"He"s right smart, Sam," said the farmer. "He"s got a way of sayin"
things that"s clear. We boys can foller him. But Steve Douglas, he only mixes you up."
His companion guffawed.
"Because why?" he shouted. "Because you ain"t had no education: What does a rail-sputter like Abe know about this government? Judge Douglas has worked it all out. He"s smart. Let the territories take care of themselves. Besides, Abe ain"t got no dignity. The fust of this week I seen him side-tracked down the road here in a caboose, while Doug went by in a special."
"Abe is a plain man, Sam," the farmer answered solemnly. "But you watch out for him."
It was ten o"clock when Stephen descended at his destination. Merciful night hid from his view the forlorn station and the ragged town. The baggage man told him that Mr. Lincoln was at the tavern.
That tavern! Will words describe the impression it made on a certain young man from Boston! It was long and low and ramshackly and hot that night as the inside of a brick-kiln. As he drew near it on the single plant walk over the black prairie-mud, he saw countrymen and politicians swarming its narrow porch and narrower hall. Discussions in all keys were in progress, and it, was with vast difficulty that our distracted young man pushed through and found the landlord, This personage was the coolest of the lot. Confusion was but food for his smiles, importunity but increased his suavity. And of the seeming hundreds that pressed him, he knew and utilized the Christian name of all. From behind a corner of the bar he held them all at bay, and sent them to quarters like the old campaigner he was.
"Now, Ben, tain"t no use gettin" mad. You, and Josh way, an" Will, an"
Sam, an" the Cap"n, an" the four Beaver brothers, will all sleep in number ten. What"s that, Franklin? No, sirree, the Honerable Abe, and Mister Hill, and Jedge Oglesby is sleepin" in seven." The smell of perspiration was stifling as Stephen pushed up to the master of the situation. "What"s that? Supper, young man? Ain"t you had no supper?
Gosh, I reckon if you can fight your way to the dinin" room, the gals"ll give you some pork and a cup of coffee."
After a preliminary scuffle with a drunken countryman in mud-caked boots, Mr. Brice presently reached the long table in the dining-room.
A sense of humor not quite extinct made him smile as he devoured pork chops and greasy potatoes and heavy apple pie. As he was finishing the pie, he became aware of the tavern keeper standing over him.
"Are you one of them flip Chicagy reporters?" asked that worthy, with a suspicious eye on Stephen"s clothes.
Our friend denied this.
"You didn"t talk jest like "em. Guess you"ll be here, tonight--"
"Yes," said Stephen, wearily. And he added, outs of force of habit, "Can you give me a room?"
"I reckon," was the cheerful reply. "Number ten, There ain"t n.o.body in there but Ben Billings, and the four Beaver brothers, an" three more.
I"ll have a shake-down for ye next the north window."
Stephen"s thanks for the hospitality perhaps lacked heartiness. But perceiving his host still contemplating him, he was emboldened to say:
"Has Mr. Lincoln gone to bed?"
"Who? Old Abe, at half-past ten? Wal I reckon you don"t know him."
Stephen"s reflections here on the dignity of the Senatorial candidate of the Republican Party in Illinois were novel, at any rate. He thought of certain senators he had seen in Ma.s.sachusetts.
"The only reason he ain"t down here swappin" yarns with the boys, is because he"s havin" some sort of confab with the Jedge and Joe Medill of the "Chicagy Press" and "Tribune"."
"Do you think he would see me?" asked Stephen, eagerly. He was emboldened by the apparent lack of ceremony of the candidate. The landlord looked at him in some surprise.
"Wal, I reckon. Jest go up an" knock at the door number seven, and say Tom Wright sent ye."
"How shall I know Mr. Lincoln?" asked Stephen.
"Pick out the ugliest man in the room. There ain"t n.o.body I kin think of uglier than Abe."
Bearing in mind this succinct description of the candidate, Stephen climbed the rickety stairs to the low second story. All the bedroom doors were flung open except one, on which the number 7 was inscribed.
From within came bursts of uproarious laughter, and a summons to enter.
