“It was important. To Milo Potter,” smiled Lincoln. “No harm done, Johnny.”
“Your son is waiting, sir. Shall I send him in?”
“Must be Bob. Tad would have already been in.”
Robert came in, took a chair, and folded his hands, his young mouth sober. “I had to know, sir,” he began, “have they been making attempts to kill you?”
“Bob, there are several million people who think that the man who kills me should wear a hero’s crown. And there are a lot of people who yearn to be heroes,” Lincoln said calmly.
“You should be better protected. You shouldn’t take risks!”
“They’re trying to protect me now, Bob, till I can’t hardly draw my own breath.”
“That fellow who just went out. Did you even know him?” persisted the boy.
“He was harmless. I reckon Johnny even took his jackknife away from him. I have to see ’em, son. I have to hear their story. That’s why they put me here,” declared his father.
“About the Army, Papa—I’m deadly serious.”