Becoming a Founding "Father"- Historical Hamilton

Chapter Nine: Hercules Mulligan

Hamilton was a tory once.

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"So you're telling me that you got into a rich university and you smooth-talked the principal into letting you do the whole course by yourself?"

"He has granted me permission to individually study, if that is what you had inquired," Alexander answered, shrugging off the fact that the principal let him do basically whatever he wants- well, at least in my eyes, that's what happened.

"How in the fuck did you-"

"Watch your mouth, Solomon, we're in public," Alexander hissed at me.

"You can't tell me what to do," I retaliate, but I quiet my voice. "How the fuck did you do that?"

He sighs, clearly tired of my language. "The principal of Elizabethtown had written a recommendation letter. I do not aim to brag, but I excel in all of my studies. The principal was fond of me because of my work ethic."

'I probably shouldn't brag, but dang, I amaze and astonish.'

"What a shock- Alexander Hamilton is good at his studies," I mutter to myself sarcastically, knowing that Hamilton was told to have an excessive workload- at least in the musical.

"Pardon?"

"What a shock that you- who sits all day surrounded by books and ink- are good at your studies," I rephrase after a second. "I mean, look, your hands are going to be permanently stained by ink if you continue like this!"

Alexander snorts. "Ridiculous. It's not that bad, my friend, 'tis simply what you need to do to graduate an elite school as such. You shall see for yourself eventually. Oh, god bless, I can finally see the tailor's shop! I must introduce you to Mulligan!"

Oh yeah, him. From what Alexander told me, this Mulligan man is a friendly personality that met Alexander through conversation of King's College. He also seems to be an immigrant- apparently, he's Irish. He's a brother of a tailor, so he often visits the shop that we're entering.

"Welcome, welcome, come in!" A middle-aged man comes up to the counter, a polite smile on his face. His hands look very rough- not something I'd expect from a tailor- and he had a strange accent. "What can I help you with, gentlemen?"

"We're looking for Hugh Mulligan, sir," Alexander smiles back, holding his hands behind his back. The man's eyes widen in recognition, and he shouts out into the workshop "Cato, would you fetch my brother, please?"

"On it, Hercules!" Someone shouted back, followed by clattering. Alexander raises his brow at the name.

"Hercules Mulligan, sir?"

"Aye, that's me. Is there something wrong?" He asks, and Alexander shakes his head.

"No, sir. I have met your brother, and he has told of your ventures at King's College." King's College? What would a tailor be doing in King's College?

"I hope 'tis of nothing embarrassing."

"Oh, heavens, no!" And so the polite talk continues, and I look around the shop. There are clothes and materials scattered around the store, making it look more chaotic than any other shop I've been. I browse through the various materials, some being smoother than others.

When I'm looking through various pieces of cloth, a piece of parchment falls onto the ground, thudding right next to my feet. Curious, I pick it up, noticing the fancy handwriting all around the parchment. But unlike Alexander's, it's a bit messy- as if it was rushed.

And that's when I notice the 'To fellow Sons of Liberty' written on top. Huh, are these the guys who built the Statue of Liberty? I quickly read through the letter, skimming through as quick as I can. They seem to be American, but I don't know what a 'Philadelphia' is. The person in this letter writes about some kind of secret operation and about the British- well, more like talking about how British can fuck off to where they came from-