“That will be all right,” said Tompkinson, and Harrish acquiesced with a nod of the head. “We’ll leave that absolutely to you. Suppose you meet us then at the Corona grill at eight o’clock. We’ll be waiting for you in the lobby.”
Joe assented and they departed, professing themselves delighted.
“I’d infinitely prefer a quiet evening at home,” Joe confided to Jim as he donned his evening suit later on. “But they’ve been pestering me so of late that I might as well go now and have it over with.”
“That’s one of the penalties of fame,” laughed Jim. “So long, old man, and don’t take any rubber dimes.”
The hotel was radiant with lights and filled with gay and laughing groups as Joe threaded his way through the lobby. Tompkinson and Harrish spied him at once and made their way toward him.
“So glad you’ve come,” said Tompkinson cordially as he led the way to the elevator which carried them up to a private dining room on the third floor.
He noted Joe’s look of surprise and hastened to explain.
“You see,” he said, “we thought it would be much more pleasant to have a cozy little room to ourselves. In the big dining room downstairs you wouldn’t be there five minutes before the word would be passed around that the famous Joe Matson was there and everybody would be passing our table to get a closer look.”
Joe knew by experience the truth of this and thought nothing more about it.
A beautifully set table was all ready and a soft-stepping and efficient attendant awaited their orders.