"We'd better get to work before one of those little breezes carries
me too far. There's pen and ink on the table, Mr.--my brother did not
tell me your name."
"Your brother and I met informally," the other answered, setting
the materials in order for writing. "He charged into me like a young
steer," and the boy, out of his deep trouble, laughed delightedly. "My
name is Lincoln."
The young officer regarded him. "That's a good name from your
standpoint--you are, I take it, a Northerner?"
The deep eyes smiled whimsically. "I'm on that side of the fence. You
may call me a Yankee if you'd like."
"There's something about you, Mr. Lincoln," the young Georgian
answered gravely, with a kindly and unconscious condescension, "which
makes me wish to call you, if I may, a friend."
He had that happy instinct which shapes a sentence to fall on its
smoothest surface, and the President, in whom the same instinct was
strong, felt a quick comradeship with this enemy who, about to die,
saluted him. He put out his great fist swiftly. "Shake hands," he
said. "Friends it is."
"'Till death us do part,'" said the officer slowly, and smiled, and
then threw back his head with a gesture like the boy's. "We must do
the will," he said peremptorily.
"Yes, now we'll fix this will business, Captain Blair," the big man
answered cheerfully.
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