Abraham Lincoln: A Play

by John Drinkwater

Lincoln: Who has?

Scott: My mother, sir. I've got her photograph, sir.

He takes it from his pocket.

Lincoln (taking it): Does she know about this?

Scott: For God's sake, don't, sir.

Lincoln: There, there, my boy. You're not going to be shot.

Scott (after a pause): Not going to be shot, sir.

Lincoln: No, no.

Scott: Not—going—to—be—shot.

He breaks down, sobbing.