"Terrence, I fear I will make an awkward figure in a ball room!" declared Fernando. "I am not accustomed to such things."
"A glass or two of champagne will do it for ye."
"But I never danced in my life."
"I'll teach ye mesilf, and, bedad, ye'll be as foine a terpechorian artist be the toime, as will be at the ball."
The last objection swept away, Fernando began secretly to take lessons in the waltz, cotillon and other dances of the day.
Whatever may be said against Terrence, one thing is quite certain, he was no bad dancing master, and Fernando was an apt pupil. Somehow, there was a spice of adventure in the escapade, which seemed to thrill Fernando with pleasure, and he entered into it with a zeal that was remarkable.
The English man-of-war in the harbor was the Xenophon, Captain Conkerall commander. The captain had some acquaintances and friends in Baltimore, and this event transpired before the war spirit became so strong that English officers dared not venture on shore. The captain and his officers were of course invited to the ball.
The day of the ball, the captain came ashore and was snugly quartered at the Baltimore House, getting ready for the affair.
The captain was in his room talking with some citizens of Baltimore and a congressman; a decanter and glasses were on a sideboard, and the captain's face was somewhat flushed, when there entered a neat, well-dressed young gentleman, whose language and features were slightly Hibernian.
"I beg pardon, gintlemen, but this is Captain Conkerall? Sure I make no mistake, for the very bearin' tells me he is a son of Neptune."