Chapter 18

IN WHICH MR. LINCOLN, SAMSON AND HARRY TAKE A LONG RIDE TOGETHER AND THE
LATTER VISIT THE FLOURISHING LITTLE CITY OF CHICAGO.

Mr. Lincoln had brought the papers which Harry was to take to Bim, and
made haste to deliver them. The boy was eager to be off on his mission.
The fields were sown. The new buyer was coming to take possession in two
weeks. Samson and Harry had finished their work in New Salem.
"Wait till to-morrow and maybe I'll go with ye," said Samson. "I'm
anxious to see the country clear up to the lake and take a look at that
little mushroom city of Chicago."
"And buy a few corner lots?" Abe Lincoln asked, with a smile.
"No; I'll wait till next year. They'll be cheaper then. I believe in
Chicago. It's placed right--on the waterway to the north and east, with
good country on three sides and transportation on the other. It can go
into partnership with Steam Power right away and begin to do business.
Your grain and pork can go straight from there to Albany and New York and
Boston and Baltimore without being rehandled. When railroads come--if
they ever do--Steam Power will be shoving grain and meat and passengers
into Chicago from every point of the compass."
Abe Lincoln turned to Sarah and said: "This is a growing country. You
ought to see the cities springing up there in the Legislature. I was
looking with great satisfaction at the crop when Samson came along one
day and fell on it. He was like a frost in midsummer."
"The seed was sown too early," Samson rejoined. "You and I may live to
see all the dreams of Vandalia come true."
"And all the nightmares, too," said the young statesman.
"Yes, we're going to wake up and find a cold morning and not much to eat
in the house and the wolf at the door, but we'll live through it."
Then the young statesman proposed: "If you are going with Harry, I'll go
along and see what they've done on the Illinois and Michigan Canal. Some
contractors who worked on the Erie Canal will start from Chicago Monday
to look the ground over and bid on the construction of the southern end
of it. I want to talk with them when they come along down the line."
"I guess a few days in the saddle would do you good," said Samson.
"I reckon it would. I've been cloyed on house air and oratory and future
greatness. The prairie wind and your pessimism will straighten me up."
Harry rode to the village that afternoon to get "Colonel" and Mrs. Lukins
to come out to the farm and stay with Sarah while he and Samson were
away. Harry found the "Colonel" sitting comfortably in a chair by the
door of his cabin, roaring with laughter. He had not lived up to his
title and was still generally known as "Bony" Lukins.
"What are you roaring at?" Harry demanded.
The "Colonel" was dumb with joy for a moment. Then, with an effort, he
straightened his face and managed to say: "Laughin' just 'cause I'm
alive." The words were followed by a kind of spiritual explosion followed
by a silent ague of merriment. It would seem that his brain had
discovered in the human comedy some subtle and persuasive jest which had
gone over the heads of the crowd. Yet Harry seemed to catch it, for he,
too, began to laugh with the fortunate "Colonel."
"You see," said the latter, as, with great difficulty, he restrained
himself for half a moment, "this is my busy day."
Again he roared and shook in a fit of ungovernable mirth. In the midst of
it Mrs. Lukins arrived.
"Don't pay no 'tention to him," she said. "The 'Colonel' is wearin'
himself out restin'. He's kep' his head bobbin' all day like a
woodpecker's. Jest laughs till he's sick every time he an' ol' John gits
together. It's plum ridic'lous."
The "Colonel" turned serious long enough to give him time to explain in a
quivering, joyous tone: "0l' John, he just sets beside me and says the
gol' darndest funniest things!"
He could get no further. His last words were blown out in a gale of
laughter. Mrs. Lukins had sat down with her knitting.
"Ol' John Barleycorn will leave to-night, an' to-morrow the 'Colonel'
will be the soberest critter in Illinois--kind o' lonesome like an'
blubberin' to himself," she explained. The faithful soul added in a
whisper of confidence: "He's a good man. There don't nobody know how deep
an' kind o' coralapus like he is."
She now paused as if to count stitches. For a long time the word
"coralapus" had been a prized possession of Mrs. Lukins. Like her
feathered bonnet, it was used only on special occasions by way of putting
her best foot forward. It was indeed a family ornament of the same
general character as her husband's title. Just how she came by it nobody
could tell, but of its general significance, as it fell from her lips;
there could be no doubt whatever in any but the most obtuse intellect.
