The group hurried along the brick path and under the Rutgers-Newark archway to the flight of steps leading to the John Cotton Dana Library. Once inside, the group crammed into the elevator and Gabby pushed the button heading for the fourth floor and the Institute of Jazz Studies.
A soft bing announced their arrival and the door slid open. The Trackers stepped out from the elevator and as they entered through the glass door, their heads turned in every direction taking a quick look around the library.
“Impressive,” said Gabby and Simon agreed with a long whistle as they both stared at the long rows of shelf after shelf filled with files of folders.
“Should be,” said Mr. C. “There are over 100,000 sound recordings in here.”
“100,000?” said Cooper. He looked down and patted his stomach. “Looks like you’re not getting that hot dog any time soon, Pal.”
The group gathered around Mr. C as he approached the Information Desk.
“May I help you?” came a voice from behind a huge bouquet of daisies that was taking up a good portion of the top of the curved counter.
“Why, hello there—and yes,” said Mr. C to a well-dressed bow-tied gentleman who suddenly appeared as he sidestepped around the flowers. “We would like to do some research, if possible.”
“Certainly. What are you looking for?”
“Well . . . that’s the problem. We don’t exactly know.”
“That is a problem,” said the librarian with a raised brow, smoothing his index finger across the side of his thin mustache.
