I don't believe you." "All right," returned the Senator; "when we get home you ask Bramley.

It was Bramley that put me on to it.

Whenever one of those Pompeii fellows dropped, the ashes kind of caked over him, and in the course of time there was a hole where he had been.

See?
And what you're looking at is just a collection of those holes filled up with composition and then dug out.

Mere holes!" "The illusion is dreadfully perfect," sighed momma.