The Inner Flame

"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!"

CHAPTER VIII

AN INTERRUPTED TEA

More bewildered every moment, Eliza hurried along, obediently, and in a minute more found herself in a paved yard on which faced a stable built of stone similar to the fine house backing upon it.

Phil threw open a side door and disclosed the round, good-natured face of a man, leaning back in a ragged Morris chair, his feet on a deal table.

"Hello, Pat. I've brought my best girl to show her my room."

The Irishman sprang to his feet, and grinned politely.

"They have old girls in New York," remarked Eliza drily.

"Whativer age ye are, mum," said Pat gallantly, "ye don't look it."

They passed him and ascended a narrow stair. "This is cement, Mr. Sidney," said Eliza, "and probably no mice."

"That settles it, Pluto," remarked Phil. "You for the island."

He ushered his companion into a room, empty but for a deal table and chair, an oil stove with a saucepan on it, and a couple of piles of Indian blankets, two of which were spread on the floor in place of rugs. One end of the table was piled with sketches.

"Well!" exclaimed Eliza. "Why did you – "

"Because," interrupted Phil laconically, and pointed to a double window facing north.

"Take off your things, Eliza," he added joyously, beginning to unbutton her coat.

"There were no horses that I saw," said the bewildered visitor.

"Family in Europe," returned Phil.

"But it's warm and comfortable."

"Have to keep fires on account of the plumbing. The coachman was a family man before master and mistress departed, and they kept house in two rooms up here. I have succeeded to Mrs. Maloney's kitchen. Behold the running water. The other room is used for storage. Being single, Pat got the job of caretaker and sleeps downstairs. Can you suggest an improvement?"

If Eliza had thought Phil handsome before, she stared now at the illumination of his triumphant face as his eyes questioned her.

She smiled, and there was a protesting scramble in the basket.

"Come out, Katze, of course," said the host, and, stooping, released the prisoner.

Pluto leaped forth and made a tour of the room, smelling daintily of the blankets.

"Of course, when I get Aunt Mary's things, you know," continued Phil.

"I wish they'd come," said Eliza, dazed and smiling. "I'd like to see how they're goin' to look."

"They'll be here before you leave. Now, take the Turkish armchair, Miss Brewster, and loll back while I talk to you; and pretty soon we'll have some tea."

As he spoke the host doubled a striped blanket over the kitchen chair and deposited Eliza. She felt dumb in the change from dismal loneliness to this atmosphere charged with vitality.

Phil threw himself on the blanket at her feet, and leaning on one elbow looked up into the eyes which wandered about the plastered room.

"Made to order, Eliza, made to order," he assured her. "No one but Mrs. Fabian knows where I am, and she's not likely to interrupt me."

"Stables ain't just in her line," said Eliza. "I was afraid, comin' up the street, that she had led you into extravagance."

"Oh, she is very kind," laughed Phil. "She was appalled when I told her what I had found, and seemed to think my oil stove the most pathetic thing in the world."

"Yes," remarked Eliza. "Her son Edgar'd find some trouble livin' this way."

"I haven't met him yet."

"Nor Miss Kathleen?"

"No, she's at school, you know. Mrs. Fabian has been very good to me. No one could be kinder, and I'm afraid I've been a rather absent-minded guest, but getting started has been so glorious. Eliza, I'm the most fortunate fellow in the world. Just think! Even no paper on these walls!"

Eliza looked with disfavor at the rough greyish plaster.

"'Twould be more cheerful with some real pretty pattern," she said.

Phil laughed and caught Pluto by the back of the neck as he was passing, and lifted him over into the hollow of his arm.

"I like it this way," he explained.

Eliza looked down at him admiringly. "I wish Mrs. Ballard could see you now," she said.

"I wish she knew what she has done for me. It seems as if this is the first time since my childhood that I have known peace."

At the word there came a sound of voices from below.

"The expressman!" exclaimed Phil, and springing to his feet opened the door.

"Sure; go right up," they heard in Pat's rich brogue.

"I'd better help him," said Phil, and went to the head of the stair.

What met his astonished gaze was a large black velvet hat ascending. It was willowy with drooping feathers, and in the dimness of the narrow stair it eclipsed the motive power which was lifting it. In his amazement Philip stepped back and presently met a slender face whose dark eyes were lifted to his.

"We're taking you by storm, Mr. Sidney," said a low, slow voice. "I hope it's not inconvenient."

Edgar followed close behind. "I tried to send your man up ahead," he said stridently, "but he seemed to think this sort of thing was all right."

Philip stood back a pace further in actual bewilderment, and Kathleen Fabian extended her delicately gloved hand.

"We're the Fabians," she said, examining her host with quick appraisement, and her smile was alluring.

"Oh!" exclaimed Phil, recovering himself and taking the hand. "Very kind of you, I'm sure."

"If you think you're easy to find," said Edgar as they greeted, "you're much mistaken. Mother got it all wrong, as usual."

Philip took in at a glance the dapper form of his visitor. He had not been insensible of Edgar's neglect of him in the young man's own home; and had decided that Eastern and Western ideas of hospitality must differ with more than the width of a continent.

"Very good of you, I'm sure, to stick to it," he returned composedly. "Come into my suite and overlook its shortcomings if you can."

Eliza had risen, startled.

"I suppose you both know Eliza Brewster," continued Phil. "She made life comfortable for Aunt Mary so many years."

