The girl had disappeared. She had already talked to her mother at the foot of the mountain by the telephone which runs down the railroad trestle, and the wife of the proprietor of the Tip Top House had taken her up-stairs to put her to bed.
“It all depends on what winds Father Aeolus keeps chained, perhaps in the deep caverns of the Great Gulf, or which ones he lets loose to rattle the chains of the Tip Top House”
“I guess she’ll sleep all right to-night,” said the man with the bugle, who had entered with the boys.
“And she won’t tackle the Crawford Bridle Path with high heeled shoes on very soon again, either!” said Rob. “Are we going to sleep here, too, Mr. Rogers? I don’t believe we’ll want to sleep outside. The thermometer by that window is still down almost to freezing.”
The man with the bugle whispered to them, so the proprietor wouldn’t hear, “Don’t stay here. They’ll stick you for supper and put you in rooms where you can’t get any air. The windows are made into the roof, and don’t open. I got a horrible cold from sleeping here last year. Guess they never air the bedding. We are all down at the coach house. You may have to sleep on the floor, but the window will be open, and you can cook your own grub on the stove.”
“That’s us!” said Peanut. “Say, we want to get some sweet chocolate first, though, and some post-cards, don’t we?”
The Scouts all piled over to the long counter at one side of the room, and stocked up with sweet chocolate, and also wrote and mailed post-cards, to be sent down on the train the next day. The summit of Washington in summer is a regular United States post-office, and you can have mail delivered there, if you want.
“Be sure you don’t scare your families with lurid accounts of to-day!” Mr. Rogers cautioned them. “Better save that till you’re safe home.”
“Why don’t you write out a little account of your adventure for Among the Clouds?” said the proprietor. “You can have copies sent to your homes, if you leave before it comes out.”