"Did you know Thomas Matson of his majesty's ship _Spit-Fire?"_ asked
the lieutenant.

"Tom Matson!" cried Fernando. "Indeed I did sir, and do still! and there
is not a man in the British navy I am prouder of knowing." Of course he
had never heard of Thomas Matson until this moment.

"You don't say, sir?" said the lieutenant in astonishment. "Has he any
chance of promotion, sir?"

"Promotion!" cried Fernando, in well-feigned astonishment. "Why, have
you not heard that he is already in command of a ship? You cannot
possibly have heard from him lately, or you would have known that!"

"That's true, sir; I have not heard from him since he quitted the _Black
Cloud_ in the South, I think they said for his health; but how did he
get the step?"

"Why, as to the promotion, that was remarkable enough," said Fernando,
quaffing off a tumbler of champagne to aid his inventive faculties; but
Fernando, despite his native shrewdness and wonderful inventive powers,
was liable to get into trouble. He knew as little about a ship as a
landlubber might be supposed to know, and his companion saw at once that
he would make a mess of the story, so he came to his rescue by informing
the assembly that a fine vocalist at the other end of the room was going
to sing, and asked that the story be deferred until after the song. They
all hurried away save Fernando, who, overcome by too deep potations,
sank upon a sofa temporarily unconscious.

He was roused from his stupor by his companion shaking him and saying: