"Didn't you know he couldn't shoot you? Didn't you know you were under me? Didn't you know—"
"I didn't think of that at first, Mr. Lincoln. I thought he could, and—I thought he would, for a little while. I was——"
"If he had," said the President, rising and showing more fire than he had exhibited before, "well, if he had, all I've got to say, is that there'd a' been two of you shot!" Then, recalling himself he smiled grimly. "If he does his share as well as you've done yours, I'll be satisfied."
"Before I go, Mr. Lincoln, I wanted to speak to you about a little matter. You said something just now about a grateful country, and—but— I recall that you—I understood you to— The fact is, when I was here before, I somehow got the idea that you were willing to—to pay and to give a Colonel's commission! and—and emoluments—to one who could do this service, and——"
Mr. Lincoln dropped the hand he held, and an indescribable change passed over the tall form and the face, which made both less pleasant to see. But he smiled, as he passed his hand over his face, and turning toward the table with a tired expression, reached for a pen.
"You've sort of concluded that the job is worth pay, have you?"
"Yes, it's worth all you can afford to pay, Mr. Lincoln; it is extremely dangerous business. Is the offer still open?"
The President gave an imperceptible shrug to his loose shoulders, and drew a sheet of paper toward him.
"Certainly. Commission?" he said as he began to write.
"Yes, if you will. A Colonel's commission and pay dating all back to the beginning of my service—if that is right."