“By whom?”
“You are asking me to break one of our rules.”
“Well, can you tell me whether it has been engaged since yesterday?”
“Oh, longer than that!” He disappeared, consulted a book, and came back with the triumphant expression human beings put on when they do not wish to say “I told you so,” aloud, “Engaged and paid for since the eighth, Mr. Merriwether. That's nine days ago. So, you see, we can't do what you ask us to. Sorry!”
Wherever he went, Tom thought he was confronted by crude attempts at mystery. To send him to this particular room, 77 on the seventh floor, was merely the same as an effort to impress children by using the magical number seven.
Who had engaged the room? Was it an accomplice or some stranger guiltless of participation in the rather juvenile joke?
Still, Tom was in Boston to do a particular thing; and, though much of the spring restlessness had gone from his veins, there remained the desire to see the affair through to the end, whether the end should be a smile or a mild oath. Therefore, after a pause, Tom said to the clerk:
“Can you give me the room exactly opposite 77 on the seventh floor?”
The clerk hesitated, then said:
“Just a minute, please.”