of human accent . It seemed to end in a tin trumpet and to be joined by wires to a smaller box on the floor -- so far , at least , as he could judge by touch . And the voice , very hard and whirring , came out of the trumpet . Kim rubbed his nose and grew furious , thinking , as usual , in Hindi . ` This with a beggar from the bazar might be good , but -- I am a Sahib and the son of a Sahib and , which is twice as much more beside , a student of Nucklao . Yess ' -LRB- here he turned to English -RRB- , ' a boy of St Xavier 's . Damn Mr Lurgan 's eyes ! -- It is some sort of machinery like a sewing-machine . Oh , it is a great cheek of him -- we are not frightened that way at Lucknow -- No ! ' Then in Hindi : ` But what does he gain ? He is only a trader -- I am in his shop . But Creighton Sahib is a Colonel -- and I think Creighton Sahib gave orders that it should be done . How I will beat that Hindu in the morning ! What is this ? ' The trumpet-box was pouring out a string of the most elaborate abuse that even Kim had ever heard , in a high uninterested voice , that for a moment lifted the short hairs of his neck . When the vile thing drew breath , Kim was reassured by the soft , sewing-machine-like whirr . ` Chup !
-LSB- Be still -RSB- ' he cried , and again he XXXXX a chuckle that decided him .
am beat being grew heard pouring reassured set thinking whirring