"This was built
specially for a man who was half an invalid; he used to go for long
tours, and sleep in the car because he hated hotels. So it's a special
size. It used to be jolly useful taking out wounded men in England."
"Sure, it would be," Murty said. "Only--somehow, it don't seem to fit
into Billabong, Mr. Jim!"
"So big as that! I say, Murty!"
"Yerra, there's room enough for it," grinned the Irishman. "Only, motors
and Billabong don't go hand in hand--we've always stuck to horses,
haven't we, Mr. Jim?"
"We'll do that still," Jim said. "But it will be useful, all the same,
Murty." He laughed at the stockman's lugubrious face. "Oh, I know it's
giving you the sort of pain you had when dad had the telephone put on--"
"Well, 'tis the quare onnatural little machine, an' I niver feel anyways
at home with it, Mr. Jim," Murty defended himself.
"There's lots like you, Murty. But you'll admit that when we've got
to send a telegram, it's better to telephone it than make a man ride
thirty-four miles with it?"
"I suppose it is," said the Irishman doubtfully. "I dunno, though--if
'twas that black imp of a Billy he'd as well be doing that as propping
up the stable wall an' smokin'!"
Jim chuckled.
"There's no getting round an Irishman when he makes up his mind," he
said. "And if you had to catch the eight o'clock train to Melbourne
I believe you'd rather get up at three in the morning and run up the
horses to drive in, than leave here comfortably in the car at seven.
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