He leaned back again, explored a pocket, brought to light a roll of
money, with shaking hands stripped off four bills. "Well, anyway,
there's your bit."
Taking the bills, she examined them carefully. "That's a whole week,"
she said, surprised.
"All right; it's coming to you."
With neither thanks nor further protest, she put the money away in her
pocket-book.
"You've acted like a brick to me," he continued.
"Don't let's talk about that now--"
"I don't want you should think I don't appreciate it. If it hadn't been
for you, I don't know when I'd've got home--chances are, not till
tomorrow night, anyway. The old woman'd've been half crazy."
Joan kept silence.
"My mother," he amended, with a sidelong glance. "There's only the two
of us."
"Well," said the girl rising, "if that's so, you'd better get home to
her; she won't be any too happy until she sees you--and not then."
Reluctantly he got to his feet. "She thinks I'm a great actor," he
observed bitterly; "and I'm nothing but a damn' drunken--"
Joan interrupted roughly: "Ah, can that bunk: it'll keep till
tomorrow--and maybe you'll mean it then."
He subsided into silence, whether offended or penitent she neither knew
nor cared. She gave him his hat, avoiding his look, and without further
speech they found their way out to the gate at One-hundred-and-third
Street. Here Joan paused to await an Eighth Avenue car.
"You'd better walk all the way home, even if you don't feel like it,"
she advised Quard brusquely. "It won't do you any harm, and that mop of
yours is a sight."
"All right," he assented. He moved tentatively a foot or so away,
checked, turned back. "I suppose this is good-bye--?" he said, offering
his hand.
"I guess it is," she agreed without emotion. Barely touching his clammy
and tremulous fingers, she hastily withdrew her own.
A southbound car was swinging down to them, not a block distant. Quard
eyed it with morose disfavour.
"At that," he said suddenly, "maybe this wouldn't've happened if you
hadn't been so stand-offish. I only wanted to be friends--"
In her exasperation Joan gave an excellent imitation of Miss May Dean's
favourite ejaculation. "My Gawd!" she said scornfully--"if you can't
think of any better excuse for being a souse than to blame it on me....
Good _night_!"
The car pulled up for her. She climbed aboard--left him staring.