Mr. Hill owned up, laughing.
It is remarkable how soon we accustom ourselves to a strange situation. And to Stephen it was no less strange to be walking over a muddy road of the prairie with this most singular man and a newspaper correspondent, than it might have been to the sub-terrestrial inhabitant to emerge on the earth's surface. Stephen's mind was in the process of a chemical change: Suddenly it seemed to him as if he had known this tall Illinoisan always. The whim of the senatorial candidate in choosing him for a companion he did not then try to account for.
“Come, Mr. Stephen,” said Mr. Lincoln, presently, “where do you hail from?”
“Boston,” said Stephen.
“No!” said Mr. Lincoln, incredulously. “And how does it happen that you come to me with a message from a rank Abolitionist lawyer in St. Louis?”
“Is the Judge a friend of yours, sir?” Stephen asked.
“What!” exclaimed Mr. Lincoln, “didn't he tell you he was?”
“He said nothing at all, sir, except to tell me to travel until I found you.”
“I call the Judge a friend of mine,” said Mr. Lincoln. “He may not claim me because I do not believe in putting all slave-owners to the sword.”
“I do not think that Judge Whipple is precisely an Abolitionist, sir.”