When Abe Lincoln used to be drifting around the country, practicing law in Fulton and Menard counties, Illinois, an old fellow met him going to Lewiston, riding a horse which, while it was a serviceable enough animal, was not of the kind to be truthfully called a fine saddler. It was a weatherbeaten nag, patient and plodding, and it toiled along with Abe—and Abe's books, tucked away in saddle-bags, lay heavy on the horse's flank.
"Hello, Uncle Tommy," said Abe.
"Hello, Abe," responded Uncle Tommy. "I'm powerful glad to see ye, Abe, fer I'm gwyne to have sumthin' fer ye at Lewiston co't, I reckon."
"How's that, Uncle Tommy?" said Abe.
"Well, Jim Adams, his land runs 'long o' mine, he's pesterin' me a heap, an' I got to get the law on Jim, I reckon."
"Uncle Tommy, you haven't had any fights with Jim, have you?"
"No."
"He's a fair to middling neighbor, isn't he?"
"Only tollable, Abe."
"He's been a neighbor of yours for a long time, hasn't he?"