that, of the four who had just left,--those four whom he loved so
sincerely--one, and oh, what a dear, dear one, was never to pass across
the threshold again!

CHAPTER XXXVI

LEFT BEHIND

EMPTY!

He did not enter the tiny room. Now, all at once, it seemed a sacred
place, having for so long sheltered her who was sweet and fine. And he
felt instinctively that the blue-walled retreat was not for him; that he
should not stretch himself out in his soiled, ragged clothes on that
dainty couch-shelf where she had lain.

He stood on the threshold to look in. How beautiful it was! From to-day
forward, would she truly have another any handsomer? The faint perfume
of it (just recently she had acquired a fresh stock of orris root) was
like a breath from some flower-filled garden--such a garden as he had
read about in _The Story of Aladdin_. And yes, the little cell itself
was like one of Aladdin's caskets from which had been taken a precious
jewel.

Just now it was a casket very much in disarray, for Cis had tumbled it
in wind-storm fashion as she made ready to leave, carelessly throwing
down several things that she had formerly handled delicately: the paper
roses, the sliver of mirror, the pretty face of a moving-picture
favorite. As for that box flounced with bright crepe paper, it was
ignominiously heaved to one side. And that cherished likeness of Mr.
Roosevelt was hanging slightly askew.

But Johnnie did not set straight the photograph of his hero, or stoop to
pick anything up. He could think of just one thing: she was gone!

And she would never come back--never, never, never, never! He began to
repeat the word, as he and Cis had been wont to repeat words, trying
hard to realize the whole of their meaning: "Never! never! never!
never." And once more there came over him that curious lost feeling that
he had suffered after Aunt Sophie was gone in the clanging ambulance.
Once more, too, he grew rebellious. "Oh, why does ev'rything have t' go
'n' bust up!" he questioned brokenly, voicing again the eternal protest
of youth against an unexpected, pain-dealing shift in Life's program.

That time he had run away, she had promised that she would never leave
_him_!--had said it with many nevers. "And she ain't ever before stayed
out in the evenin' like this," he told himself. No, not in all the years
he had been at the Barber flat.

However, he felt no resentment toward her for going. How could he? Now
that she was