THE FLITTING
It was Eliza's last day in the apartment. Out of respect to probable
scruples on the part of her future hostess as to travelling on Sunday,
she had planned to sit idle this Sabbath day, although everything was
packed and she was ready to start.
By Mrs. Wright's advice she had sold nearly all the shabby furnishings
of the apartment. She had eaten a picnic luncheon in the forlorn
kitchen, from whence even the gambolling kittens had fled to the bottom
of Eliza's trunk, and now sat on a camp-chair in the middle of the
empty parlor, as solitary as Alexander Selkirk on his island, monarch
of all she surveyed, which was a pair of green eyes glowering at her
from behind the wire network in the side of a wicker basket, which
reposed on the only other chair in the room.
Stern and inexorable looked Eliza sitting in state on the camp-chair,
and furious glared the jewel eyes back at her.
"You've got to get used to it, Pluto," she said. "Do you suppose I like
it any better than you do? I don't know as you're so bad off either. I
think I'd like to be put in a bag and carried to Brewster's Island with
no care of cars or boats or anything else. You always do get the best
of it."
Eliza looked very haggard. It had been a wrenching week, packing her
dear one's belongings, and selling into careless, grudging hands the
old furniture with its tender associations.
Philip had been too busy to come to her aid. They had exchanged notes.
She had addressed him at the Fabians', and he had replied that he had
taken a room, and asked that his belongings be stacked up somewhere. He
promised that he would come for them early Sunday afternoon.
So now she was waiting, her capable hands folded in her black alpaca
lap, and her face expressing endurance.
"I'm countin' the hours, Pluto," she declared. "This place is misery
to me now. I feel just as much in a strange garret as you do in that
basket. I just wish Mr. Sidney'd come and take his things and then
there won't be much more daylight to look around here in. And I hope
you won't act like all possessed when we start for the train nor when
we get on it."
"Meow!" cried Pluto, exasperated.
"There now!" exclaimed Eliza, in trepidation--"you do that just once
when the train's standin' still, and where'll we be! I've always
thought you had a little more intelligence than the law allows; and if
you go to actin' like an alley cat you'll disappoint me dreadfully!"
Eliza rose anxiously and threw herself on her knees beside the basket
and opened it. Pluto sprang out, and she caught him and pressed her
thin cheek against his fur in a rare caress. Her eyes stung in her
effort to repress tears.
"Oh, law! I'm sick o' myself," she muttered. "Cryin'! cryin'! gracious,
what a fool! I'd ought to sold you to somebody, I suppose,"--she clung
tighter to the handsome creature and buried her eyes in his glossy
coat,--"or given you away, more likely. Who'd want to pay anything for
a cat that don't know how bothersome it's goin' to be to get the right
train, and hasn't the decency to keep his mouth shut, and--Oh!" as a
knock sounded on the door. "There he is now."
The glow of Eliza's one interview with Mrs. Ballard's heir had faded
long ago. The sordid and wounding events of the week had eclipsed
whatever cheer he had brought her, and it was only as one of the events
of her flitting that she looked forward to his advent this afternoon,
and the departure of the last and most intimate of her dear one's
possessions.
The knock on the door preceded its immediate opening.
"May I come in?"
The long step took the little hall in three strides.
The sight that met the newcomer's eyes was the bare room, with Eliza
kneeling in front of an open basket, clasping Pluto to her breast. The
woman's face and posture were dramatic.
"Deserted!" was the word that rose to Phil's lips, but he repressed it.
He would not twit on facts; but his all-observing eyes shone.
"I'm always wanting to paint you, Eliza," he said. "Sometime I will,
too."
"Me!" returned Eliza drearily. "You'll be hard up when you take me."
"So far as that goes, I'm hard up now. That's chronic," responded Phil
cheerfully. "What are you doing--not taking leave of that king among
cats? If you're leaving him behind, I speak for him."
"H'm!" exclaimed Eliza, loosening her clasp of her pet and rising.
