Crossing at Forty-third Street, she turned again north on the sidewalk in front of a building given over almost entirely to the offices of theatrical businesses: a sidewalk darkened the year round with groups of actors sociably "resting." One of these groups, as Joan drew near, broke up on the urgent suggestion of a special policeman detailed for the purpose; and a member of it, swinging with a laugh to "move on," stopped short to escape collision with the girl. Then he laughed again in the friendliest fashion, and offered his hand. She looked up into the face of Charlie Quard. "Well!" he cried heartily, "I always was a lucky guy! I've been thinking about you all day--wondering what'd become of you." Joan smiled and shook hands. "I guess it wasn't worrying you much," she retorted. "If you'd wanted to, you knew where to find me." Quard needed no more encouragement. Promptly ranging alongside and falling into step: "That's just it," he argued; "I knew where to _start_ looking for you, all right, but I was kinda afraid you might be in when I called, and didn't know whether you'd snap my head off or not." "That's likely," the girl countered amiably. There was a distinctly agreeable sensation to be derived from this association with one upon whom she could impose her private estimate of herself. "What made you want to see me all of a sudden?" "Then you ain't sore on me?" "What for?" she evaded transparently. "Oh, you know what for, all right. I'm sore enough on myself not to want to talk about it." "Well," said Joan indifferently, "I guess it's none of my business if you're such a rummy you can't hold onto a job. Only, of course, I don't have to stand for that sort of foolishness more than once." "You said something then, all right," Quard approved humbly. "I can't blame you for feeling that way about it. But le' me tell you an honest fact: I ain't touched a drop of anything stronger'n buttermilk since that night--so help me Klaw and Erlanger!" "Why?" "Well, I guess I must've took a tumble to myself. Anyhow, when I got over the katzenjammer thing, I thought it all out and made up my mind it was up to me to behave for the balance of my sentence." "Is that so?" Joan asked, pausing definitely on the corner at Forty-fifth Street. "I know I can," Quard asserted convincingly. "Believe me, Joan, I hate the stuff! I'd as lief stake myself to a slug of sulphuric. No, on the level: I'm booked for the water-tank route for the rest of my natural." "I'm awful glad," observed the girl maliciously. "It's so nice for your mother. Well ... g'dafternoon!" "Hold on!" Quard protested. "I'll walk down to the house with you." "No, you won't," she returned promptly. "Why not?" "I don't want you to." "Oh, you don't!" he murmured blankly, pulling down the corners of his wide, expressive mouth. "_So_ sorry," she parroted. "G'dafternoon."