Entering the spacious lobby，he found it deserted.In theof?ce a man was hastily making a package of some books and papers and did not respond or even look up when spoken to.Atthe concierge's desk a big，whiskered man sat staring straight ahead of him with a look of abjecta terror in his eyes.
"Good morning，"said Uncle John."Fine day，isn't it？""Did you hear it？"whispered the concierge，as a dull boom，like that of a distant cannon，made the windows rattle in their casements.
"Of course，"replied Mr.Merrick，carelessly."Old Vesuveseems on a rampageb.But never mind that now.We've just come from America，where the mountains are more polite，and we'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."T h e w h i s k e r e d m a n ，w h o s e c a p w a s e l a b o r a t e l yembroidered 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 jugful！""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 shuddereda at this gloomy picture，andadded，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 myselfare left.We stick to the last.We are brave.""So I see.Now，look here，my manly hero.It's possiblewe 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 quali?cation of his profession.The Americans walked up one ?ight and found spacious roomson the ?rst ?oor，of which they immediately took possession.
"Send for our trunksa，"said Mr.Merrick；and the man consented to do so provided he could secure a proper vehicle.
"You will be obliged to pay high for it，"he warned；"but that will not matter.To witness the destruction of our beautiful Naples is an unusual sight.It will be worth your money.""We'll settle that in the dim hereafter，"replied Uncle John.
"You get the trunks，and I'll take care of the ?nances."When the concierge had retired the girls began to stuff newspapers into the cracks of the windows of their sitting room，where the ?ne ash was sifting in and forming little drifts several inches in thickness.Also the atmosphere of the room was ?lled with impalpableb particles of dust，which rendered breathing oppressive and unpleasant.
Uncle John watched them for a time，and his brow clouded.
"See here，girls，"he exclaimed；"let's hold a council ofwar.Do you suppose we are in any real danger ？"They grouped around him with eager interest.
"It's something new to be in danger，and rather exciting，don't you think？"said Beth."But perhaps we're as safe as we would be at home.""Once，"said Louise，slowly，"there was a great eruptionof Vesuvius which destroyed the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii.Many of the inhabitants were buried alive.Perhaps they thought there was no real danger."Uncle John scratched his head re?ectively.
"I take it，"he observed，"that the moral of your story is to light out while we have the chance.""Not necessarily，"observed the girl，smiling at hisperplexity."It is likewise true that many other eruptions have occurred，when little damage was done.""Forewarned is forearmeda，"declared Patsy."Naples isn't buried more than six inches in ashes，as yet，and it will take days for them to reach to our windows，provided they're falling at the same rate they do now.I don't see any use of getting scared before to—morrow，anyhow.""It's a big hill，"said Uncle John，gravely，"and I've no right to take foolish chances with three girls on my hands.""I'm not frightened，Uncle John.""Nor I.""Nor I，the least bit.""Everyone has left the hotel but ourselves，"said he."How sorry they will be，afterward，"remarked Beth.He looked at them admiringly，and kissed each one.
"You stay in this room and don't move a pega till I get back，"he enjoined them；"I'm going out to look over the situation."