"You'd made a bad bargain if you took Pluto." She removed the basket
from its chair. "Sit down, Mr. Sidney," she said wearily, resuming her
own seat. "It's too forlorn for you to stay, but maybe you'd like to
ketch your breath before you take the things."
Philip picked up the basket and looked curiously at its wire window.
"Yes," continued Eliza. "I'm taking Pluto, so I had to have that. It
was an extravagance, and he ain't worth it. I despise to see folks
cartin' cats and dogs around. I didn't think I'd ever come to it; but
somehow I'm--used to that selfish critter, and he's--he's all the folks
I've got. It never once came to me that you'd take him."
"Indeed I would," replied Phil; "and wait till you see the place I have
for him. Rats and mice while you wait, I suppose, though I haven't seen
any yet."
"Oh, well," returned Eliza hastily, her eyes following Pluto as he
rubbed himself against Phil's leg. "I've got the basket now. I guess
I'll have to use it."
"It's a shame I haven't been here to help you," said Phil. "You've had
a hard week, I know, but I've had a busy one."
"You've got a room, you say," said Eliza listlessly. "Rats and mice.
That don't sound very good."
Phil smiled. "I don't know,--as I say, I haven't seen them yet; but
Pluto would be a fine guard to keep them off my blankets. I don't
believe, though, there's been any grain in there for a good while."
"Grain!" repeated Eliza.
Phil laughed. "I'll tell you about it later; but first, may I have the
things? I have an expressman down at the door. I rode over here with
him in state. Good thing I didn't meet Mrs. Fabian."
Eliza's thin lip curled as she rose. She led Philip to a room, in the
middle of which was gathered a heterogeneous collection of articles.
"In this box is the paintin' things," she said, touching a wooden case.
"In this barrel is some dishes. I couldn't get anything for 'em anyway,
and you wrote you was going to get your own breakfasts."
"Capital," put in Phil; "and here's a bedstead."
"Yes, and the spring and mattress," returned Eliza. "It's Mrs.
Ballard's bed. I couldn't sell it."
Philip regarded the disconnected pieces dubiously--"I guess I'd have to
be amputated at the knees to use that."
"Well,"--Eliza shook her head quickly. "Take it anyway, and do what
you've a mind to with it, only don't tell me. The beddin''s in the
barrel with the dishes--you said you'd be glad of a chair, so here's
one, and the two in the parlor are for you. You can take 'em right
along. I haven't got very long to wait anyway. I calc'late to go to the
station early."
Phil touched her shoulder with his hand.
"I'll see that you get to the station early enough."
"You mustn't think o' me," said Eliza, as Phil picked up some of the
furniture and started for the stairs.
When he returned for the next load he brought the expressman with him.
Together they took the last of the articles down the stairway.
Eliza stood at the top and watched the final descent.
"Good-bye Mr. Sidney," she said.
He smiled brightly up at her across a couple of chairs, and the easel.
"Good-bye for five minutes."
"No, no," said Eliza; "don't you come back." She winked violently
toward the receding cap of the expressman. "You'd better ride right
over with the things just the way you came."
"All right," responded Phil laughing. "_Bon voyage!_"
"Hey?" asked Eliza.
"Have a good trip. My respects to Pluto."
She went back into the apartment and closed the door. It seemed
emptier, stiller than ever after the little flurry of moving.
"It was clever of him," she thought gratefully, "not to let the other
man handle the easel."
Now, indeed, desolation settled upon Eliza Brewster. Pluto's short tail
stiffened in the majestic disapproval with which he walked about the
room in search of an oasis of comfort.
Eliza heard his protesting meows. She stood still at the window looking
out on the grey November sky. "I haven't got a chair to sit down on,
Pluto," she said. "It's got past cryin'!"
She took out the gold-faced watch that was ticking against her thin
bosom. Two hours yet before there would be any reason in going to the
station. Suddenly it occurred to her that she had placed flannel in
the bottom of the cat's travelling-basket. This would be the golden
opportunity to endear the spot to his forlorn feline heart.
She tucked the watch back in its hiding-place. "Here, kitty, kitty,
kitty!" she cried.
