“Once there was an ax, Tad,” he drawled, his heavy eyebrows flicking up and down, his long mouth quirked up at one corner. “It didn’t want to go where I aimed it, so I said, says I, now who is boss here, Mister Ax, you or Abe Lincoln? You chop where I aim for you to chop, Mister Ax. So I made it hit where I wanted it to hit but it jumped back and took a whack at me just to show me that it could be the boss if it wanted to.”
“It might have cut your hand off,” worried Tad, still rubbing the dark nail.
“It might—but it didn’t. It was a well-meaning ax. Just independent, like a lot of people.”
“People take whacks at you, don’t they? I hear about it,” Tad said.
“Yes, some of ’em do.” Lincoln picked up the knife again, poked at the stubborn seals. “But mostly afterwards they cooperate.”
“Those people in New York didn’t,” insisted Tad. “Mother was scared to death when those draft riots were on and people yelled at her in that store. The police had to stand all around us with guns and you know something? Bob was scared but I wasn’t. Ole Bob was plumb scared green.”
“That was a bad time, son.” A seal came loose at last and fell in scarlet fragments to the rug. He attacked a second one, gripping the knife, the skin stretched tight over his fleshless knuckles. “It was bad because people weren’t mad at you. They were mad at me, not at Bob or your mother. They didn’t want to be drafted to fight in this war and I said they had to be drafted.”
“Well, golly, you’ve got to have soldiers! General Grant and General Rosecrans and everybody are yelling for more troops. You have to get ’em, you can’t make ’em out of air. Hurry and open it, Papa. Don’t you want to see what’s in it?”
“I think I know what’s in it. Yes, Tad,” he went on musingly, as though he talked to himself. “I’m supposed to make soldiers out of air; anyway the New York newspapers seemed to think so. Make ’em out of air and feed ’em on air and give ’em air to shoot with.”
“And then if General Lee licks us you’re to blame!” cried Tad. “Oh, I know, John Hay and Mr. Nicolay hide the papers but I find ’em. Papa, I read where one New York paper called you a gorilla.”