“Good!” he cries in a burst of joy, holding her closer. “Good! Now I shall have something to dream of and return to.” It is a raw, flawy February day when Commodore Paul Jones lands in Philadelphia. Arthur Lee, with his poisonous mendacities, has preceded him. He is called before the Marine Committee, to reply to a list of questions, that in miserable effect amount to charges. Anger eating his heart like fire, he answers the questions, and is then voted a resolution of thanks and confidence. Knowing no other way, he seeks a quarrel with Arthur Lee, the fiery, faithful Cadwalader at his elbow. Mad Anthony Wayne, acting for him, meets Arthur Lee informally. The latter does not like the outlook. “Who is he?” exclaims Arthur Lee, inventing a defensive sneer. “Either the son of a Scotch peasant or worse, and a man who has changed his name. By what right does such a person demand satisfaction of a gentleman!” “Permit me to suggest,” returns Mad Anthony, beginning to bristle, “that I shall regard a refusal to fight, based on the ground you state, as a personal affront to myself. More; let me tell you, sir, that he who shall seek to bar Paul Jones from his plain rights, on an argument aimed at his gentility, will get nothing by his pains but the name of coward.” “You think so!” responds Arthur Lee, his sneer somewhat in eclipse at the stark directness of Mad Anthony. “I know so, sir. When you speak of Paul Jones, you speak of the conqueror of the _Drake_ and the _Serapis_. Also, when you deal with me, you deal with one who is the equal of any Lee of your family, sir.” Mad Anthony blows through his warlike nose ferociously, and Arthur Lee is silent. Meanwhile, the excellent Cadwalader, ever painstaking in matters of bloodshed, prepares a challenge, which he intends shall be a model for succeeding ages, when studying the literature of the duello. It is at this pinch that the peace-loving Morris, helpless and a bit desperate, brings the weight of General Washington to bear upon the combative one. The “Father of his Country” succeeds where Mr. Morris has failed, and silences all talk of a duel. As a reward for that gentleman’s eleventh-hour docility, he prevails upon Congress to give Commodore Paul Jones command of the half-built _America_, in accord with the request of Doctor Franklin, already in its dilatory hands.