A habit might look too much on him, but not
that astride kit. You got yours, by the way, Tommy, I hope?"
"Oh yes. I look very strange in it," said Tommy. "And Bob thinks I might
as well have worn out his old uniforms. But I shall never ride like
that--as Norah does."
She looked at Norah, who was coming across the paddock with Wally, at a
hard canter. Her pony was impatient, reefing and plunging in his desire
to gallop; and Norah was sitting him easily, her hands, well down,
giving to the strain on the bit, her slight figure, in coat and
breeches, swaying lightly to each bound. The sunlight rippled on Bosun's
glossy, bay coat, and on the big black horse Wally rode. They pulled
up, laughing, at the gateway, just as the car turned off the road. There
were confused and enthusiastic greetings, and the car dashed on up the
track, with an outrider on each side--both horses strongly resenting
this new and ferocious monster. The years had brought a good deal of
sober sense to Bosun and Monarch, but motors were still unfamiliar
objects on Billabong. Indeed, no car of the size of Norah's Rolls-Royce
had ever been seen in the district, and the men gaped at it open-mouthed
as Jim drove it round to the stable after unloading his passengers.
"Yerra, but that's the fine carry-van," said Murty. "Is that the size
they have them in England, now?"
"No, it isn't, Murty--not as a rule," Jim answered.
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