Edgar Fabian jerked his blond head in Eliza's direction. "How do," he said; but the host's tone and manner constrained Kathleen to approach the grey-haired woman, and again hold out the delicate hand.

"Was it you who made those good cookies Aunt Mary used to give us?" she asked slowly, looking curiously at Phil's guest.

Eliza allowed the white glove to take her bony fingers a moment, then she stepped behind the solitary chair and set it forward for the visitor.

The girl would have accepted it, but Phil interposed.

"Sit down, Eliza," he said good-humoredly. "Miss Fabian can get chairs at home. I am going to treat her with truly Oriental magnificence. Try this, Miss Fabian." The host indicated a pile of Indian blankets, and Kathleen sank upon them.

Then Phil turned to Edgar, who reached to the host's ear as he stood in high-chested superiority looking about the apartment with disfavor.

"The choice of soft spots is small," said Phil, "but help yourself. There's room beside your sister here."

Edgar moved to the pile of blankets and sat down; while Phil dropped, Turkish fashion, at Eliza's feet and faced them.

"What a splendid cat!" said Kathleen.

"Yes," agreed Phil. "Come here, Katze, and see the lady." He seized Pluto and handed him over to Kathleen."

"Oh, get out," said Edgar. "I hate cats."

His sister moved Pluto over to her other side where he drove his claws into the blanket with satisfaction while she caressed him.

"He'll soil your glove," said Eliza; "his hair comes out some." She resented the Fabian touch on her pet, and Edgar's remark had sent color to her sallow cheeks.

"I'd like a muff made of him," drawled Kathleen.

"Too late," said Phil. "He's going to Maine to-night with Eliza."

"He isn't your cat, then?" said the girl, and brushed her glove.

"No, Eliza refuses to give him to me."

"There's that oil stove," remarked Edgar. "I don't know what there is so particularly virtuous about an oil stove; but mother throws yours at me every time we have an argument."

Philip regarded the speaker speculatively. Edgar's voice had an arrogant quality, which gave no idea of its beauty when he broke into song. "I'd give you a glimpse of its virtues if the expressman would come," replied the host. He smiled up at Eliza while Kathleen watched him. "Did you put in cups enough for all of us?"

"Six cups and saucers," returned Eliza, "and six plates, and six knives and forks, and six spoons. I gave you the plated ones 'cause then you wouldn't care if they were stolen."

"But I should care," returned Phil gravely. "I shall search every departing guest."

"Indian blankets," said Edgar. "They suggest the pipe of peace. Let's make it a cigarette." He took out his case.

"Only one room here," remarked Phil. "Perhaps the ladies object."

Edgar grinned at his sister. "Do you object to a cigarette, Kath?" he asked, offering her the open case.

"Perhaps Mr. Sidney is not a smoker," she said, "and it would be unsociable."

The same curiosity which had grown in Phil's eyes as he regarded young Fabian, now stole into them as they met Kathleen's.

"I'm almost sure Eliza doesn't indulge," said the host, "and perhaps she doesn't like it."

"Don't think of me, Mr. Philip," exclaimed Eliza hastily. "This is your house."

"My stable, you mean." He smiled. "No, it's yours this afternoon, Eliza. You're to give orders."

"Then you may smoke to your hearts' content," she responded promptly; and she sent an inimical look toward the graceful girl in the drooping hat. Let her smoke! Eliza hoped she would, and let Philip Sidney see what the Fabians were.

"Remove my sister's scruples, won't you, Sidney?" said Edgar, offering his case.

Phil took a cigarette, and Edgar passed them back to Kathleen.

"No, thanks," she replied. She had seen the cool curiosity in the host's eyes as they rested upon her a moment ago.

"Oh, go ahead," urged Edgar.

"I don't like your cigarettes," she returned shortly, annoyed by his persistence. A deep color grew in her cheeks.

"Wait till you know Kath better," said Edgar with a wink toward Philip. "You'll welcome any little human touches about her. She's at the most painful stage of her college career where she knows everything; and she's one of these high-brows; saves money – good money – and buys microscopes with it!" The utter scorn of the speaker's tone, as he offered Phil a light, caused the latter to smile.

"What are you doing with a microscope, Miss Fabian?" he asked.

"Hunting for an honest man," she returned in her lingering speech.

"Stung!" remarked her brother. "Say, I don't see any symptoms of painting up here," he added, looking around.

"No; you'll have to come down to the academy to see the works of art I'm throwing off," said Phil. "I've been there two days."

Now there was another stir belowstairs and this time it really was the expressman; and Philip's effects began to come upstairs.

"I'm afraid we're dreadfully in the way," said Kathleen; while Edgar held his cigarette between two fingers and moved about, watching the invasion of barrels, boxes, and bedstead, uncertain whether to lend a hand. "Aunt Mary's old duds, as I'm alive!" he thought, seeing Eliza's anxious supervision of each piece as Phil came carrying it in.

"A great way to entertain you, Miss Fabian," said the host brightly.

"What can I do?" inquired Edgar perfunctorily, continuing to get in Phil's way with the assiduity of a second Marcelline.

"If you won't mind being put on the shelf for a minute," said Phil, tired of avoiding him, "I'm going to tote in one more and then we're done." And picking up the astonished Edgar he set him on a barrel which had been placed in a corner, and so succeeded in bringing in the heaviest of the boxes undisturbed.