“I do not think that Judge Whipple is precisely an Abolitionist, sir.”

“What!  And how do you feel, Mr. Stephen?”

Stephen replied in figures.  It was rare with him, and he must have caught it from Mr. Lincoln.

“I am not for ripping out the dam suddenly, sir, that would drown the nation.  I believe that the water can be drained off in some other way.”

Mr. Lincoln’s direct answer to this was to give Stephen stinging slap between the shoulder-blades.

“God bless the boy!” he cried.  “He has thought it out.  Bob, take that down for the Press and Tribune as coming from a rising young politician of St. Louis.”

“Why,” Stephen blurted out, “I—­I thought you were an Abolitionist, Mr. Lincoln.”

“Mr. Brice,” said Mr. Lincoln, “I have as much use for the Boston Liberator as I have for the Charleston Courier.  You may guess how much that is.  The question is not whether we shall or shall not have slavery, but whether slavery shall stay where it is, or be extended according to Judge Douglas’s ingenious plan.  The Judge is for breeding worms.  I am for cauterizing the sore so that it shall not spread.  But I tell you, Mr. Brice, that this nation cannot exist half slave and half free.”

Was it the slap on the back that opened Stephen’s eyes?  It was certain that as they returned to the tavern the man at his side was changed.  He need not have felt chagrined.  Men in high places underestimated Lincoln, or did not estimate him at all.  Affection came first.  The great warm heart had claimed Stephen as it claimed all who came near it.

The tavern was deserted save for a few stragglers.  Under the dim light at the bar Mr. Lincoln took off his hat and drew the Judge’s letter from the lining.

“Mr. Stephen,” said he, “would you like to come to Freeport with me to-morrow and hear the debate?”

An hour earlier he would have declined with thanks.  But now!  Now his face lighted at the prospect, and suddenly fell again.  Mr. Lincoln guessed the cause.  He laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder, and laughed.

“I reckon you’re thinking of what the Judge will say.”

Stephen smiled.

“I’ll take care of the Judge,” said Mr. Lincoln.  “I’m not afraid of him.”  He drew forth from the inexhaustible hat a slip of paper, and began to write.

“There,” said he, when he had finished, “a friend of mine is going to Springfield in the morning, and he’ll send that to the Judge.”

And this is what he had written:—­

“I have borrowed Steve for a day or two, and guarantee
to return him a good Republican. 
A. Lincoln.”

It is worth remarking that this was the first time Mr. Brice had been called “Steve” and had not resented it.

Stephen was embarrassed.  He tried to thank Mr. Lincoln, but that gentleman’s quizzical look cut him short.  And the next remark made him gasp.