The parlour of Abraham Lincoln's House at Springfield, Illinois, early in 1860. MR. STONE, a farmer, and MR. CUFFNEY, a store-keeper, both men of between fifty and sixty, are sitting before an early spring fire. It is dusk, but the curtains are not drawn. The men are smoking silently.
Mr. Stone (after a pause): Abraham. It's a good name for a man to bear, anyway.
Mr. Cuffney: Yes. That's right.
Mr. Stone (after another pause): Abraham Lincoln. I've known him forty years. Never crooked once. Well.
He taps his pipe reflectively on the grate. There is another pause. SUSAN, a servant-maid, comes in, and busies herself lighting candles and drawing the curtains to.
Susan: Mrs. Lincoln has just come in. She says she'll be here directly.
Mr. Cuffney: Thank you.
Mr. Stone: Mr. Lincoln isn't home yet, I dare say?
Susan: No, Mr. Stone. He won't be long, with all the gentlemen coming.
Mr. Stone: How would you like your master to be President of the United States, Susan?