Never was such a tale . But I am in no haste . Another writer will serve me . Umballa city is as full of them as is Lahore . ' ` Four annas , ' said the writer , sitting down and spreading his cloth in the shade of a deserted barrack-wing . Mechanically Kim squatted beside him -- squatted as only the natives can -- in spite of the abominable clinging trousers . The writer regarded him sideways . ` That is the price to ask of Sahibs , ' said Kim . ` Now fix me a true one . ' ` An anna and a half . How do I know , having written the letter , that thou wilt not run away ? ' I must not go beyond this tree , and there is also the stamp to be considered . ' ' I get no commission on the price of the stamp . Once more , what manner of white boy art thou ? ' ` That shall be said in the letter , which is to Mahbub Ali , the horse-dealer in the Kashmir Serai , at Lahore . He is my friend . ' ` Wonder on wonder ! ' murmured the letter-writer , dipping a reed in the inkstand . ` To be written in Hindi ? ' ` Assuredly .
To Mahbub XXXXX then .
Ali Hindi Kim Lahore Serai Umballa barrack-wing horse-dealer inkstand letter-writer