For her it had a large and noble, although a rather indefinite meaning,
entirely favorable to the person or the object to which it was applied.
There was one other word in her lexicon which was in the nature of a
jewel to be used only on special occasions. It was the word "copasetic."
The best society of Salem Hill understood perfectly that it signalized
an unusual depth of meaning.
In half a moment she added: "He's got some grand idees. If they was ever
drawed out an' spread on the ground so that folks could see them, I
reckon they'd be surprised."
"I'm sorry to find him in this condition," said Harry. "We wanted you and
him to come out and help Mrs. Traylor to look after the place while we
are gone to Chicago."
"You needn't worry about Ol' John," said she.
"He'll git lonesome an' toddle off when the 'Colonel' goes to bed an'
won't come 'round ag'in till snow flies. That man will be just as steady
as an ox all the summer an' fall--not a laugh out o' him--you see."
"Can you be there at six in the morning?"
"We'll be there--sure as sunrise--an' ready to go to work."
They were on hand at the hour appointed, the "Colonel" having acquired,
meanwhile, his wonted look of solemnity.
Josiah, now a sturdy boy of thirteen, stood in the dooryard, holding the
two saddle ponies from Nebraska which Samson had bought of a drover.
Betsey, a handsome young miss almost fifteen years old, stood beside him.
Sambo, a sober old dog with gray hairs in his head, sat near, looking at
the horses. Sarah, whose face had begun to show the wear of years full of
loneliness and hard work, was packing the saddle-bags, now nearly filled,
with extra socks and shirts and doughnuts and bread and butter. As the
travelers were saying good-by, Mrs. Lukins handed a package to Samson.
"I heard Philemon Morris readin' 'bout Chicago in the paper," said she.
"I want you to take that money an' buy me some land thar--jest as much as
ye kin. There's two hundred an' fifty dollars in the foot o' that ol'
sock, and most of it shiny gold."
"I wouldn't risk my savings that way," Samson advised. "It's too much
like gambling. You couldn't afford to lose your money."
"You do as I tell ye," the "Colonel's" wife insisted. "I alwus obey your
orders. Now I want you to take one from me."
"All right," the man answered. "If I see anything that looks good to me,
I'll buy it if I can."
As the two men were riding toward the village, Samson said: "Kind o'
makes my heart ache to leave home even for a little while these days.
We've had six long, lonesome years on that farm. Not one of our friends
have been out to see us. Sarah was right. Movin' west is a good deal like
dyin' and goin' to another world. It's a pity we didn't settle further
north, but we were tired of travel when we got here. We didn't know which
way to turn and felt as if we'd gone far enough. When we settle down
again, it'll be where we can take some comfort and see lots o' folks
every day."
"Have you decided where to go?" Harry asked.
"I think we shall go with Abe to Springfield."
"That's good. Next year I hope to be admitted to the bar, and I'd like to
settle in Springfield."
For nearly two years Abe Lincoln had been passing the law books that he
had read to Harry before they went back to John T. Stuart.
The gray horses, Colonel and Pete, stood by the fence in the pasture lot
and whinnied as the men passed.
"They know us all right," said Samson. "I guess they feel slighted, but
they've had their last journey. They're about worn out. We'll give 'em a
vacation this summer. I wouldn't sell 'em. They're a part o' the family.
You can lay yer hand on either one and say that no better boss was ever
wrapped in a surcingle."
They met Abe Lincoln at the tavern, where he was waiting on a big horse
which he had borrowed for the trip from James Rutledge. Without delay,
the three men set out on the north road in perfect weather. From the
hill's edge they could look over a wooded plain running far to the east.
"It's a beautiful place to live up here, but on this side you need a
ladder to get to it. The little village is going to die--too much
altitude. It's a horse killer. No team can draw anything but its breath
going up that hill. It's all right for a generation of walkers, but the
time has come when we must go faster than a walk and carry bigger burdens
than a basket or a bundle. Every one will be moving--mostly to
Petersburg."
