He was rather unsteady on
his legs, but exceedingly eloquent on the question of Jefferson's
embargo act. He thought it an outrage designed to foster the unfortunate
estrangement between the mother country and America. He, as a
Federalist, had opposed Jefferson and Jeffersonianism.

How much longer his harangue might have lasted, no one could have told,
but the captain was warned that the hour for the ball was drawing near,
and he gently insinuated that the speech be deferred for an after-dinner
talk. Just as the captain's guests were on the point of retiring, Lord
Kildee, by a gentle hint, suggested that if he had an invitation he
would be glad to meet them at the ball. Of course so noted a person as
Lord Kildee could not be neglected, and, as one of the invitation
committee was present, he issued a ticket at once. 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.

"Divil a question need ye be askin'; put on the uniform; it will fit ye
to an exactness."

In vain Fernando expostulated; his friend forced him into compliance,
and, almost before he knew it, he was encase