1
Hancock stared ahead of him, his mouth slightly hanging open. Every few minutes, he picked up his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration that had formed on the back of his neck. He lazily swiveled in his chair and cocked his head to see the calendar hanging to the right of his desk.
"May 13th," he thought. "And it's already boiling in here." He gazed about the room, his eyes jumping from one congressman to the next. What he wanted to know is how such a diverse set of human beings all managed to become part of the same congress. None of them really had anything in common. There was Edward Rutledge, who hardly ever expressed his opinion about anything without strutting about the room, showing off his rich, dandified façade. And then there was Stephen Hopkins. Hancock did not even know how to describe this fellow.
"Mr. President!" Rutledge drawled, as always, lifting himself out of his chair, strutting towards the front of the room.
"Yes, Mr. Rutledge? What is it?" Hancock asked, trying to appear friendly.
"It's really not all that important… But as long as I have your attention… My fellow congressmen from the Deep South and I would like to make a suggestion to all members of this congress, concernin'…personal appearance." Hancock furrowed his eyebrows and gestured for Mr. Rutledge to elaborate. "We wouldn't want to offend any particular person. That would certainly be in bad taste. It's just that as of late, it has become clearer than usual to all of us that with this heat, certain congressmen have not exactly put forth the effort to appear fresh and tidy. Again, it's not really that important. We just think that perhaps if our fellow congressmen might bother to freshen up every once in a while, we might be motivated to converse with them on a more regular basis."
"Oh good god!" Adams burst out. "Hancock, are you really going to let this peacock waste our time with his dribble about personal appearances? There's work to be done!"
"Mr. Adams," Rutledge began, his face gleaming with an artificial smile. "I am merely speakin' on behalf of all my southern brothers. There's no need to be aggressive towards me personally."
"Oh like we don't all know who you're talking to, Neddy!" Hopkins croaked. "I may not spend hours getting dressed up or picking out hair ties, but at least I'm here. And as long as I'm stuck listening to your 'dribble' as Johnny calls it, someone better go and fetch me a rum…fast!" Hopkins looked towards McNair who thrust his arms into the air angrily and hobbled towards the door.
"I agree with Mr. Rutledge," John Dickinson declared, rubbing his fingers up and down his shiny black cane. "Appearances are rather discouraging. What could possibly be more of an eyesore than a stubby little man in a brown suit?" Adams whipped his head towards Dickinson, too insulted to speak. But to no one's surprise, he soon was able to think of something cutting to say.
"Yes, Mr. Dickinson. I suppose if you had it your way, we would all spend more time picking out our evening frocks than the women!" The room began to roar with laughter.
"Are you suggesting that I'm a… fop?!" Dickinson furiously demanded.
"I prefer the term 'fribble', personally."
Dickinson rose from his chair. "I am NOT a fribble!"
Adams grinned, proud of the fact that he was finally the one to ruffle Dickinson's feathers, rather than it being the other way around. "Mr. Dickinson… What color would you call that coat that you're wearing? Green?"
"Certainly not! It's a dark variation of Chartreuse! And-" But Dickinson stopped, realizing that it was pointless to explain anything to the fashion ignoramuses of New England, who at the present time were all mocking him and laughing.
"Gentlemen, please!" Hancock exploded. "Can't we just go a day without one of you picking a fight with the other?" No one replied. Eventually, Rodger Sherman decided to be the brave one.
"Uhhh… Mr. President… We want to say we could… but we all like you too much to lie directly to you."
"I swear! If it's not over the lack of congressional fashion, it's about declaring our independence from Great Britain!" Adams suddenly got a glimmer in his eye and Hancock knew that he had DEFINITELY said the wrong thing. "Wait, John-"
"I say VOTE YES!"
"NO!" congress screamed in unison.
"VOTE YES!"
"NO!"
"VOTE FOR-" before Adams could finish his whining, he was suddenly struck in the back of the head with a cane.
"That's for the wisecrack about my coat!" Dickinson said, smoothening his ruffled cravat. Adams did not pass out, but sat on the floor for a few seconds, rubbing his skull. He examined his hand, which was now covered in blood.
"You- you-" he stuttered. "You gave me a head wound!" Dickinson laughed maniacally. But he didn't laugh for long. In retaliation, Adams took his foot and kicked Dickinson in the shin, knocking him off his balance and onto the floor. He cared little about the actual blow, but when he realized that Adams had left a large black scuff mark on his crisp silk stocking, it was more than he could handle. What originally started as a pathetic cat fight between the two of them suddenly turned into an all out brawl. A crowd quickly gathered around them. Some men were cheering on Dickinson… well… actually most men were cheering on Dickinson. But Franklin was right there by Adams' side as well, telling him to make sure to cover his wounds with raw meat as soon as he got home. The only people left in their seats were Thomas Jefferson, whose mind was too far out into space to even notice the wrestling match, Charles Thomson, who was far too indifferent to care who won the wrestling match, and of course John Hancock, whose blood was beginning to boil, and it wasn't because of the summer heat.
"SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!" he exploded. As quickly as the fight had started, it mellowed down. Everyone froze and stared up at Hancock. "Go back to your seats!" They all did as they were told without question. Each full grown man began to tremble. Hancock had never gone off on them before. Finally, as soon as his face lightened from a dark shade of purple (or violet, as Dickinson would describe it), he managed to stand up. "Listen up, every single one of you." His voice was shaking with fury. But he was trying to be calm. "I have had enough of your bickering, your whining, and the constant negativity reeking from each man in this congress. If you want to have a fight, so be it! But do it on your own time! I didn't come all the way to Philadelphia to take care of a room full of poorly behaved children!" He snatched his coat from his chair and galloped towards the door. "Mark my word gentlemen, by the end of the week, I WILL have a solution to this problem. And if it means sending every single one of you home, don't think I won't!" At that, he departed, slamming the door behind him.
"Wow," Richard Henry Lee exclaimed. "Hey Johnny… Do you think he's angry?"
Adams rolled his eyes. "What would give you that impression, Richard?"
"I don't know. It was just a crazy thought, I guess."
"What can we do to make him like us again?" Sherman asked worriedly.
"I know! Let's bake him a cake!" Lee suggested. After a brief shining moment, he looked around to see everyone glaring at him. "What? We could write 'Get Happy Soon' on the top of it with little pebbles!"
"You don't put pebbles on a cake, you idiot! He'd eat one and choke to death!" And from there, Adams and Lee continued with the most mindless debate over whether or not it would be a good idea to put pebbles on top of a 'Get Happy Soon Cake'. The argument most likely would have lasted much longer if it were not for Ben Franklin.
"John, settle down. If Richard wants to make a pebble cake, just go along with it." Adams glared at Richard, who was gleaming with pride. "Apparently the two of you didn't hear a word Hancock just said. He wants us to be mature, friendly individuals with each other… at least when we're around him. Now let's just forget about this evening and come in tomorrow bright and cheery as if nothing had happened." Each man nodded his head in agreement.
As they left congress, Adams quickly caught up with Franklin. "Do you really think he will forgive us?"
"Mmmm… It's hard to say, John. Hancock in a pretty sensible fellow. I'm sure he won't really send you home. But something tells me he has plans for us… and I'm not entirely sure what they are." Adams winced. He was not sure if he wanted to know what mysterious plans Hancock had lurking in the shadows, but Adams knew that, no matter what they were, they would NOT be to his approval.