It was intrigue , -- of course he knew that much , as he had known all evil since he could speak , -- but what he loved was the game for its own sake -- the stealthy prowl through the dark gullies and lanes , the crawl up a waterpipe , the sights and sounds of the women 's world on the flat roofs , and the headlong flight from housetop to housetop under cover of the hot dark . Then there were holy men , ash-smeared fakirs by their brick shrines under the trees at the riverside , with whom he was quite familiar -- greeting them as they returned from begging-tours , and , when no one was by , eating from the same dish . The woman who looked after him insisted with tears that he should wear European clothes -- trousers , a shirt and a battered hat . Kim found it easier to slip into Hindu or Mohammedan garb when engaged on certain businesses . One of the young men of fashion -- he who was found dead at the bottom of a well on the night of the earthquake -- had once given him a complete suit of Hindu kit , the costume of a lowcaste street boy , and Kim stored it in a secret place under some baulks in Nila Ram 's timber-yard , beyond the Punjab High Court , where the fragrant deodar logs lie seasoning after they have driven down the Ravi . When there was business or frolic afoot , Kim would use his properties , returning at dawn to the veranda , all tired out from shouting at the heels of a marriage procession , or yelling at a Hindu festival . Sometimes there was food in the house , more often there was not , and then Kim went out again to eat with his native friends . As he drummed his heels against Zam-Zammah he turned now and again from his king-of-the-castle game with little Chota Lal and Abdullah the sweetmeat-seller 's son , to make a rude remark to the native policeman on guard over rows of shoes at the Museum door . The big Punjabi grinned tolerantly : he knew Kim of old . So did the water-carrier , sluicing water on the dry road from his goat-skin bag . So did Jawahir Singh , the Museum carpenter , bent over new packing-cases . So did everybody in sight except the peasants from the country , hurrying up to the Wonder House to view the things that men made in their own province and elsewhere . The Museum was given up to Indian arts and manufactures , and anybody who sought wisdom could ask the Curator to explain . ` Off ! Off ! Let me up ! ' cried Abdullah , climbing up Zam-Zammah 's wheel . ` Thy father was a pastry-cook , Thy mother stole the ghi , ' sang Kim . ` All Mussalmans fell off Zam-Zammah long ago ! ' ` Let me up ! '
shrilled little Chota XXXXX in his gilt-embroidered cap .
Abdullah Court Curator Lal Punjabi deodar housetop night sweetmeat-seller water-carrier