"Stephen, I hope that politics may be a little cleaner when you become a
delegate," he answered, with just the suspicion of a smile. "Supposing
you are convinced that Abraham Lincoln is the only man who can save the
Union, and supposing that the one way to get him nominated is to meet
Seward's gang with their own methods, what would you do, sir? I want a
practical proposition, sir," said Mr. Whipple, "one that we can use
to-night. It is now one 'clock."

As Stephen was silent, the Judge advised him to go to bed. And the next
morning, while Mr. Seward's henchmen, confident and uproarious, were
parading the streets of Chicago with their bands and their bunting, the
vast Wigwam was quietly filling up with bony Westerners whose ally was
none other than the state of Pennsylvania. These gentlemen possessed wind
which they had not wasted in processions. And the Lord delivered Seward
and all that was his into their hands.

How the light of Mr. Seward's hope went out after the first ballot, and
how some of the gentlemen attached to his person wept; and how the voices
shook the Wigwam, and the thunder of the guns rolled over the tossing
water of the lake, many now living remember. That day a name was
delivered to the world through the mouths political schemers which was
destined to enter history that of the saviour of the Nation.

Down in little Springfield, on a vacant lot near the station, a tall man
in his shirt sleeves was playing barn-ball with some boys. The game
finished, he had put on his black coat and was starting homeward under
the tree--when a fleet youngster darted after him with a telegram. The
tall man read it, and continued on his walk his head bent and his feet
taking long strides, Later in the day he was met by a friend.