Mr. Lincoln nodded, but there was a distinctly chilly air creeping into his tone. "Y-e-s. Of course.'Nything else?"
"I don't see hardly how you can date it back either, without——"
"Oh yes, I can date it back to the beginning of your service," he said wearily, "but I don't know——"
"I guess you'll have to just put it Col. L. Patterson, for I don't know his real name, the baptismal one. Known him all my life just as Lengthy, but of course that won't——"
"What!" the President had turned to face him, but Griffith was still looking contemplatively out of the window, and did not notice the sudden change of tone and position.
"It will give him a certain standing with the men—and with the General—that he will need—and deserve, and—and—and the rest is right too, for him, if—"
Mr. Lincoln thrust his fingers back and forth through his already disheveled hair, and at last burst out: "Can't say that I exactly get your idea. I understood you to say that you had changed your mind about—about wanting the rank of Colonel, and—and the pay for——"
He was looking full at Griffith, and the preacher's eyes traveled back from the distant hills and fell upon the face before him. It struck him that the face looked tired and worn. He pulled himself up sharply, for the dull way he had been presenting the case, and his reply was in a fuller, freer voice, with a brisker air of attention to business.
"Certainly, certainly, Mr. Lincoln, that's it exactly." Then with a lowered voice: "Perhaps you don't realize, Mr. Lincoln, that every instant a man in that situation, who is known and recognized, and who holds no commission, and wears no federal uniform, has his life in his hands—is in more danger than any soldier ever is, and—"
"Realize! Didn't I tell you so? Didn't I ask you to go better protected? Didn't I—?"