"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.