Wait here , ' said the lama , and he sat down by the Jat upon the lowest step of the temple , while Kim , looking out of the corner of his eyes , slowly opened the little betel-box . He had dreamed dreams at school of returning to the lama as a Sahib -- of chaffing the old man before he revealed himself -- boy 's dreams all . There was more drama in this abstracted , brow-puckered search through the tabloid-bottles , with a pause here and there for thought and a muttered invocation between whiles . Quinine he had in tablets , and dark brown meat-lozenges -- beef most probably , but that was not his business . The little thing would not eat , but it sucked at a lozenge greedily , and said it liked the salt taste . ` Take then these six . ' Kim handed them to the man . ` Praise the Gods , and boil three in milk ; other three in water . After he has drunk the milk give him this ' -LRB- it was the half of a quinine pill -RRB- , ` and wrap him warm . Give him the water of the other three , and the other half of this white pill when he wakes . Meantime , here is another brown medicine that he may suck at on the way home . ' ` Gods , what wisdom ! ' said the Kamboh , snatching . It was as much as Kim could remember of his own treatment in a bout of autumn malaria -- if you except the patter that he added to impress the lama . ` Now go ! Come again in the morning . ' ` But the price -- the price , ' said the Jat , and threw back his sturdy shoulders . ` My son is my son . Now that he will be whole again , how shall I go back to his mother and say I took help by the wayside and did not even give a bowl of curds in return ? ' ` They are alike , these Jats , ' said Kim softly .
` The XXXXX stood on his dunghill and the King 's elephants went by .
Jat Jats Kamboh Sahib betel-box lama meat-lozenges morning quinine tabloid-bottles