“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.”