"That may be, Guilford," said Mr. Clem, "but it is ready for the election of that man."
"Are you going to support him, sir?" Old Master demanded.
"Did you ever know me to turn my back upon a friend? And he is not only my friend, but the saviour of this country, the greatest statesman that this republic has seen."
"Clem," said Old Master, pausing and resting his hand upon a pile of books that lay on Bob's table, "it is well enough to praise your friend, for he is no doubt droll and amusing, but when you come to call him a great statesman, you do injustice to the memory of Clay and Webster, of Jefferson and Benton."
Mr. Clem laughed. "Guilford," said he, "you are misled just as the majority of men suffer themselves to be misled. A man brays with the solemnity of an ass and you think he is great. Over a vital question he utters a senseless stupidity and you think he has said a wise thing. You don't know that humor is the cream that rises to the surface of life's wisdom. Lincoln tells a story and throws a bright light on a truth; he does not invest a subject with a gloom so thick that no eye can penetrate it. He makes all things plain, and the province of greatness is not to enshroud but to simplify. But that's neither here nor there; he's going to be elected."
"But can't you understand that the country will not accept him, sir?"
"Not accept him? The people will accept whom the people elect."
"But the South will not accept an abolitionist."
"Then the South will have to make the most of it. Of what good will be her protest? You don't mean that she will secede from the Union?"
"Oh, I hope not," said Old Master. "Surely not," he added. "We cannot afford to throw away the traditions of our fathers."