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Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman, 1860-1936

"The Perfect Tribute"

The man who
stood hesitating controlled a startled movement. "I'm Southern to the
core of me, and I believe with my soul in the cause I've fought for,
the cause I'm--" he stopped, and his hand caressed the boy's shoulder.
"But that President of yours is a remarkable man. He's regarded as
a red devil by most of us down home, you know," and he laughed,
"but I've admired him all along. He's inspired by principle, not by
animosity, in this fight; he's real and he's powerful and"--he lifted
his head impetuously and his eyes flashed--"and, by Jove, have you
read his speech of yesterday in the papers?"
Lincoln gave him an odd look. "No," he said, "I haven't."
"Sit down," Blair commanded. "Don't grudge a few minutes to a man in
hard luck. I want to tell you about that speech. You're not so busy
but that you ought to know."
"Well, yes," said Lincoln, "perhaps I ought." He took out his watch
and made a quick mental calculation. "It's only a question of going
without my dinner, and the boy is dying," he thought. "If I can give
him a little pleasure the dinner is a small matter." He spoke again.
"It's the soldiers who are the busy men, not the lawyers, nowadays,"
he said. "I'll be delighted to spend a half hour with you, Captain
Blair, if I won't tire you."
"That's good of you," the young officer said, and a king on his throne
could not have been gracious in a more lordly yet unconscious way.


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