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.