"And how did you find the mountain?" he asked; "lively?"
"Rather so. In fact, infernally so," added Dacres, thoughtfully. "Look here, Hawbury, do you detect any smell of sulphur about me?"
"Sulphur! What in the name of—sulphur! Why, now that you mention it, I do notice something of a brimstone smell. Sulphur! Why, man, you're as strong as a lighted match. What have you been doing with yourself? Down inside, eh?"
Dacres made no answer for some time, but sat stroking his beard with his left hand, while his right held a cigar which he had just taken out of a box at his elbow. His eyes were fixed upon a point in the sky exactly half-way between Capri and Baiæ, and about ten degrees above the horizon.
"Hawbury," said he, solemnly, after about two minutes of portentous silence.
"Well, old man?"
"I've had an adventure."
"An adventure! Well, don't be bashful. Breathe forth the tale in this confiding ear."
"You see," said Dacres, "I started off this morning for a ride, and had no more intention of going to Vesuvius than to Jericho."
"I should hope not. What business has a fellow like you with Vesuvius—a fellow that has scaled Cotopaxi, and all that sort of thing? Not you."