1776 Page #8

was solved,

the sooner our problem

is solved.

That's good thinking, John.

Good thinking.

Madam, may I present myself?

John Adams.

Adams.

John Adams.

Oh, and Dr. Franklin.

The inventor of the stove.

Jefferson, kindly

present me to your wife.

She is your wife, isn't she?

Well, of course she is.

Look at the way they fit.

Come along, John, come along.

Franklin, where are you going?

Come along, John.

Come along where?

There's work to be done.

Obviously.

Good God. You don't

mean to say that...

I mean, they're not going to...

In the middle of the afternoon?

Not everybody's

from Boston, John.

Incredible.

Well, goodbye, John.

Uh... Uh...

Franklin?

Have you eaten?

Not yet, but...

I understand the turkey's

fresh at Bunch of Grapes.

Well, the fact is

I have a rendezvous, John.

I'd ask you along, but

talking makes her nervous.

Yes, of course.

Incredible.

Abigail?

I'm very lonely, Abigail.

Are you, John?

As long as you were

sending for wives,

why didn't you

send for your own?

Oh, now, don't be

unreasonable, Abigail.

Now I'm unreasonable.

You must add that to your list.

List?

The catalog of my faults you

included in your last letter.

Oh, they were fondly

intended, madam.

That I play at cards badly?

A compliment.

That my posture is crooked?

An endearment.

That I read,

write and think too much?

An irony.

That I'm pigeon-toed?

Well, now

there you have me, Abby.

I'm afraid you are

pigeon-toed.

Please. Come to Philadelphia.

Please come.

Oh, thank you, John.

I do want to, but you know

now it's not possible.

The children have the measles.

So you wrote.

Tom and little Abby.

Only now it's

Quincy and Charles.

And it appears the farm here

in Braintree is failing, John.

The chickens and the geese

have all died.

The apples never survived

the late frost.

How do you suppose

she managed to get away?

Well, the winters

are softer in Virginia.

And their women, John?

Fit for Virginians, madam,

but pale, puny things

beside New England girls.

John.

I thank you for that.

Abigail, how goes it with you?

Not well, John.

Not at all well.

I live like a nun in a cloister

Solitary, celibate I hate it

And you, John?

Ugh!

I live like a monk in an abbey

Ditto, ditto I hate it

Write to me

with sentimental effusion

Let me revel

in romantic illusion

Do you still smell of

vanilla and spring air?

And is my

favorite lover's pillow

Still firm and fair?

What was there, John

Still is there, John

Come soon as you can

to my cloister

I've forgotten

the feel of your hand

Soon, madam, we shall walk

in Cupid's grove together

And we'll fondly survey

And we'll fondly survey

That promised land

That promised land

Till then, till then

Till then, till then

I am as I ever was

I am as I ever was

And ever shall be

And ever shall be

Yours Yours

Saltpeter

John

John?

John!

Hmm?

What?

What are you doing down here?

I thought you'd be up there,

cracking the whip.

Oh, well, the shutters

are still closed.

My word! So they are.

Well, as the French say...

Oh, please, Franklin!

Spare me your bawdy mind

first thing in the morning.

Dare we call?

A congressman dares anything.

Go ahead.

Me?

Your voice is more piercing.

Oh, John, look at her.

Just look at her.

I am.

She's even more magnificent

than I remember.

Of course, we didn't see

much of her front last night.

Good morrow, madam.

Good morrow.

Is it the habit in

Philadelphia for strangers

to shout at ladies

from the street?

Not really, but...

And for men of your age it is not

only unseemly, it is unsightly.

Uh, excuse me, madam,

but we met last evening.

I spoke to no one last evening.

Indeed, you did not.

Nonetheless,

we did present ourselves.

This is Mr. John Adams.

I'm Dr. Benjamin Franklin.

The inventor of the stove.

Please! I know your names

very well, but...

Well, you said you presented

yourselves last night?

It's of no matter. Your thoughts

were well-taken elsewhere.

Oh.

My husband is not yet up.

Well, then shall we start over again?

Won't you join us?

Yes, of course.

Well, no wonder

the man couldn't write.

Who would think of

independence married to her?

I feel an absolute fool.

That's good for you, John.

I tell you, Franklin,

it's positively indecent.

John, they're young

and they're in love.

Not them, Franklin. Us.

Standing down here,

waiting for them to, uh...

Well, what will people think?

Don't worry, John. The history

books will clean it up.

Well, it doesn't matter.

I'll not appear in the history

books anyway. Only you.

Franklin did this

and Franklin did that,

and Franklin did

some other damned thing.

Franklin smote the ground

and out sprang

George Washington,

fully grown and on his horse.

Franklin then electrified him

with his miraculous lightning rod

then the three of them, Franklin,

Washington and the horse,

conducted the entire

revolution all by themselves.

I like it.

I beg your pardon, gentlemen.

It is indeed an honor to meet the

two greatest men in America.

Certainly the greatest

within earshot anyway.

I'm not an idle flatterer,

Dr. Franklin.

My husband

admires you both greatly.

Then we are doubly flattered,

for we admire very much that

what your husband admires.

Uh, did you sleep well, madam?

Hmm?

Huh!

Oh. Uh...

Well, I mean, did you lie...

Damn it, you know what I mean.

Yes, John, we know

what you mean.

Tell us about yourself.

We've heard precious little.

What's your first name? Martha.

Martha!

He might at least

have told us that.

Your husband

doesn't say very much.

Most silent man in Congress.

I have never heard him utter

three sentences together.

Not every man's a talker, John.

Yes, it's true, you know.

Tom is not a talker.

Oh, he never speaks his passions

He never speaks his views

Whereas other men speak volumes

The man I love is mute

In truth I can't recall

Being wooed with words

At all

Even now

Oh, don't stop, madam.

No. Tell us,

how did he win you?

And how does he hold on

to a bounty such as you?

Well, surely you've noticed that Tom

is a man of many accomplishments.

Of course.

Author, lawyer, statesman,

architect, farmer.

And still one more that

I hesitate to mention.

Don't hesitate, madam.

Don't hesitate.

No, tell us. What else can

that redheaded tombstone do?

He plays the violin

He tucks it right under his chin

And he bows

Oh, he bows

For he knows Yes, he knows

That it's

hi-hi-hi-diddle diddle

'Twixt my heart,

Tom and his fiddle

My strings are unstrung

Hi-hi-hi

Hi

I am undone

The violin, madam?

I hear his violin

And I get that feeling within

And I sigh Oh, I sigh

He draws near, very near

And it's

hi-hi-hi-diddle diddle

And goodbye to the fiddle

My strings are unstrung

Hi-hi-hi

Hi

I'm always undone

That settles it, John.

We're taking up the violin.

Very well, madam. You have us playing

the violin. What happens next?

Next, Mr. Adams?

Yes. What does

Tom do now?

Why, just what you'd expect.

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