“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.

“Send for our trunks,” 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 finances.”

When the concierge had retired the girls began to stuff newspapers into the cracks of the windows of their sitting room, where the fine ash was sifting in and forming little drifts several inches in thickness.  Also the atmosphere of the room was filled with impalpable 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 of war.  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 eruption of 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 reflectively.

“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 his perplexity.  “It is likewise true that many other eruptions have occurred, when little damage was done.”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” 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.”