“Now, younker,” he protested, “our Sangamon County boys ain’t cut from the same cloth ez them white-livered skunks that run away. They wuz a disgrace ter the great state of Illinois.”
“Oh, your company looks like a bunch of fighters, sure enough,” praised the boy, afraid that he had hurt Pete’s feelings. “I saw you drilling this morning.”
“Same here,” put in Tom, “and who in thunder is that human string-bean you have for a captain? Gawkiest appearing chap I ever saw.”
“Name’s Abe Lincoln,” Perkins replied. “An’ he may be long an’ lean an’ gawky; but don’t let that fool yuh. Weighs over a hundred an’ eighty pound, an’ is hard ez nails. He’s the champeen wrestler o’ southern Illinois. Even throwed Jack Armstrong o’ Clary’s Grove.”
“By George, I’ve heard o’ Abe Lincoln,” stated Bill Brown. “Folks ’round the country say he’s strong as an ox.”
“Works in Offut’s grocery store,” continued Pete, “down in New Salem, best durned leetle town in Sangamon County. Abe’s quittin’ the store right soon, though. Aims ter run fer the state legislaitcher.”
“Well,” went on Tom, “I hope he turns out to be a better law-maker than he is drillmaster. What he doesn’t know about military tactics would fill a very large book.”
“Don’t worry ’bout Abe,” advised Perkins. “He’s got the stuff. The Salem boys ’lected him Cap’n; an’ take it from ol’ Pete, them home boys knows a real man when they sees one. Ther was tew candidates, Jack Kirkpatrick, the sawmill owner, an’ lean, lanky, homely Abe. When it come time ter take the vote, har’s how we done it. Jack an’ Abe stood facin’ the comp’ny; an’ each sojur walked out an’ stood behint the man he wanted fer Cap’n. Why shucks, Abe’s line wuz twice ez long ez Jack Kirkpatrick’s.”
“Hm!” observed Tom, “he must be quite a fellow, at that.”
“As the sayin’ goes,” put in Bill, “you never can tell from the looks of a toad how far he kin jump.”