Dr. Franklin had just returned from court. He had been saying many pretty things to fair ladies, and had made his usual wise and witty remarks to ministers and to courtiers, and now he seated himself in his large arm-chair near the table, placed his big horn spectacles upon his nose, and drew toward him a pile of correspondence and some paper. Dipping his big quill into the inkstand, he paused a moment before he began to write. On his face suddenly came an expression of great pain. He pushed back his chair, and lifting his leg carefully kicked off the heavy buckled shoe and rested his foot on a cushion that lay on the floor. The good doctor was suffering a twinge from his old enemy, the gout. At last, when he was more comfortable, a smile of amusement lit up his features and he began scratching away quickly with the squeaky quill pen. It was not a letter of state importance or secret instructions that he was working on, for every now and then his smile widened or changed to one of quizzical amusement. He had abandoned himself to the whim of the moment, and when he had gone on for an hour or so he paused and began to read what he had inscribed aloud. It was an imaginary conversation between himself and his present bodily visitor and tormentor, whom he referred to politely as “Madam Gout.” He was defending himself against the accusations of the lady in question as he read. “I take--eh!--oh!--as much exercise--eh!” (here a twinge of pain seizes him) “as I can, Madam Gout. You know my sedentary state, and on that account it would seem, Madam Gout, as if you might spare me a little, seeing it is not altogether my own fault.” “Gout: Not a jot! Your rhetoric and your politeness are thrown away; your apology avails nothing. If your situation in life is a sedentary one, your amusements, your recreation, at least, should be active. You ought to walk or ride; or, if the weather prevents that, play at billiards. But----” He had got as far as this in his reading when a servant knocked on the door and softly entered. “A gentleman named Mr. Hodge to see you, sir,” he said. “He says it is of great importance.” Dr. Franklin’s smile faded and he pushed the paper from him. “Bid him enter at once,” he said, and an instant later Mr. Hodge followed the servant into the room. “Ah, good friend!” exclaimed Franklin. “You will pardon my rising, for my position explains itself; but I see by your face that you have something of import. Out with it and no beating about the bush. But I pray you to tell me no bad news unless that can’t be helped. Come now, what is it?” In a few words Mr. Hodge related the story of Conyngham’s adventures and the return with the packet. When he had finished, Franklin arose and, despite the fact that one foot was shoeless, limped heavily two or three times around the room. Then he at last replied: