“We've gone like the rest, Sue.”
“Oh, no, Henry! Not really?”
“All gone! Hy goes one way, I another. And Pete stays alone. No more Seventh-Story Men. Good-by, Sue.”
He watched her through the gate; waited to catch her last glance, then turned back into the city.
Slowly, very slowly, he approached the old brick building in the Square—his home.
In the lower hall he hesitated, wondering if Peter was in. Finally he asked the night man. No, Mr. Mann was not in. The Worm drew a long breath of relief and went up to the rooms.
It did not take long to pack his possessions. Now that there were no books to consider everything went into one old suit-case. And with this he set forth into the night.
The experience had a gloomy thrill of its own. He had no notion where he was going. He hardly cared. The one great thing was to be going away—away from those rooms, from the trifling, irritating Hy, from the impossible Peter. He walked over to the bus station, set down his suit-case on the sidewalk, felt in his pockets to see if he had any money. He was always getting caught without it. He had given that taxi man an even bill.
Apparently he was without it again. But in one pocket he found three keys that jingled together in his hand.
He caught his breath; threw back his head and stared straight up through the trees at the stars.