“Races!” said Tommy. “But what frivolity. Why, I'm bottling apricots.”
“No wonder you look warm, you poor little soul,” said Jim. “You oughtn't to choose a scorcher like this for bottling. Anyhow, the races aren't to-day, but New Year's day—Cunjee Picnic meeting. We're all going, so you and Bob have got to come. Orders from Norah.”
“Oh, New Year's day. I'd love to come,” Tommy said. “I've never seen races.”
“Never seen races!” ejaculated young Australia in sheer amazement. “Where were you dragged up?” They laughed at each other.
“Aunt Margaret wasn't what you'd call a racing woman,” Tommy said. “I don't fancy Bob has seen any, either. Bill and Sarah, to say nothing of the baby, are going. I offered to mind the baby, but Sarah didn't seem to think the picnic would be complete without her.”
“People have queer tastes,” Jim said. “I wouldn't choose a long day at races as the ideal thing for a baby; but Sarah seems to think differently. Wonder what Bill thinks? Still, I'm glad she didn't take you at your word, because we'd have had to dispose of the baby somewhere if she had. I suppose we could put it under the seat of the car!”
“Oh, do you?” Tommy regarded him with a glint in her eye. “No; we'd have made you nurse her—she isn't 'it.' She's the nicest baby ever, and I won't have her insulted.”
“Bless you, I wouldn't insult the baby for worlds,” grinned Jim. “I'll look forward to meeting her at the races—especially as you won't be minding her. Then it's settled, is it, Tommy? We thought of riding; will it be too far for you?”
“Not a bit,” Tommy said. “Bob and I rode in and out of Cunjee the other day, and I wasn't tired—and it was dreadfully hot.”
“Then you'll be all right on New Year's day, because the racecourse is two miles this side of the township,” Jim said. “But Norah said I was to tell you some of us could easily go in the car if you'd rather drive.”