OLD DOG TRAY BARKS
Jim Budd had picked up a new song. Much to the relief of his sore-tried wife, he occasionally monotoned it in place of the Grimes catalogue of virtues and clothing.
Vicky could hear him in the kitchen singing it now.
“Old dog Tray ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away.
He’s gentle and he’s kind,
And you’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.”
Oddly enough the words hummed themselves into Vicky’s musings. She was standing before the mirror putting the finishing touches to a very attractive picture, a picture of lovely youth, warm, vital, piquant. Miss Vicky was expecting a caller, and though she hadn’t any desire to dazzle this particular admirer—if he were an admirer, for she hadn’t made sure of that yet—she did not choose to be so ungrateful as to neglect any of the natural advantages with which a kind Providence had endowed her.
She murmured the fat man’s refrain:
“He’s gentle and he’s kind,
And you’ll never, never find
A better friend than——”
Mrs. Budd poked her head into the room. “Hugh McClintock,” she announced. “In the parlour.”
“Here to see me?” asked Miss Lowell, just as though she had not known he was coming.
“I kinda gather that notion. Anyhow, he asked for you. Were you dollin’ up for me an’ Jim?”
“I’ll be right down, tell him.”
“I would, dearie. He’s ce’tainly wearin’ out the rim of his hat makin’ it travel in circles.”
After which shot Mrs. Budd puffed downstairs and read the riot act mildly to Jim for having tracked mud into her immaculate kitchen.
If Hugh was embarrassed it was because of the nature of his mission this evening. He had plenty of native dignity, but he knew nothing of the thought processes of young women going-on-eighteen. Would they take well-meant advice in the same spirit in which it was given? He did not know, but he intended to find out.
Indirectly Vicky gave him a lead. “I’ve just had a letter from Mollie. What do you think? Scot’s going to run for secretary of state.”
“Made up his mind to run, has he? Knew he was thinkin’ about it. Wonder if anybody else is goin’ after the Republican nomination.”
“Yes,” said the girl quietly.
Hugh looked a surprised question at her.
“Mr. Ralph Dodson is going to run,” she continued.
He let that sink in for a moment. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s liable to open up the old sore.”
“Do you think it will?” she asked anxiously.
“Not unless the Dodsons make it a personal fight.”
“I don’t think Ralph would do that.”
“You know him pretty well?” He put his comment with the rising inflection.
“Yes. That is, he comes to see me.” Vicky’s chin was up ever so little. She sensed McClintock’s hostility. “I like him.”
“Do you? Can’t say I do. I don’t trust him.”
“Do you know him well?”
“No, and I don’t want to.”
The girl laughed. “You remind me of what Charles Lamb says in one of his essays. We were reading it in school. Or maybe it was an anecdote about him the teacher told us. Anyhow, he said he didn’t like a certain man. A friend asked him if he knew him. ‘Of course I don’t,’ Lamb said. ‘If I did I’d like him. That’s why I don’t want to know him.’ Is it like that with you?”
He considered this gravely. “Maybe so. I’m prejudiced against him on account of his brother.”
“But that’s no fair,” the girl cried quickly.
“And because of two or three things I’ve known him do.”
“What things?” she demanded.
Hugh did not care to discuss with Vicky the man’s amours. He shifted ground. “He’s selfish through and through. Thinks only of himself.”
The girl’s eyes sparkled. “When you say that it just shows how little you know him. He’s the most generous man I ever met.”
“He’s good lookin’, and he’s hail fellow enough. That’s not what I mean.”
“And it’s not what I mean,” she retorted, her temper beginning to rise. “Two or three months ago he did the bravest thing I ever saw—risked his life for hours in a caved tunnel, to save the life of a ragged little boy. Was that selfish? Was that thinking only of himself?”
“He’s game. He’ll go through,” admitted Hugh. “I didn’t mean that way.”
Her stormy eyes challenged him. “Then just what do you mean?”
