Page:Kim - Rudyard Kipling (1912).djvu/49



led to the fort-like railway station, black in the end of night; the electrics sizzling over the goods-yard where day and night they handle the heavy Northern traffic.

'This is the work of devils!' said the lama, recoiling from the hollow echoing darkness, the glimmer of rails between the masonry platforms, and the maze of girders above. He stood in a gigantic stone hall paved, it seemed, with the sheeted dead—third-class passengers who had taken their tickets overnight and were sleeping in the waiting-rooms. All hours of the twenty-four are alike to Orientals, and their passenger traffic is regulated accordingly.

'This is where the fire-carriages come. One stands behind that hole'—Kim pointed to the ticket-office—'who will give thee a paper to take thee to Umballa.' 'But we go to Benares,' he replied petulantly.

'All one. Benares then. Quick: she comes!' 'Take thou the purse.'

The lama, not so well used to trains as he had pretended, started as the 3.25 south bound roared in. The sleepers sprung to life, and the station filled with clamour and shoutings, cries of water and sweetmeat venders, shouts of native policemen, and