"If it was me," said Wally, with a fine disregard of grammar, "I should open the door."
"Good for you, Wally," grinned Jim. "Here goes!" He flung the door open, and then stood as if rooted to the spot.
The string went on. It ended, however, just through the door, where its end was spliced to a halter, held by black Billy, whose smile disclosed every tooth in his head. Fidgeting in the halter was a big bay horse, showing all Monarch's quality, and all his good looks; a show ring horse, picked by a keen judge, and built for speed as well as strength. He looked at Jim with a kind eye, set well in his beautiful head. There was no flaw in him; from his heels to his fine, straight forelock he was perfection.
Jim had no words. He did not need to be told anything—Norah's face had been enough; but he could not speak. He took refuge with the big bay, moving forward and putting out a hand, to which the horse responded instantly, rubbing his head against him in friendly fashion. Then, across the arched neck, Jim's eyes met his father's, and the colour flooded into his brown face.
"Well, old son—will he do?"
"Do!" said Jim, weakly. "Dad!—by Jove, I—I—" He stopped helplessly; then his hand went out and took his father's in a grip that made David Linton realize that this big son of his was nearly a man.
"Oh, Jimmy, I'm so glad—and isn't he lovely?"
"Why, he's perfect," Jim said, stepping back and running his eye over his Christmas box. "My word, Dad, he'll jump!"
"Yes, he'll jump all right," said David Linton. "Gallop, too, I should say."
"Plenty!" said Billy, with unexpected emphasis, whereat every one laughed.