“I reckon Colonel Carvel isn’t a fighting man,” said some one, at random.

Strangely enough, Stephen was seized with a desire to vindicate the Colonel’s courage.  Both Mr. Lincoln and Judge Oglesby forestalled him.

“Not a fighting man!” exclaimed the Judge.  “Why, the other day—­”

“Now, Oglesby,” put in Mr. Lincoln, “I wanted to tell that story.”

Stephen had heard it, and so have we.  But Mr. Lincoln’s imitation of the Colonel’s drawl brought him a pang like homesickness.

“’No, suh, I didn’t intend to shoot.  Not if he had gone off straight.  But he wriggled and twisted like a rattlesnake, and I just couldn’t resist, suh.  Then I sent m’nigger Ephum to tell him not to let me catch sight of him ‘round the Planters’ House.  Yes, suh, that’s what he was.  One of these damned Yankees who come South and go into nigger-deals and politics."’

Mr. Lincoln glanced at Stephen, and then again at the Judge’s letter.  He took up his silk hat and thrust that, too, into the worn lining, which was already filled with papers.  He clapped the hat on his head, and buttoned on his collar.

“I reckon I’ll go for a walk, boys,” he said, “and clear my head, so as to be ready for the Little Giant to-morrow at Freeport.  Mr. Brice, do you feel like walking?”

Stephen, taken aback, said that he did.

“Now, Abe, this is just durned foolishness,” one of the gentlemen expostulated.  “We want to know if you’re going to ask Douglas that question.”

“If you do, you kill yourself, Lincoln,” said another, who Stephen afterwards learned was Mr. Medill, proprietor of the great ’Press and Tribune’.

“I guess I’ll risk it, Joe,” said Mr. Lincoln, gravely.  Suddenly comes the quiver about the corners of his mouth and the gray eyes respond.  “Boys,” said he, “did you ever hear the story of farmer Bell, down in Egypt?  I’ll tell it to you, boys, and then perhaps you’ll know why I’ll ask Judge Douglas that question.  Farmer Bell had the prize Bartlett pear tree, and the prettiest gal in that section.  And he thought about the same of each of ’em.  All the boys were after Sue Bell.  But there was only one who had any chance of getting her, and his name was Jim Rickets.  Jim was the handsomest man in that section.  He’s been hung since.  But Jim had a good deal out of life,—­all the appetites, and some of the gratifications.  He liked Sue, and he liked a luscious Bartlett.  And he intended to have both.  And it just so happened that that prize pear tree had a whopper on that year, and old man Bell couldn’t talk of anything else.