As they rode on, the young statesman repeated a long passage from one of
the sermons of Dr. William Ellery Channing on the Instability of Human
Affairs.
"I wish that I had your memory," Samson remarked.
"My memory is like a piece of metal," said the young legislator.
"Learning is not easy for me. It's rather slow work--like engraving with
a tool. But when a thing is once printed on my memory it seems to stay
there. It doesn't rub out. When I run across a great idea, well
expressed, I like to put it on the wall of my mind where I can live with
it. In this way every man can have his own little art gallery and be in
the company of great men."
They forded a creek in deep water, where a bridge had been washed away.
As they came out dripping on the farther shore. Lincoln remarked: "The
thing to do in fording a deep stream is to keep watch o' your horse's
ears. As long as you can see 'em you're all right."
"Mr. Lincoln, I'm sorry--you got into a hole," said Samson.
"I don't mind that, but while we're traveling together, please don't call
me 'Mr. Lincoln.' I don't think I've done anything to deserve such lack
of respect"
Samson answered: "If you're nice to us, I don't know but we'll call ye
'Abe' again, just for a few days. You can't expect us to go too far with
a man who associates with Judges and Generals and Governors and such
trash. If you keep it up, you're bound to lose standing in our
community."
"I know I've changed," said Abe. "I've grown older since Ann died--years
older--but I don't want you fellows to throw me over. I'm on the same
level that you are and I intend to stay there. It's a fool notion that
men go up some heavenly stairway to another plane when they begin to do
things worth while. That's a kind of feudalistic twaddle. The wise man
keeps his feet on the ground and lifts his mind as high as possible. The
higher he lifts it, the more respect he will have for the common folk.
Have either of you seen McNamar since he got back?"
"I saw him the day he drove into the village," Harry answered. "He was
expecting to find Ann and make good his promise to marry her."
"Poor fool! It's a sad story all around," said Abe Lincoln. "He's not a
bad fellow, I reckon, but he broke Ann's heart. Didn't realize what a
tender thing it was. I can't forgive him."
In the middle of the afternoon they came in sight of the home of Henry
Brimstead.
"Here's where we stop and feed, and listen to Henry's secrets," said
Samson.
The level fields were cut into squares outlined by wooden stakes.
Brimstead was mowing the grass in his dooryard. He dropped his scythe and
came to welcome the travelers.
"Say, don't you know that you are standing in the center of a large and
promising city?" he said to Samson. "You fellers ought to dress up a
little when ye come to town."
"Boys, we've stumbled on to a dream city, paved with gold and arched with
rainbows," said Samson.
"You are standing at the corner of Grand Avenue and Empire Street, in the
growing city of El Dorado, near the great water highway of Illinois,"
Brimstead declaimed.
"Where's the growin'?" Samson demanded.
Brimstead came closer and said in a confidential tone: "If you stand
right where you are an' listen, you'll hear it growin'."
"It sounds a good deal like a turnip growin' in a garden," Samson
remarked, thoughtfully.
"Give it a fair chance," Brimstead went on. "Two cellars have been dug
over there in the pasture. One is for the Town Hall and the other for the
University which the Methodists are going to build. A railroad has been
surveyed and is expected this summer."
"That same railroad has been expected in a thousand places since '32,"
said Samson.
"I know, it's the most expected thing in the United States but that won't
scare it away," Brimstead went on. "Everybody is yellin' for it."
"You can't call a railroad as you would a dog by whistling," Abe warned
him.
"But it's got beyond Buffalo on its way," said Brimstead.
"A team of healthy snails would get here soouer," Samson insisted.
"El Dorado can make out with a canal to Lake Michigan, carrying its
manufactures and the product of the surrounding country straight to the
big cities of the East," said Brimstead. "Every corner lot in my city has
been sold and paid for, half cash and half notes."
"The brokers in Chicago got the cash and you got the notes?"
"You've said it. I've got a drawer full of notes."
"And you've quit farmin'?"
"Say, I'll tell ye the land has gone up so it wouldn't pay. Peasley an'
I cal'ate that we're goin' to git rich this summer sellin' lots."
"Wake up, man. You're dreamin'," said Samson.
