"When your mind's relieved about your plunder you
can rest easier and get well faster."
The sweet, brilliant smile of the Southerner shone out, his arm drew
the boy's shoulder closer, and the President, with a pang, knew that
his friend knew that he must die.
With direct, condensed question and clear answer the simple will was
shortly drawn and the impromptu lawyer rose to take his leave. But the
wounded man put out his hand.
"Don't go yet," he pleaded, with the imperious, winning accent which
was characteristic of both brothers. The sudden, radiant smile broke
again over the face, young, drawn with suffering, prophetic of close
death. "I like you," he brought out frankly. "I've never liked a
stranger as much in such short order before."
His head, fair as the boy's, lay back on the pillows, locks of hair
damp against the whiteness, the blue eyes shone like jewels from the
colorless face, a weak arm stretched protectingly about the young
brother who pressed against him. There was so much courage, so much
helplessness, so much pathos in the picture that the President's great
heart throbbed with a desire to comfort them.
"I want to talk to you about that man Lincoln, your namesake," the
prisoner's deep, uncertain voice went on, trying pathetically to make
conversation which might interest, might hold his guest.
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