Then the captain and
his lordship were left alone.
His lordship hinted that he had much to say to the captain in
confidence, having just come from the fleet of Vice Admiral Berkeley.
Over their wine, he informed the captain that he was on intimate terms
with the vice admiral and that the captain of the _Xenophon_ was down
for an early promotion. Captain Conkerall was delighted. He drank deep
to the health of Vice Admiral Berkeley, Lord Kildee and himself. By this
time, the captain was ready to drink to the health of anybody. The Lord
Kildee, strange to say, imbibed very little, and soon the captain was
insensible on the floor, while his lordship was as sober as a judge.
"Faith, it's a dacint bit of work," he said, eyeing the prostrate
captain. "Now to the rest of the plan."
Lord Kildee was none other than the rollicking Irish student Terrence
Malone. In a few moments, he had divested the captain of his coat,
trousers and vest, which, with his chapeau, he rolled up in a neat
bundle and hurried away to his friend Fernando Stevens. The hour was
late, and Fernando had almost given up going to the ball, when Terrence
bolted into his room, his cheeks aglow with excitement.
"Here, me lad, don the royal robes at once. Begorra, it's noblemen we
are goin' to be to-night!"
"What does this mean, Terrence?" Fernando asked, as Malone unrolled the
bundle containing the elegant uniform of a British officer.
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