“Rather so.”

“That’s what I hear.  He’s had no experience.  Seward, you know, has been Governor of New York, and Senator.  He’s a famous man.  The political machine is back of him, and lots of money in New York City.”

Then Yarnell went on to tell me that he himself was connected with the street railways in New York, and that the railways were backing Seward.  Wall Street, however, was a little nervous.  It didn’t want any man elected President who would drive the South into secession.  No use to let iron drive out cotton.  Let us have both cotton and iron.

We went out to walk through the city.  Yarnell was amazed at the growth of Chicago.  We wandered over to the Wigwam where the convention was to be held.  It was a huge frame structure, seating ten thousand people.  The city was swarming with delegates and visitors.  All the hotels were filled; the saloons roared with drinking crowds.  How many thousand cigars were lighted every minute!  Stubs decorated the floors, the spittoons, the sidewalks.  The houses of ill fame were riotous with men let loose upon a holiday.

At the Richmond House there was much champagne, for that was the headquarters of the New York crowd.  Yarnell took me here and introduced me about to his friends.  He was well known.  He had money for the occasion, and was esteemed in that light.  It was a different crowd here from that I had seen in St. Louis years before, but its spirit was the same.  “If you don’t nominate Seward, where will you get your money?” Yarnell was saying this here and there.  Some one at our side says:  “This railsplitter Lincoln, who carries the purse for him?” “The tariff carries it,” is the answer.  “There’s more money in the tariff than all that Seward can rake together.”  “Very well, Seward is for the tariff.  Give us the tariff and Seward, then we will have the tariff money and Seward’s money too.”

Yarnell and I left the Richmond House on our way to look again at the crowds.  Bands of music were playing everywhere.  Men were marching.  Tom Hyer, the great prize fighter, was leading a club of rough and handy men.  They were preceded by a noisy band.  They shouted.  The staring crowd shouted.  Hyer had come for the purpose of lifting a lusty voice for Seward at the critical moment.  He and his men had good fists too to use in a case of doubt on a question of votes or of a right of entrance to the hall.  They pass, the band dies away; other marchers follow.  Some paraders are carrying rails bearing the banner with the words “Honest Old Abe” That reminds me of something.  We go over to the office of the Chicago Times to see in the windows some rails which Lincoln split when he was working on the bottoms of the Sangamon River, thirty years before.

“I should think Greeley would be for Lincoln,” I said to Yarnell.  “I saw the Tribune yesterday and it slants toward Edward Bates of Missouri.”

“That old slicker,” sneered Yarnell.  “Why who can depend on him?  He’s been for every one and everything, and then against them.  He hates Seward.  We kept him off the New York delegation.  Now he’s got on the delegation from Oregon, got some one’s proxy, and he’s here to make trouble.  But it won’t do him any good.  We will put Seward over on the first ballot.”