“Hon’able peace!” shouted a gray-haired man indignantly. “Dishon’able surrender you mean. You want the govament to back down, don’t ye, an’ acknowledge the corn, an’ let Jeff Davis hev his own way, an’ make a present to ’em o’ the hull South an’ half the North to boot, don’t ye? An’ tell ’em they done right to shoot down the ol’ flag on Fort Sumter, an’ tell ’em ’at Abe Lincoln’s a fool an’ a fraud an’ a murderer, don’t ye? don’t ye?” “That estimate of Abraham Lincoln is not far from right, my friend,” replied Bannister. “For it is only a fool and a knave, and a man with the spirit of Cain in his heart, that would plunge his country into ruin and keep her there; that would send you, Sergeant Goodman, and you, Henry Bradbury, and all of us who may be drawn in the accursed conscription that is coming, down to slaughter, without cause, our brothers of the South.” “Look here, Rhett Bannister!” This was the voice of Henry Bradbury. He stood against the wall with an empty sleeve hanging at his side, telling mutely of Antietam and Libby. “You can’t talk that way about Abe Lincoln here. We don’t want to hurt you, but there’s some of us who’ve been in the army, an’ who love old Abe, an’ who won’t stand an’ hear him slandered; do you hear!” “Oh, lynch him!” yelled a shrill voice. “Lynch him, an’ have done with it. He deserves it!” “No, tar an’ feather him an’ send him where Old Abe sent Vallandigham, down among his rebel friends!” cried another. People were crowding into the little lobby of the post-office, attracted by the sound of angry voices, curious to see and hear, ready for any sensation that might befall. Up near the box-window, white with anger, not with fear, stood Rhett Bannister with clenched hands. In front of him were a score of indignant men, ready at the next instant, if wrought to it, to do him bodily harm. Then old Jeremiah Holloway, the postmaster, puffing and perspiring with his three hundred pounds, came out from his side door and rapped against the wall with his cane. “This won’t do, gentlemen!” he said. “I can’t have a riot in a govament post-office. You’ll have to git outside an’ have your fun if you want it. I ain’t protectin’ no copperheads. But I’m goin’ to protect my property an’ Uncle Sam’s if I have to knock down every one of you. Besides, the stage’s a-comin’ an’ you got to make way for the United States mail.”