“Mr. Secretary, I reckon you will have to execute that order.”
“I cannot do it,” came the firm answer. “It is an interference with justice, and I will not execute it.”
Mr. Lincoln held his eyes steadily on Stanton and slowly said:
“Mr. Secretary, it will have to be done.”
Stanton wheeled in his chair, seized a pen and wrote very rapidly a few lines to which he fixed his signature. He rose with the paper in his hand, walked to his chief, and with deep emotion said:
“Mr. President, I wish to thank you for your constant friendship during the trying years I have held this office. The war is ended, and my work is done. I hand you my resignation.”
Mr. Lincoln’s lips came suddenly together, he slowly rose, and looked down with surprise into the flushed angry face.
He took the paper, tore it into pieces, slipped one of his long arms around the Secretary, and said in low accents:
“Stanton, you have been a faithful public servant, and it is not for you to say when you will no longer be needed. Go on with your work. I will have my way in this matter; but I will attend to it personally.”
Stanton resumed his seat, and the President returned to the White House.