"What's the good of that?" broke in its owner. "You can't snap-shot the wind, at least not that I've ever seen."
"That's right," agreed Anton, "you could photograph the clouds, Pete. Suppose you took a snap-shot of the sky every day, at the same time, for a year, it would make a peach of a series."
"The Bureau at Washington would be glad of a series like that," put in the Forecaster. "So far as that's concerned, Pete, I'd buy a daily print for my own use. I couldn't pay much, of course, but enough to meet the cost of materials."
Pete brightened up.
"I'll do that, quicker'n a wink," he said. "I've snapshotted about everything else around here, but I never thought of the sky."
"You could tackle eclipses and halos and rainbows and lightning—all sorts of things," suggested Anton.
"Right-o!" answered Pete, "you can put me down as official photographer."
"I don't see," said one of the smaller lads, "where that rain-gauge is so hard to make. I'll make one and put it up at my place."
"Dad's got an old barometer," suggested another, "that he used to have when he was a steamboat skipper. I'm sure he'd let me have it. It's in the attic now, where nobody looks at it."