“Well, whatever we do in that line, we’ll have to do right away,” remarked Joe. “To-morrow’s the last day we’ll be in Boston, and I’d like to fix up the matter at once. Anderson we know is there and Fleming probably will be, too.”
“I wish we’d known of this earlier,” remarked Jim. “Of course all the official departments are closed by this time.”
“Yes,” said Joe, “but I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll ask Belden here at the desk to look up the matter for us the first thing to-morrow morning. He can find out the number and call me up on the long distance ’phone to Boston. We ought to know all about it as early as ten o’clock.”
“The very thing,” said Jim.
Joe went over to the hotel desk, where Belden, the night clerk, had just come on duty. He was a warm admirer of Baseball Joe, and, like everybody in New York just then, was happy to do anything he could for the famous pitcher of the Giants.
“Mr. Belden,” Joe began, “I want to ask a favor of you.”
“Only too glad, Mr. Matson,” replied the clerk, his face wreathed in smiles. “What is it?”
“I’d like you to call up the city office of the State Registry Bureau, Broadway and Seventy-fourth Street, early in the morning,” said Joe, “and find out the number of the car owned by a Mr. Beckworth Fleming. Then I’d like to have you call me up on the long distance ’phone, of course at my expense, and let me know what it is. If you’ll do this for me I’ll be greatly obliged.”
The clerk made a note of the name and also of the hotel where Joe would stay in Boston.