Life as a Sahib was amusing so far ; but he touched it with a cautious hand . Then they marched him back in charge of a drummer-boy to empty , lime-washed barracks , whose floors were covered with rubbish and string and paper , and whose ceilings gave back his lonely footfall . Native-fashion , he curled himself up on a stripped cot and went to sleep . An angry man stumped down the veranda , woke him up , and said he was a schoolmaster . This was enough for Kim , and he retired into his shell . He could just puzzle out the various English Police notices in Lahore city , because they affected his comfort ; and among the many guests of the woman who looked after him had been a queer German who painted scenery for the Parsee travelling theatre . He told Kim that he had been ` on the barricades in ` Forty-eight , ' and therefore -- at least that was how it struck Kim -- he would teach the boy to write in return for food . Kim had been kicked as far as single letters , but did not think well of them . ' I do not know anything . Go away ! ' said Kim , scenting evil . Hereupon the man caught him by the ear , dragged him to a room in a far-off wing where a dozen drummer-boys were sitting on forms , and told him to be still if he could do nothing else . This he managed very successfully . The man explained something or other with white lines on a black board for at least half an hour , and Kim continued his interrupted nap . He much disapproved of the present aspect of affairs , for this was the very school and discipline he had spent two-thirds of his young life in avoiding . Suddenly a beautiful idea occurred to him , and he wondered that he had not thought of it before . The man dismissed them , and first to spring through the veranda into the open sunshine was Kim . '' Ere , you ! ` Alt ! Stop ! '
XXXXX a high voice at his heels .
curled kicked looked puzzle said scenting spent stumped touched woke