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.”