When they had returned to the office in Springfield, Ross, taking out his pocket-book, said: “Now, Mr. Lincoln, how much shall I pay you for this long walk through the hot sun and dust?”
As the lawyer applied the big handkerchief to his perspiring face, he answered: “I guess I will not charge anything for that. I will let it go on the old score.”
Recalling the many kindnesses already credited from this source to “the old score,” Harvey—so runs the tale—could not control himself, and the tears came into his eyes.[iv-7]
The lawyers among Lincoln’s friends were, at times, not more successful in obtaining bills from him for services rendered. “You must not think of offering me pay for this,” he wrote after submitting a legal opinion which one of them had requested him to prepare.[iv-8] Somewhat similar in tone was his response to General Usher F. Linder, when that colleague at the bar, and occasional political opponent, appealed for assistance during a period of dire distress. The general’s son Dan had, in the heat of a quarrel, shot a young man named Benjamin Boyle. When he was placed under arrest, the assailant seemed, for the moment, without even the customary legal supports, as his father, seriously ill with inflammatory rheumatism, could hardly move hand or foot. The affair had happened “in a quarter of the country where,” as General Ewing relates, Lincoln “was a tower of strength; where his name raised up friends; where his arguments at law had more power than the instructions of the court.” But these triumphs, be it said, left the potent advocate unspoilt. For they had not perceptibly increased the size of his head, nor decreased the size of his heart. In a sympathetic reply to Linder’s agonized cry for help, Lincoln promised that no business, however important, should be allowed to keep him from being present and aiding in the trial. He felt deeply moved over the general’s trouble, yet what appears to have disturbed him almost as much was an offer of fees. This called forth a spirited but gentle protest, declining pay of any kind. No act of his, he asserted, justified the supposition that Abraham Lincoln would take money from a friend for assisting in the defense of an imperiled son.[iv-9] But no trial took place; for, as Boyle recovered, Dan was finally released. He went South, entered the Confederate army during the Civil War, and became, when taken prisoner, the recipient of still further kindnesses from the hand of that same attorney engaged, at the time, in trying the great cause entitled, Union versus Disunion.[iv-10]
What Lincoln did on occasions for those who were not of his party, he did as cheerfully, it is perhaps needless to say, for the faithful. His political associates always found him ready and willing to render proper legal services, but they never found him keen about setting a price upon the work when completed. This was especially so with regard to matters of a public nature. One case in point, which may be regarded as typical, has been related by Henry B. Blackwell. Recalling some of his own early experiences, he said, a few years ago:—
“In 1857, in behalf of New York publishers, I went from Chicago to Springfield with Mr. Powell, the state superintendent of public instruction, to consult Mr. Lincoln as to the details of a proposed contract for the introduction of district school libraries. We met him as he was coming out of the court-house with his green bag in his hand. Greeting us cordially, he took up our affair, giving us the advice we sought; but with characteristic unselfishness, he declined to accept compensation for his legal services on a question of public interest.”[iv-11]
More numerous still were the instances of valuable counsel given by Lincoln, without price, to the clients whom he dissuaded from bringing contemplated suits. Some of these cases, as we have seen, involved unprincipled demands, but others rested upon honestly mistaken convictions. To this latter class, apparently, belonged the real-estate claim which a lady once placed in his hands for prosecution. She told him her story, wrote out a check by way of retainer, and left some papers for the attorney’s examination. At their next interview Mr. Lincoln reported frankly that a careful reading of the documents had disclosed “not a peg” to hang the claim upon. He felt obliged, therefore, to advise against bringing an action. The lady, evidently satisfied that she had no case, thanked him, took her papers, and arose to go.
“Wait a moment,” said he. “Here is the check you gave me.”
“But,” she replied, “Mr. Lincoln, I think you have earned that.”
“No, no,” he rejoined, handing it back to her; “that would not be right.”