It was not until several days later that I heard from Jerry how they had happened to meet. It seems that after leaving Ballard's apartment Jerry had gone home, attired himself in his old suit and made his way to meet Flynn, with whom he had an appointment to go down to Finnegan's saloon to attend to some final details of his match with Clancy. This business finished, the party came out upon the street, Jerry, Flynn, Finnegan (in his shirt sleeves) and Clancy's manager, Terry Riley. In the midst of a brogue of farewells Jerry fairly bumped into the girl. He took off his hat and apologized, finding himself looking with surprise straight into Una's face. She started back and would have gone on, but Jerry caught her by the arm.
"Yes, Jerry. Of course, but it seems so strange to see you--here--" She paused. "To see you down here--in the Bowery."
"It is, isn't it?" he stammered. "But I--I'll explain in a minute--if you'll let me walk with you."
She looked him over with a sober air, her gaze passing for a moment over his soft hat pulled down over the eyes, his rough clothing, the cigarette in his fingers (he hadn't really begun rigid training yet), and then shrugged.
"Of course, I can have no objection," she said coolly.
"I suppose you think it's very curious to see me down here at Finnegan's," Jerry repeated.
"I've been there on--er--a matter of business--with--with Flynn. He's my athletic instructor, you know. It's a sort of secret. I--I'm supposed to belong up town."
"Oh, _are_ you?" Still, I think, the cool, indifferent tone.
"You know I--I'm awfully glad to see you. I've been hunting for you ever since I came out of the--the asylum--you know."
It must have pleased her that Jerry should have remembered her phrase.
"Really!" her tone melting a little. "It's pleasant to be--remembered."
She turned and again searched him slowly with her gaze, smiling a little.
"And in that time," she said quizzically, "the Faun has learned the habit of saloons and cigarettes. You've progressed, haven't you?"
"Oh, I say, Una. That's not quite fair. I don't make a habit of saloons, and a cigarette once in a while doesn't hurt a fellow if his wind and heart are good."
"And _are_ your wind and heart good?" she asked with her puzzling smile.