Billy jogged off, leading Garryowen, and Jim watched them half
wistfully for a minute before turning to the car. Motors had their uses
certainly; but no Linton ever dreamed of giving a car the serious and
respectful consideration that naturally belonged to a horse.
Nevertheless, it was a good car; a gift to Norah from an Irishman
they had known and loved; and Jim drove well, having developed the
accomplishment over Flemish roads that were chiefly a succession of
shell holes. He took her quietly up to the station, and walked on to the
platform as the train thundered in.
Tommy and Bob were looking eagerly from their carriage window, and
hailed him with delight; they had been alone, for the first time since
leaving England, and had begun to feel that Australia was a large and
slightly populated country, and that they were inconsiderable atoms,
suddenly dumped into its vacant spaces. Jim was like a large and
friendly rock, and Australia immediately became less wide and desolate
in their eyes. He greeted them cheerily and helped Bob to pack their
luggage into the car.
"Now, I could get you afternoon tea here," he said; "and I warn you,
it will be bad. Or I could have you home in well under an hour, and you
wouldn't be too late for tea there. Which is it to be, Tommy?"
"Oh--home," said Tommy. "I don't care a bit about tea; and I want to see
this Billabong of yours.
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