"Any Bass, Hawbury?" was his only greeting, as he bent his head down, and ran his hand through his bushy hair. "Lachryma Christi?" asked Hawbury, in an interrogative tone. "No, thanks. That wine is a humbug. I'm beastly thirsty, and as dry as a cinder." Hawbury ordered the Bass, and Dacres soon was refreshing himself with copious draughts. The two friends presented a singular contrast. Lord Hawbury was tall and slim, with straight flaxen hair and flaxen whiskers, whose long, pendent points hung down to his shoulders. His thin face, somewhat pale, had an air of high refinement; and an ineradicable habit of lounging, together with a drawling intonation, gave him the appearance of being the laziest mortal alive. Dacres, on the other hand, was the very opposite of all this. He was as tall as Lord Hawbury, but was broad-shouldered and massive. He had a big head, a big mustache, and a thick beard. His hair was dark, and covered his head in dense, bushy curls. His voice was loud, his manner abrupt, and he always sat bolt upright. "Any thing up, Sconey?" asked Lord Hawbury, after a pause, during which he had been languidly gazing at his friend. "Well, no, nothing, except that I've been up Vesuvius." Lord Hawbury gave a long whistle. "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." Dacres put the cigar thoughtfully in his mouth, struck a light, and tried to light it, but couldn't. Then he bit the end off, which he had forgotten to do before. Then he gave three long, solemn, and portentous puffs. Then he took the cigar between his first and second fingers, and stretched his hand out toward Hawbury. "Hawbury, my boy," said he again. "All right." "You remember the time when I got that bullet in Uruguay?" "Yes." "Well, I had a shot to-day."