Percy Begay (me), and Chauncey Love (Ptomaine Joe). Laugh that off!
Well, speakin' of anchovies, at first peep Hermit Inn seemed to be the last word in what Kid Roberts called "isolation." Outside of the bewhiskered old gil which run the joint and a set of bell hops which looked like they was playin' hooky from a movie comedy, the place was as deserted as the top of Mt. Everest. We got a nice suite, the eats wasn't hard to take, the crisp mountain air put us all in the caperin' stage, and Kid Roberts was tickled silly with the whole layout. In fact, we was seriously considerin' castin' off our disguises and bein' ourselves as long as there was nobody around to kid, when—clunk! The amusement commenced!
We're sittin' at ease in the lonesome lobby one mornin' talkin' about this and speakin' about that, when a stagecoach dashes up to the inn. We had no fault to find with that part of it, but when a loudly chatterin' mob of people poured out of the coach and bounded into our boardin' house it was different! Old Father Time, our jovial host, and the trick attendants rushes out and fusses all over 'em. Caught in the jam, we're introduced to the noisy newcomers by them phony labels we registered under and they're introduced to us as a championship college football team, a flock of male and female students and their lovin' parents.
Well, we tried to duck, but it was like tryin' to duck your landlord. The handsome Kid's get-away was blocked by a flirtin'ly inclined young flapper which could of blocked most of Napoleon's plans, as he would
