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."