ible. What's this?" The
doctor picked an oblong slip of paper off the pillow. It was a check,
and read:

"Pay to the order of Tad Lincoln 50c--Fifty Cents--for having his
tooth pulled.

"A. LINCOLN."[1]

[1] A true story.

"Did it hurt when it came out?" asked Boyd gravely. For reply, the boy
opened his mouth, and disclosed a vacancy in the shining ivories.
"Well, don't eat this money up. One attack of indigestion should be
enough this month." Tad's face fell; he had already planned how he
would spend that fifty cents.

"Is anything much the matter with Tad, Doctor?" inquired the President,
entering the bedroom. "Sit down," as Boyd rose. "I stole up from the
levee to ask you how he is."

"Just a slight attack of indigestion, due to over-eating, Mr.
President. He will be all right to-morrow."

"Poor Tad." Lincoln stroked the small, hot head. "It is my fault,
Doctor. Mrs. Lincoln was out; so he and I just browsed 'round for
dinner. I ate most of the meat, and he the cream puffs. It wasn't an
equal division, was it, Tad? Must you be going, Doctor?"

"Yes; if one of these green tablets dissolved in half a glass of water
is given every three hours the nausea will cease. By the way, Mr.
President, before I leave, I want to ask if you will give me a pass
through our lines to Richmond. I have received word that my brother
lies dangerously wounded in one of their hospitals. We have not met for
years, and I"--the doctor cleared his throat--"I would like to see him
once again before we are parted for aye."

"Certainly!" Lincoln strode over to Tad's table and wrote a few lines;
then tore off the top sheet from the latter's school pad. "I hope this
will help you. I've given passes to Richmond to my generals, but they
haven't got there yet."

Lincoln's careworn face lighted with his rare smile. The strain of hope
deferred was telling on the President, and Doctor Boyd scrutinized him
professionally for a moment.

"I've seen you look worse," he growled, "but what I don't understand is
how you keep so damned good-natured."

Lincoln laughed heartily. "That is the question I once asked the wife
of one of our backwoodsmen. He would abuse her in public, and she
always took it smilingly, so I asked her how she managed it: 'When Jim
gets too much for me, I just goes in and bites the bureau. I know I'm
doing more harm than he is, and it keeps me good-natured.' My 'bureau'
is pretty well s