No response. The receding meows had ceased. She looked perplexed; then
an illuminating thought occurred to her. Tables there were none, but
the square top of the kitchen range remained. On this she had spread
clean papers and upon them had laid her coat and hat, and the shabby
boa and muff of black astrachan which had belonged to her dear one.
She hastened down the hall. Her intuition had not failed. Upon this
bed, his glossy coat revealing the rustiness of the garments, lay Pluto
curled up, regardless of vicissitudes.
Eliza had scarcely swept him off his bed when the outer door of the
apartment opened again, and closed.
"There," called a cheerful voice; "that's finished. Business before
pleasure."
Eliza hastened out into the hall. "You, Mr. Sidney?" she exclaimed in
surprise. "Why, you haven't had time to get over there. Is your room
so near?"
"Oh, no. We've been making the wagon artistically safe, so as not to
smash any of Aunt Mary's valuables." The speaker, strong and breezy,
smiled reassuringly into Eliza's anxious face.
"You'd ought to gone with him," she said. "Do you suppose the folks'll
let him in all right."
"There aren't any folks but English sparrows," returned Phil. "I don't
think they'll object."
"What are you sayin'?" demanded Eliza. "If there's a house in this
city where there ain't any folks, I didn't know it. It's queer, ain't
it, Mr. Sidney, that it's folks make loneliness. Now, this buildin''s
running over with _folks_, but there ain't an apartment where I could
go in and say good-bye. They're always movin' in and movin' out like
ants, and it makes it worse than if there was nobody. It was clever of
you to come back, but don't you stay, 'cause there ain't any place to
sit but the floor, and I'm going in just a few minutes to leave the key
where I promised the agent I would, and then on to the station."
"When does your train go?" asked Phil.
"I ain't just certain," replied Eliza evasively. "I'll get there in
good season."
"I'm sure you will." Phil's eyes looked very kind. "How did you happen
to take a night train?"
"Well, I didn't know as Mrs. Wright would want me to travel on Sunday."
"Isn't it Sunday in the afternoon?"
"Not after six o'clock," replied Eliza hastily. "We could play dominoes
after six o'clock when I was a youngster."
"Aha," said Phil. "Then that train doesn't go till after six. It isn't
yet three."
"Now, Mr. Sidney,"--Eliza was frowning at her own blunder,--"I wish
you wouldn't trouble yourself. The station's nice and warm. I expect
Pluto'll act like all possessed, but I didn't calc'late to have any
comfort with him. I'd been practisin' with him in the basket before you
came to-day."
Eliza's careworn brow went to her visitor's heart.
"Where are you to leave the key? I'll take it for you."
"Oh, you needn't. It's the janitor, right here in the buildin'."
"Then it's all clear sailing," said Phil. "Get on your things, Eliza."
"It's a little early," she demurred. "If it wasn't for Pluto I wouldn't
care; but you go along, Mr. Sidney, and don't think anything more about
us. You ought to go and see that those goods get in all right."
"We'll be there to meet them. Do you suppose I would let you leave New
York without seeing where I'm going to live? And do you suppose I'd let
you out of my sight anyway till I put you on the train?"
"Dear me!" returned Eliza, fluttered, but feeling as if the sun had
suddenly peeped through the November clouds. "I never thought--" she
stopped undecidedly.
"Well, I did," said Phil heartily. "It's a shame that I haven't helped
you any this hard week. Where's Pluto?"
"He may be back on the stove again," returned Eliza. "I don't dare take
my eyes off him." She moved quickly toward the kitchen, and there on
her habiliments lay the cat; but at sight of her he leaped guiltily to
the floor.
Phil, following, laughed. "Well, things have come to a pretty pass
when you have to hang your coat up on the stove." He looked about
the spotless place. "I wonder if this apartment will ever be so clean
again."
"Oh, I'm clean," admitted Eliza. "Mr. Sidney,"--she paused again, her
coat in her hand, and faced him,--"you don't want to go traipsing
through the streets o' New York with an old woman and a cat!"
