"After a few moments' consultation with the driver of the wagon, Mr. Lincoln went into the basement where Mr. Krone had a carpenter shop, and returned with two heavy timbers across his shoulders. With them he established communication between the wagon and the front door steps. The piano was unloaded with the assistance of Mr. Linder and Mr. Swett, amid jokes and jeers galore, most of the jeers coming from little Judge Logan. "Before the legs had been screwed into place, dinner was announced, and the men hurried to the back porch where two tin wash basins, a long roller towel and a coarse comb, fastened to the wall by a long string, afforded toilet accommodations for all guests. When dinner was served, 'Mother Krone' placed a roast of beef in front of Dr. Trowbridge to be carved and exclaimed, 'Men, if you can't get your teeth through this beef you will have to fall back on the sausage. I agreed to try roasting it without parboiling it, and I am afraid it will be tougher than it was yesterday, and that was bad enough.' "The beef, however, proved to be tender and juicy and was highly praised by the guests. I recall this incident because Mr. Lincoln once reminded me of it, saying that 'that was the time he learned that roast beef ought not to be boiled.' "After dinner, Mr. Lincoln superintended the setting up of the piano, even to seeing that it stood squarely in the center of the wall space allotted it, and then received my thanks with a polite bow and asked: 'Are you expecting to follow the court and give concerts?' The immense relief expressed on his countenance, when he was assured that he would not be called upon to repeat the performance was very laughable. "'Then may we have one tune before we go?' he asked, and I played 'Rosin the Bow,' with variations. "Someone shouted, 'Come on, boys, the judge will be waiting,' and after I had assured them that if they desired it, I would give my 'first and only concert on this circuit' when they returned to the hotel in the evening, the crowd dispersed. "Here I wish to note that in the crowd that had assembled to watch the unloading of the piano, the members of the bar, Mr. Lincoln's friends and equals, always addressed him as 'Mr. Lincoln,' while to the rabble and hangers-on he was often 'Abe.' "The piano was a 'Gilbert,' made in Boston, and its fame extended far and wide. It was visited by people from all over the state, stage coach passengers frequently 'holding the stage' while they went down to the other tavern (the Harrell House was the stage office) to see and hear the novel instrument.