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: