“What’s Among the Clouds?” the boys asked.
He picked up a small eight page newspaper. “Printed at the base every day,” he said. “It was printed on top here, till the hotel burned. All the arrivals at the summit are put in daily.”
“You write the story, Rob,” cried Art. “When will it be printed?”
“Make it short, and I can telephone it down for to-morrow,” the man said.
“Fine! We’ll all take two copies,” said Peanut. “Save ’em for us. We’ll be around here for two or three days. Hooray, we’re going to be in the paper!”
“You might all register over there while the story is being written,” said the proprietor.
Rob took a pencil and piece of paper and sat down by the stove to write, while the rest walked over to the register. There were very few entries for that day, as you can guess. The top of the page (the day before) showed, however, the names of two automobile parties, who had written, in large letters under their names, the make of the cars they had come up the mountain in.
“Gee, how silly,” said Art.
“Wait,” said Peanut, his eyes twinkling, “till I register.”
He wrote his name last, and under it he printed, in big, heavy letters: