e're going to stop at your hotel."

The concierge's eyes wandered from the man to the three girls who had
entered and grouped themselves behind him. Then they fell upon the
driver of the carriage, who burst into a torrent of vociferous but
wholly unintelligible exclamations which Uncle John declared "must be an
excuse--and a mighty poor one--for talking."

The whiskered man, whose cap was elaborately embroidered in gold with
the words "Hotel du Vesuve," seemed to understand the driver. He sighed
drearily and said to Mr. Merrick:

"You must pay him thirty lira."

"How much is that?"

"Six dollars."

"Not by a jugfull!"

"You made no bargain."

"I couldn't. He can't talk."

"He claims it is you who cannot talk."

"What!"

"And prices are advanced during these awful days. What does it matter?
Your money will do you no good when we are all buried deep in ash and
scoria."

The big man shuddered at this gloomy picture, and added, listlessly:
"You'll have to pay."

Uncle John paid, but the driver wouldn't accept American money. The
disconsolate concierge would, though. He unlocked a drawer, put the six
dollars into one section and drew from another two ten-lira notes. The
driver took them, bowed respectfully to the whiskered man, shot a
broadside of invective Italian at the unconscious Americans, and left
the hotel.

"How about rooms?" asked Uncle John.

"Take any you please," answered the concierge. "All our guests are gone
but two--two mad Americans like yourselves. The servants are also gone;
the chef has gone; the elevator conductors are gone. If you stay you'll
have to walk up."

"Where have they all gone?" asked Uncle John, wonderingly.

"Fled, sir; fled to escape destruction. They remember Pompeii. Only
Signor Floriano, the proprietor, and myself are left. We stick to the
last. We are brave."

"So I see. Now, look here, my manly hero. It's possible we shall all
live through it; I'll bet you a thousand to ten that we do. And then
you'll be glad to realize you've pocketed a little more American money.
Come out of that box and show us some rooms, and I'll help to build up
your fortune."

The concierge obeyed. Even the horrors of the situation could not
eliminate from his carefully trained nature that desire to accumulate
which is the prime qualification of his profession. The Americans walked
up one flight and found spacious rooms on the first floor, of which they
immediately took possession.