"That's where you're wrong," returned Phil. "You're the only girl I
have in town. It's highly proper that we should go walking of a Sunday
afternoon. You get on your things, and I'll wrestle with Pluto."
The cat, suspecting that whatever plan was afoot was not entirely
according to his taste, led Phil a short chase; but all the havens
which usually harbored his periods of rebellion having disappeared,
he was soon captured, and when Eliza, hatted and coated, entered the
living-room, Phil had laid the cat on the flannel in the bottom of the
basket, and was keeping him there by reassuring caresses.
"Ain't he just as kind as he can be!" thought Eliza.
"Ready?" asked Phil, and closed the basket. He met Pluto's gaze through
the window.
"It's all right, old chap," he laughed.
He was not unmindful of the advantage of this diversion of Eliza's
mind, in leaving the apartment forever. He had a green memory of her
stormy emotion. He tried to take the key from her now as they stepped
outside.
"No," she said briefly, "I'll close this chapter myself," and she
locked the door.
Philip balanced the basket ostentatiously. "Believe me," said he,
"Pluto is some cat! How did you expect to get on with him alone?"
"I calc'lated to get a boy," replied Eliza in an unsteady voice.
Memories were crowding her.
"Well, you have one," returned Phil, leading the way downstairs.
"But I'm strong, too. You've heard about the woman that carried the
calf uphill every day till it was a cow? I've had Pluto ever since his
eyes was open."
"Well, you'd need some hill-climbing with him to fit you for taking the
elevated."
"Yes, I did some dread those steps. It's certainly clever of you, Mr.
Sidney. They say the lame and the lazy are always provided for."
Thus Eliza Brewster left her home of years. She gave the key to the
janitor and went out into the dull, damp November afternoon with her
strong escort, whose good cheer again impressed her consciousness as a
wonderful thing to have any relation to her own life.
"You've learned your way around real quick," said Eliza as they plunged
into the nearest subway station.
"This is all bluff, Eliza, and you're the most trustful woman in the
world. I want to go somewhere near Gramercy Park; but if we come out at
Harlem I shall try to look as if I lived there."
"Gramercy Park!" exclaimed Eliza; and she thought--"Well, at that rate,
Mrs. Ballard's money won't last long."
"I didn't know," she said aloud, "as you'd feel like gettin' a room in
a real fashionable neighborhood."
"I'll bet," she thought acutely, "that's Mrs. Fabian's doin's."
The subway train came crashing in, and Pluto crouched in his basket.
Eliza's suspicions and anxieties increased as, after leaving the
subway, their journey continued; and when they finally came into a
region of old and aristocratic dwellings, her eyes were round and she
could no longer keep silent. It was an outrage, an imposition, to have
influenced the young art-student to commit himself to a home in these
surroundings.
"I'd 'a' been a whole lot better person to 'a' helped you find a
place than Mrs. Fabian," she said, more and more impressed with the
incongruity of the situation. To be sure, Phil looked like a prince and
fit for any environment; but not while trudging along with a shabby,
grey-haired woman, and carrying a cat-basket.
"I know, I know, Eliza," he returned, with gay recognition of her
perturbation and disapproval. "I'm sorry sometimes that elegance and
luxury are necessary to me. It's the penalty of blue blood. Mrs. Fabian
had nothing to do with this; but I had to find my level, Eliza. Blood
will tell."
"You said rats and mice," she returned mechanically. "Are you sure
you've got the right street?"
"Sure as a homing pigeon;--by the way, I might keep pigeons! I never
thought of it."
"For the rats?" inquired Eliza with some asperity.
She had always heard that geniuses were erratic. Also that without
exception they were ignorant of the value of money. Poor Mrs. Ballard!
What a small space of time it would take for her little capital to be
licked up as by a fierce heat.
"This way," cried her escort, and swung Pluto's basket triumphantly as
he turned abruptly into an alley.
Eliza caught her breath in the midst of her resentment. "You do go in
the back way, then."
"Not a bit of it!" retorted Phil. "My proud spirit couldn't brook
anything like that." He caught Eliza's arm and hurried her pace. "We go
in the front way, please take notice!"