Old Ugly-Face by Talbot Mundy

Bompo Tsering looked shell-shocked. Mistrust of his surroundings numbed him. Tibetans are an intuitive people. He could sense the spiritual strength of Nancy's hospitality. But he was afraid of it. A legion of superstitions crowded his mind. He was afraid of the room. The familiar Tibetan things on the walls didn't lessen the trap-sensation. In his imagination they increased it. Loot. Scalps. The books were overwhelming evidence of occult lore; it might be white, but it was much more likely to be black magic. He had seen Andrew's room at the hotel, and the inside of many a rich man's house in Tibet; but nothing like this room. Andrew ordered him curtly to uncover his head. He obeyed, sheepishly. But curiosity was just a bit stronger than shyness: holding his fur-trimmed, filthy hat in both hands, he thrust his tousled head around the corner of the bookcase. First, he recognized Elsa-- stuck out his tongue respectfully--grinned self-consciously--then repeated the respectful salutation, to Nancy Strong--to Lewis-- with an extra tongue-show thrown in on general principles--perhaps to the gods of the hearth.

-"Tongue's furry," said Lewis. "Too much starch. Guzzles rice and ghee three times a day. He'll have an enlarged spleen if he isn't careful."