The Perfect Tribute | Page 6

spoke over his
shoulder reassuringly to the President with a friendly glance. Dashing
down the corridors in front, he did not see the guards salute the tall
figure which followed him; too preoccupied to wonder at the ease of
their entrance, he flew along through the big building, and behind him
in large strides came his friend.
A young man--almost a boy, too--of twenty-three or twenty-four, his

handsome face a white shadow, lay propped against the pillows,
watching the door eagerly as they entered.
"Good boy, Warry," he greeted the little fellow; "you've got me a
lawyer," and the pale features lighted with a smile of such radiance as
seemed incongruous in this gruesome place. He held out his hand to the
man who swung toward him, looming mountainous behind his brother's
slight figure. "Thank you for coming," he said cordially, and in his tone
was the same air of a grand seigneur as in the lad's. Suddenly a spasm
of pain caught him, his head fell into the pillows, his muscles twisted,
his arm about the neck of the kneeling boy tightened convulsively. Yet
while the agony still held him he was smiling again with gay courage.
"It nearly blew me away," he whispered, his voice shaking, but his eyes
bright with amusement. "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. "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. 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