"That is the sentiment," he replied. "'ALL, ALL ARE
GONE, THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.' I have been here a
week, and the only living creature who seemed to
recollect me was the Pharaon. Bar the Sirons, of
course, and the perennial Bodmer."
"Is there no survivor?" I inquired.
"Of our geological epoch? not one," he replied. "This
is the city of Petra in Edom."
"And what sort of Bedouins encamp among the ruins?" I
asked.
"Youth, Dodd, youth; blooming, conscious youth," he
returned. "Such a gang, such reptiles! to think we
were like that! I wonder Siron didn't sweep us from his
premises."
"Perhaps we weren't so bad," I suggested.
"Don't let me depress you," said he. "We were both
Anglo-Saxons, anyway, and the only redeeming feature
to-day is another."
The thought of my quest, a moment driven out by this
rencounter, revived in my mind. "Who is he?" I cried.
"Tell me about him."
"What, the Redeeming Feature?" said he. "Well, he's a
very pleasing creature, rather dim, and dull, and
genteel, but really pleasing. He is very British,
though, the artless Briton! Perhaps you'll find him
too much so for the transatlantic nerves.
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