A Man for the Ages: A Story of the Builders of DemocracyBacheller, Irving
General
A Man for the Ages: A Story of the Builders of Democracy
Bacheller, Irving
Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865 -- Fiction
"You bet he can holler some when he gits fixed for it," said Abe, who sat
near the open door.
"He's for them that need scarin'. The man that don't need that has to be
his own preacher here and sow and reap his own morality. He can make
himself just as much of a saint as he pleases."
"If he has the raw material to work with," Abe interposed.
"The self-made saint is the only kind I believe in," said Samson.
"We haven't any Erie Canal to Heaven, with the minister towin' us along,"
said Abe. "There's some that say it's only fifteen miles to Springfield,
but the man that walks it knows better."
The tavern was the only house in New Salem with stairs in it. Stairs so
steep, as Samson writes, that "they were first cousins to the ladder."
There were four small rooms above them. Two of these were separated by
a partition of cloth hanging from the rafters. In each was a bed and
bedstead and smaller beds on the floor. In case there were a number of
adult guests the bedstead was screened with sheets hung upon strings. In
one of these rooms the travelers had a night of refreshing sleep.
After riding two days with the Doctor, Samson bought the claim of one
Isaac Gollaher to a half section of land a little more than a mile from
the western end of the village. He chose a site for his house on the edge
of an open prairie.
"Now we'll go over and see Abe," said Dr. Allen, after the deal was made.
"He's the best man with an axe and a saw in this part of the country. He
clerks for Mr. Offut. Abe Lincoln is one of the best fellows that ever
lived--a rough diamond just out of the great mine of the West, that only
needs to be cut and polished."
Denton Offut's store was a small log structure about twenty by twenty
which stood near the brow of the hill east of Rutledge's Tavern. When
they entered it Abe lay at full length on the counter, his head resting
on a bolt of blue denim as he studied a book in his hand. He wore the
same shirt and one suspender and linsey trousers which he had worn in the
dooryard of the tavern, but his feet were covered only by his blue yarn
socks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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