He pushed open the door, and as soon as his eyes became, accustomed to the tobacco smoke, he surveyed the room. There was a bowl on the floor, the chair where it belonged being occupied. There was a very inhospitable looking bed, two shake-downs, and four Windsor chairs in more or less state of dilapidation--all occupied likewise. A country gla.s.s lamp was balanced on a rough shelf, and under it a young man sat absorbed in making notes, and apparently oblivious to the noise around him. Every gentleman in the room was collarless, coatless, tieless, and vestless. Some were engaged in fighting gnats and June bugs, while others battled with mosquitoes--all save the young man who wrote, he being wholly indifferent.
Stephen picked out the homeliest man in the room. There was no mistaking him. And, instead of a discussion of the campaign with the other gentlemen, Mr. Lincoln was defending what do you think? Mr. Lincoln was defending an occasional and judicious use of swear words.
"Judge," said he, "you do an almighty lot of cussing in your speeches, and perhaps it ain"t a bad way to keep things stirred up."
"Well," said the Judge, "a fellow will rip out something once in a while before he has time to shut it off."
Mr. Lincoln pa.s.sed his fingers through his tousled hair. His thick lower lip crept over in front of the upper one, A gleam stirred in the deep-set gray eyes.
"Boys," he asked, "did I ever tell you about Sam"l, the old Quaker"s apprentice?"
There was a chorus of "No"s" and "Go ahead, Abe?" The young man who was writing dropped his pencil. As for Stephen, this long, uncouth man of the plains was beginning to puzzle him. The face, with its crude features and deep furrows, relaxed into intense soberness. And Mr. Lincoln began his story with a slow earnestness that was truly startling, considering the subject.
"This apprentice, Judge, was just such an incurable as you." (Laughter.) "And Sam"l, when he wanted to, could get out as many cusses in a second as his anvil shot sparks. And the old man used to wrastle with him nights and speak about punishment, and pray for him in meeting. But it didn"t do any good. When anything went wrong, Sam"l had an appropriate word for the occasion. One day the old man got an inspiration when he was scratching around in the dirt for an odd-sized iron.
""Sam"l," says he, "I want thee."
"Sam"l went, and found the old man standing over a big rat hole, where the rats came out to feed on the sc.r.a.ps.
""Sam"l," says he, "fetch the tongs."
"Sam"l fetched the tongs.
""Now, Sam"l," says the old man, "thou wilt sit here until thou hast a rat. Never mind thy dinner. And when thou hast him, if I hear thee swear, thou wilt sit here until thou hast another. Dost thou mind?""
Here Mr. Lincoln seized two cotton umbrellas, rasped his chair over the bare boor into a corner of the room, and sat hunched over an imaginary rat hole, for all the world like a gawky Quaker apprentice. And this was a candidate for the Senate of the United States, who on the morrow was to meet in debate the renowned and polished Douglas!
"Well," Mr. Lincoln continued, "that was on a Monday, I reckon, and the boys a-shouting to have their horses shod. Maybe you think they didn"t have some fun with Sam"l. But Sam"l sat there, and sat there, and sat there, and after a while the old man pulled out his dinner-pail. Sam"l never opened his mouth. First thing you know, snip went the tongs." Mr.
Lincoln turned gravely around. "What do you reckon Sam"l said, Judge?"
The Judge, at random, summoned up a good one, to the delight of the audience.
"Judge," said Mr. Lincoln, with solemnity, "I reckon that"s what you"d have said. Sam"l never said a word, and the old man kept on eating his dinner. One o"clock came, and the folks began to drop in again, but Sam"l, he sat there. "Long towards night the boys collected "round the door. They were getting kind of interested. Sam"l, he never looked up."
Here Mr. Lincoln bent forward a little, and his voice fell to a loud, drawling whisper. "First thing you know, here come the whiskers peeping up, then the pink eyes a--blinking at the forge, then--!"
"Suddenly he brought the umbrellas together with whack.
""By G.o.d," yells Sam"l, "I have thee at last!""
Amid the shouts, Mr. Lincoln stood up, his long body swaying to and fro as he lifted high the improvised tongs. They heard a terrified squeal, and there was the rat squirming and wriggling,--it seemed before their very eyes. And Stephen forgot the country tavern, the country politician, and was transported straightway into the Quaker"s smithy.
CHAPTER III. IN WHICH STEPHEN LEARNS SOMETHING