I have gained some little knowledge. Often he flatters me by
seeking my counsel in difficult cases."

The office of the Doctor Baronet was on the first floor of a large
building in Gough Square, Fleet Street. A number of gentlemen sat in
comfortable chairs in a large waiting room.

"Sir John will see you in a moment, sir," an attendant said to Doctor
Franklin as they entered. The moment was a very long one.

"In London there are many people who disagree with the clock," Franklin
laughed. "In this office, even the moments have the gout. They limp
along with slow feet."

It was a gloomy room. The chairs, lounges and tables had a venerable
look like that of the men who came there with warped legs and old
mahogany faces. The red rugs and hangings suggested "the effect of old
port on the human countenance, being of a hue like unto that of many
cheeks and noses in the waiting company," as the young man wrote. The
door to the private room of the great physician creaked on its hinges
with a kind of groan when he came out accompanied by a limping patient.

"Wait here for a minute--a gout minute," said Franklin to his young
friend. "When Pringle dismisses me, I will present you."

Jack sat and waited while the room filled with ruddy, crotchety
gentlemen supported by canes or crutches--elderly, old and of middle
age. Among those of the latter class was a giant of a man, erect and
dignified, accompanied by a big blond youngster in a lieutenant's
uniform. He sat down and began to talk with another patient of the
troubles in America.

"I see the damned Yankees have thrown another cargo of tea overboard,"
said he in a tone of anger.

"This time it was in Cape Cod. We must give those Yahoos a lesson."

Jack surmised now that here was the aggressive Tory General of whom the
Doctor had spoken and that the young man was his son.

"I fear that it would be a costly business sending men to fight across
three thousand miles of sea," said the other.

"Bosh! There is not one Yankee in a hundred that has the courage of a
rabbit. With a thousand British grenadiers, I would undertake to go
from one end of America to another and amputate the heads of the males,
partly by force and partly by coaxing."

A laugh followed these insulting words. Jack Irons rose quickly and
approached the man who had uttered them. The young American was angry,
but he managed to say with good composure:

"I am an American, sir, and I demand