Henry came dose to Samson and said in a confidential tone: "Say, mebbe
the whole state is dreamin' an' yellin' in its sleep 'bout canals an'
schools an' factories an' mills an' railroads. We're havin' a good
time anyway."
This reminded Abe Lincoln of the story:
"There was a man in Pope County who came home one evening and sat down in
the middle of the barn floor and began to sing. His wife asked him:
"'Are you drunk or crazy or a fool?'
"'I don't know what you'd call it, but I know I ain't got a darn bit to
spare,' he answered, with a whoop of joy."
"You're all goin' to roll out o' bed and hit the floor with a bump," said
Samson.
Brimstead declared in his usual tone of confidence:
"The worst part o' bein' a fool is lonesomeness. I was the only one in
Flea Valley. Now I shall be in the company of a Governor an' dozens o'
well known statesmen. You'll be the only lonesome man in Illinois."
"I sometimes fear that he will enjoy the loneliness of wisdom," said
Honest Abe.
"In some parts of the state every farmer owns his own private city,"
Samson declared. "I hope Henry Brimstead does as well raising cities as
he did raising grain. He was a very successful farmer."
"I knew you'd make fun o' me but when you come again you'll see the
towers an' steeples," said Brimstead. "Put up your horses and come into
the house and see the first lady of El Dorado."
Mrs. Brimstead had their dinner cooking before the horses were cared for.
Samson went into the house while Henry was showing his El Dorado map to
the others.
"Well, what do you think of Henry's plans?" she asked.
"I like the farm better."
"So do I," the woman declared. "But the men around here have gone crazy
with dreams of sudden wealth. I kept Henry busy on the farm as long as I
could."
"I've only a word of advice about it. If those Chicago men sell any more
of your land make them take the notes and you take the money. Where is
Annabel?"
"Teaching the school at Hopedale."
"We're going up to Chicago to see the Kelsos," said Samson.
"Glad you are. Some rich feller up there by the name of Davis has fallen
in love with Bim an' he don't give her any peace. He left here last night
goin' north. Owns a lot o' land in Tazewell County an' wears a diamond in
his shirt as big as your thumb nail. Bim has been teaching school in
Chicago this winter. It must be a wonderful place. Every one has loads
of money. The stores an' houses are as thick as the hair on a dog's
back-some of 'em as big as all outdoors."

She added in a moment as she stirred her pudding: "Something ought to be
done for Bim to get her free."
"We're going to see about that," Samson assured her.
"Harry had better look out," said Mrs. Brimstead.
"Abe is going to get a divorce for her an' I guess from now on the grass
won't have a chance to grow under Harry's feet. The boy has worried a
good deal lately. Wouldn't wonder if he'd heard o' those rich fellers but
he hasn't let on about it."
Abe Lincoln and Harry entered with their host and the travelers sat down
to a luncheon of pudding and milk and doughnuts and pie.
"There's no El Dorado about this," said Samson. "Women have to have
something more than hopes to work with."
"The women in this country have to do all their dreaming at night," said
Mrs. Brimstead.
"El Dorado will not stay long," Samson averred.
"It wouldn't cost much to shoo it off your land," Abe laughed.
"You can't either shoo or shoot it," said Brimstead.
"I look for it just to take the rickets an' die," was the comment of his
wife.
"How far do you call it to the sycamore woods?" Lincoln asked as they
rose from the table.
"About thirty mile," said Brimstead.
"We must be off if we are to get there before dark," the young statesman
declared.
They saddled their horses and mounted and rode up to the door. After
their acknowledgments and farewells Brimstead came close to Samson and
said in confidence: "I enjoy bein' a millionaire for a few minutes now
an' then. It's as good as goin' to a circus an' cheaper."
"The feelings of a millionaire are almost as good as the money while they
last," said Abe Lincoln with a laugh.
Brimstead came up to him and whispered: "They're better 'cause if you can
keep away from Samson Traylor you don't have any fear o' bein' robbed."
"It reminds me o' the time I used to play I was a horse," said Samson as
they rode away. In a moment he added: "Abe, the state is getting in a bad
way."
"It looks as if you were right," said the member from Sangamon County.
"It's a bad sign to find men like Peasley and Brimstead going crazy."