Hugh flushed. He did not find it possible to tell her explicitly just what he did mean. It was bad enough for him to be violating the masculine instinct against exposing another man to one of the opposite sex. He could not draw a bill of particulars about Dodson before an innocent girl. Moreover, what he had heard of the man’s escapades was merely town gossip—true enough, he felt sure, but not evidence that could be held good before an ardent young advocate like Vicky.
“He’s not very scrupulous some ways,” he said lamely.
“What ways?”
McClintock felt himself being driven into a blind alley. He could not go on, nor could he turn back.
“I wouldn’t want a sister of mine to know him too well,” was the best he could do by way of explanation.
“That’s merely an expression of a personal feeling,” she flashed. “And since I’m not your sister it does not weigh with me. You come here and attack my friend. You say he’s selfish and—unscrupulous. I ask for facts to back what you’ve said.”
Though he had been put helplessly in the wrong, Hugh felt that he was right at bottom. Vicky had no business to have this fellow on the list of her friends. He tried to break from the logic of the position into which she had forced him by an appeal to their old friendship.
“I used to have a little partner named Vicky Lowell. We did not see much of each other, but we were tillicums. Oughtn’t I to warn her when I see her going with the wrong kind of man?”
“And oughtn’t I to ask you to prove to me he’s the wrong kind? Or must I take it for granted and give up any of my friends if you happen not to fancy them?”
“I tell you he isn’t right—not right for a girl like you to know.”
“You admit yourself you’re prejudiced.”
“Not about that. If you’ll let me, I’ll call his hand for a showdown. Let him prove to me he’s been slandered and I’ll——”
Vicky exploded. “If you dare, Hugh McClintock! Did Scot appoint you deputy guardian of me? Do you think I can’t look after myself? Do you think you can come here and slander my friends——?” She broke off, white with anger.
He gave up, with a helpless lift of his hands. “I made a mistake. Sorry. I believe every word I’ve said, but I reckon I blundered somehow. I meant the best ever, Vicky, but—oh, well, you can’t see it my way. I’ll say good-evenin’.”
Hugh rose. He offered his strong brown hand and with it a smile that asked for forgiveness.
She hesitated. Her anger at him was not yet spent.
From the next room came Jim Budd’s wheezy refrain, tuneless and monotonous:
“Old dog Tray ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away.
He’s gentle and he’s kind,
And you’ll never, never find
A better friend than old—dog—Tray.”
“Just old dog Tray,” Hugh said, and his smile was a little wistful. “A faithful old blunderer, but after all an honest friend.”
Vicky relented on swift impulse and gave him her hand. “All right—old dog Tray. But I warn you that you’ll have grief enough to drive you away if you behave like this again.”
“I’ll come back even though you throw stones at me,” he said, and this time his grin was gay. “Maybe I’ll bark again at yore friends and maybe I won’t. We’ll see.”
“Take my advice and don’t,” she warned.
“You didn’t take mine.”
“And that’s only half of it. I’m not going to,” the girl flung back, looking at him with a flash of mischief in her eyes.
“Well, I can’t help that. It’s good medicine.” He added a suggestion: “Tell Dodson that I warned you against him if you like.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked.
“I don’t want to feel underhanded about it. I’d rather you did tell him.”
“Well, I won’t,” she said with decision. “What kind of a girl do you think I am?”
“If you want me to tell you how nice a girl I think you are——”
“Now—now,” she protested, laughing. “That’s not what old dog Trays are for.”
“Thought you asked me,” he replied with deep innocence.
“First you were Mr. Goodman to me. Then you were Santa Claus. Then Mr. Hugh McClintock. Now you’re old dog Tray. I wonder what you’ll be next,” she queried.
For a flash their eyes met before the mask fell. She drew back, startled; then decided that she had been mistaken. For in that beat of time it seemed to her that his soul had answered her question and told her what he meant to be to her next.
Of course, she had imagined it.