"I'll take care of the Judge," said Mr. Lincoln. "I'm not afraid of him." He drew forth from the inexhaustible hat a slip of paper, and began to write.
"There," said he, when he had finished, "a friend of mine is going to Springfield in the morning, and he'll send that to the Judge."
And this is what he had written:--
"I have borrowed Steve for a day or two, and guarantee to return him a good Republican. A. LINCOLN."
It is worth remarking that this was the first time Mr. Brice had been called "Steve" and had not resented it.
Stephen was embarrassed. He tried to thank Mr. Lincoln, but that gentleman's quizzical look cut him short. And the next remark made him gasp.
"Look here, Steve," said he, "you know a parlor from a drawing-room. What did you think of me when you saw me to-night?"
Stephen blushed furiously, and his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth.
"I'll tell you," said Mr. Lincoln, with his characteristic smile, "you thought that you wouldn't pick me out of a bunch of horses to race with the Senator."
CHAPTER IV. THE QUESTION
Many times since Abraham Lincoln has been called to that mansion which God has reserved for the patriots who have served Him also, Stephen Brice has thought of that steaming night in the low-ceiled room of the country tavern, reeking with the smell of coarse food and hot humanity. He remembers vividly how at first his gorge rose, and recalls how gradually there crept over him a forgetfulness of the squalidity and discomfort. Then came a space gray with puzzling wonder. Then the dawning of a worship for a very ugly man in a rumpled and ill-made coat.
You will perceive that there was hope for Stephen. On his shake-down that night, oblivious to the snores of his companions and the droning of the insects, he lay awake. And before his eyes was that strange, marked face, with its deep lines that blended both humor and sadness there. It was homely, and yet Stephen found himself reflecting that honesty was just as homely, and plain truth. And yet both were beautiful to those who had learned to love them. Just so this Mr. Lincoln.
He fell asleep wondering why Judge Whipple had sent him.
It was in accord with nature that reaction came with the morning. Such a morning, and such a place!
He was awakened, shivering, by the beat of rain on the roof, and stumbling over the prostrate forms of the four Beaver brothers, reached the window. Clouds filled the sky, and Joshway, whose pallet was under the sill, was in a blessed state of moisture.
No wonder some of his enthusiasm had trickled away!
He made his toilet in the wet under the pump outside; where he had to wait his turn. And he rather wished he were going back to St. Louis. He had an early breakfast of fried eggs and underdone bacon, and coffee which made him pine for Hester's. The dishes were neither too clean nor too plentiful, being doused in water as soon as ever they were out of use.
But after breakfast the sun came out, and a crowd collected around the tavern, although the air was chill and the muck deep in the street. Stephen caught glimpses of Mr. Lincoln towering above the knots of country politicians who surrounded him, and every once in a while a knot would double up with laughter. There was no sign that the senatorial aspirant took the situation seriously; that the coming struggle with his skilful antagonist was weighing him down in the least. Stephen held aloof from the groups, thinking that Mr. Lincoln had forgotten him. He decided to leave for St. Louis on the morning train, and was even pushing toward the tavern entrance with his bag in his hand, when he was met by Mr. Hill.
"I had about given you up, Mr. Brice," he said. "Mr. Lincoln asked me to get hold of you, and bring you to him alive or dead."
Accordingly Stephen was led to the station, where a long train of twelve cars was pulled up, covered with flags and bunting. On entering one of these, he perceived Mr. Lincoln sprawled (he could think of no other word to fit the attitude) on a seat next the window, and next him was Mr. Medill of the Press and Tribune. The seat just in front was reserved for Mr. Hill, who was to make any notes necessary. Mr. Lincoln looked up. His appearance was even less attractive than the night before, as he had on a dirty gray linen duster.
"I thought you'd got loose, Steve," he said, holding out his hand. "Glad to see you. Just you sit down there next to Bob, where I can talk to you."
Stephen sat down, diffident, for he knew that there were others in that train who would give ten years of their lives for that seat.
"I've taken a shine to this Bostonian, Joe," said Mr Lincoln to Mr. Medill. "We've got to catch 'em young to do anything with 'em, you know. Now, Steve, just give me a notion how politics are over in St. Louis. What do they think of our new Republican party? Too bran new for old St. Louis, eh?"
Stephen saw expostulation in Mr. Medill's eyes, and hesitated. And Mr. Lincoln seemed to feel Medill's objections, as by mental telepathy. But he said:-- "We'll come to that little matter later, Joe, when the cars start."
Naturally, Stephen began uneasily. But under the influence of that kindly eye he thawed, and forgot himself. He felt that this man was not one to feign an interest. The shouts of the people on the little platform interrupted the account, and the engine staggered off with its load.
"I reckon St. Louis is a nest of Southern Democrats," Mr. Lincoln remarked, "and not much opposition."
"There are quite a few Old Line Whigs, sir," ventured Stephen, smiling.
"Joe," said Mr. Lincoln, "did you ever hear Warfield's definition of an Old Line Whig?"
Mr. Medill had not.
"A man who takes his toddy regularly, and votes the Democratic ticket occasionally, and who wears ruffled shirts."
Both of these gentlemen laughed, and two more in the seat behind, who had an ear to the conversation.
"But, sir," said Stephen, seeing that he was expected to go on, "I think that the Republican party will gather a considerable strength there in another year or two. We have the material for powerful leaders in Mr. Blair and others" (Mr. Lincoln nodded at the name). "We are getting an ever increasing population from New England, mostly of young men who will take kindly to the new party." And then he added, thinking of his pilgrimage the Sunday before: "South St. Louis is a solid mass of Germans, who are all antislavery. But they are very foreign still, and have all their German institutions."
"The Turner Halls?" Mr. Lincoln surprised him by inquiring.
"Yes. And I believe that they drill there."
"Then they will the more easily be turned into soldiers if the time should come," said Mr. Lincoln. And he added quickly, "I pray that it may not."
Stephen had cause to remember that observation, and the acumen it showed, long afterward.
The train made several stops, and at each of them shoals of country people filled the aisles, and paused for a most familiar chat with the senatorial candidate. Many called him Abe. His appearance was the equal in roughness to theirs, his manner if anything was more democratic,--yet in spite of all this Stephen in them detected a deference which might almost be termed a homage. There were many women among them. Had our friend been older, he might have known that the presence of good women in a political crowd portends something. As it was, he was surprised. He was destined to be still more surprised that day.
When they had left behind them the shouts of the little down of Dixon, Mr. Lincoln took off his hat, and produced a crumpled