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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"From Mine Own People"

The red man rubbed his eyes.
"He has gone South for the week," he repeated. "Now that's just like his
impidence. Did he say that I was to give you anything? 'Cause I won't."
"He didn't," I said, and dropped away, and watched the red lights die out in
the dark. It was horribly cold because the wind was blowing off the sands. I
climbed into my own train--not an Intermediate carriage this time--and went to
sleep.
If the man with the beard had given me a rupee I should have kept it as a
memento of a rather curious affair. But the consciousness of having done my
duty was my only reward.
Later on I reflected that two gentlemen like my friends could not do any good
if they foregathered and personated correspondents of newspapers, and might,
if they blackmailed one of the little rat-trap States of Central India or
Southern Rajputana, get themselves into serious difficulties. I therefore took
some trouble to describe them as accurately as I could remember to people who
would be interested in deporting them; and succeeded, so I was later informed,
in having them headed back from the Degumber borders.
Then I became respectable, and returned to an office where there were no Kings
and no incidents outside the daily manufacture of a newspaper.


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