George Curtin,
was a little shy of his guest and longed profoundly to see the last of
him. It was obvious that this alert lawyer regarded the Springfield folk
as mossbacks--which might be well enough for St. Louis and Chicago,
but was scarcely becoming in a man from Steubenville. Another kind of
visitor he might have taken to a chickenfight, but one glance at Stanton
barred that solution. So he compromised on Speed's store.

"There's one or two prominent citizens gathered there most nights," he
explained. "Like as not we'll find Mr. Lincoln. I reckon you've heard of
Abe Lincoln?"

Mr. Stanton had not. He denied the imputation as if he were annoyed.

"Well, we think a mighty lot of him round here. He's Judge Logan's
law partner and considered one of the brightest in Illinois. He's been
returned to the State Legislature two or three times, and he's a dandy
on the stump. A hot Whig and none the worse of that, though I reckon
them's not your politics.... We're kind of proud of him in Sangamon
county. No, not a native. Rode into the town one day five years back
from New Salem with all his belongings in a saddle-bag, and started
business next morning in Joe Speed's back room.... He's good company,
Abe, for you never heard a better man to tell a story. You'd die of
laughing. Though I did hear he was a sad man just now along of being
crossed in love, so I can't promise you he'll be up to his usual, if
he's at Speed's to-night."

"I suppose the requirements for a western lawyer," said Mr. Stanton
acidly, "are a gift of buffoonery and a reputation for gallantry." He
was intensely bored, and had small desire to make the acquaintance of
provincial celebrities.

Mr. Curtin was offended, but could think of no suitable retort, and as
they were close on Speed's store he swallowed his wrath and led the way
through alleys of piled merchandise to the big room where the stove was
lighted.

It was a chilly fall night and the fire was welcome. Half a dozen men
sat smoking round it, with rummers of reeking toddy at their elbows.
They were ordinary citizens of the place, and they talked of the last
horseraces. As the new-comers entered they were appealing to a figure
perched on a high barrel to decide some point in dispute.

This figure climbed down from its perch, as they entered, with a sort
of awkward courtesy. It was a very tall man, thin almost to emaciation,
with long arms and big hands and feet. He had a lean, powerful-looking