“Oh, no, thanks; I know you always ride, and I should love it,” Tommy answered. “Is Mr. Linton going?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed, as far as I can tell, the whole station's going,” Jim said. “All except Brownie, of course; she scorns races. She says she can't imagine why anyone should make anything run fast in the 'eat if they don't want to.”
“Does Brownie ever leave Billabong?”
“Hardly ever,” Jim answered, laughing—“and it's getting more and more difficult to make her. I think in a year or two it will need a charge of dynamite. Oh, but, Tommy, we got her out in the car the other evening—had to do it almost by main force. It was a hot evening, and we took her for a spin along the road. She trembled like a jelly when we started, and all the time she gripped the side with one hand and Norah's knee with the other—quite unconsciously.”
“Do you think she enjoyed it at all?” Tommy smiled.
“No, I'm jolly well sure she didn't,” Jim responded. “Brownie's much too well mannered to criticize anyone else's property, but when she got out she merely said, 'You have great courage, my dear.' And wild horses wouldn't get her into it again, unless we promised to 'make it walk,' like we did the day we brought her over to help at your working bee. The funny part of it is that Norah believes she was just as frightened that morning, only she had a job on, and so was too busy to think of it. But as for going in a car for mere pleasure—not for Brownie!”
“Brownie's a dear,” said Tommy irrelevantly. “Jim, can't you put that fierce animal in the stable or the horse paddock, or somewhere, and come in for some tea? I simply must get back to my apricots.”
“And I've certainly no business to be keeping you standing here in the heat,” Jim said. “No, I can't stay, thanks, Tommy—I promised dad I'd meet him at the Far Plain gate at eleven o'clock, and it's nearly that now. You run in to your apricots, and don't kill your little self over them; it's no day for cooking if you can avoid it.”
“Oh, but I couldn't,” Tommy answered. “They were just right for bottling; the sun to-day would have made them a bit too soft. And it's better to get them done; to-morrow may be just as hot, or hotter.”
“That's true enough,” Jim said. “Feeling the heat much, little Miss Immigrant?”