Up the road they passed many farms unsown and staked into streets and
avenues. The hand of industry had been checked by dreams of wealth.
"The land that once laughed with fatness now has a lean and solemn look,"
Abe admitted. "But I reckon you'll find that kind of thing going on all
over the country-east and west."
"It reminds me of those fellers that danced on the table an' smashed the
dishes at the banquet," said Samson.
"They had the same kind o' feelin's that Brimstead has," said the
legislator. "I wish we had had you in the House."
"They would have thrown me out of a window."
"I wouldn't wonder but I reckon the time is near when they would urge you
to come in at the door. You've got more good sense than all of us put
together. I've heard you accuse me of growing but your own growth has
astonished me."
"No one can stand still in this country especially if he's got a wife
like mine," Samson answered. "Even Mr. and Mrs. Peter Lukins want to be
movin' on, an' a city is likely to come an' sit down beside ye when ye
ain't lookin'."
"Your wife is a wonderful woman," said Abe.
"She's been a great help to me," Samson declared. "We read together and
talk the matter over. She's got better sense than I have."
"And yet they say women ought not to vote," said Lincoln. "That's another
relic of feudalism. I think that the women you and I know are as well
qualified to vote as the men."
"On the whole better. They are more industrious, thrifty and dependable.
Have you ever seen a 'Colonel' Lukins or a Bap McNoll in woman's dress?"
"Never. Democracy has much ground to win. For my part I believe that the
Declaration of Independence is a practical document. My ambition is to
see its truth accepted everywhere. As a contribution to human welfare its
principles are second only to the law of Moses. It should be our work to
keep the structure of America true to the plan of its architects."
After a moment of silence Lincoln added: "What is your ambition?"
"It is very modest," said Samson. "I've been thinking that I'd like to go
into some kind of business and help develop the West."
"Well some one has got to provide our growing population with food and
clothing and tools and transportation."
"And see that they don't get El Doradoed," said Harry.
At early candlelight they reached the sycamore woods very hungry. It was
a beautiful grove-like forest on the shore of a stream. The crossing was
a rough bridge of corduroy. A crude log tavern and a cruder store stood
on the farther shore of the creek. The tavern was a dirty place with a
drunken proprietor. Three ragged, shiftless farmers and a half-breed
Indian sat in its main room in varying stages of inebriacy. A well
dressed, handsome, young man with a diamond in his shirt-front was
leading a horse back and forth in the stable yard. The diamond led Samson
to suspect that he was the man Davis of whom Mrs. Brimstead had spoken.
Our travelers, not liking the look of the place, got some oats and rode
on, camping near the farther edge of the woods, where they built a fire,
fed and tethered their horses and sat down and ate from the store in
their saddle-bags.
"I was hankering for a hot supper," said Abe as they began eating.
"Washington Irving wrote in his journal that if he couldn't get a dinner
to suit his taste he endeavored to get a taste to suit his dinner. That
is what we must do."
They made out very well in the undertaking and then with their knives Abe
and Samson cut big armfuls of grass from the near prairie for the horses
and a bed upon which the three men lay down for the night. Harry had
dried out their saddle-blankets by the fire and these were their bed
clothing.
"This hay may have some bugs in it but they won't tickle so bad as those
in the tavern," Abe laughed.
Then Harry remarked: "There was lots of bad company in that tavern. The
towel that hung over the washstand was as black as the ground."
"It reminded me of the tavern down in Pope County," Abe yawned. "A
traveler found fault with the condition of its one towel and the landlord
said: 'Go to h--ll, stranger. More than fifty men have used that towl
to-day an' you're the first one that's complained of it.'"
Samson had that gift of "sleeping with one eye open" which the perils of
the wilderness had conferred upon the pioneer. He had lain down on the
side of their bed near the horses, which, were tethered to trees only a
few feet away. He had gone to sleep with his pistol under his right hand.
Since the beginning of that long journey overland from Vermont Samson had
been wont to say that his right hand never slept. Late in the night ha
was awakened by an unusual movement among the horses. In the dim light of
the fire he could see a man in the act of bridling Abe's horse.
"Hold up your hands," Samson shouted as he covered the man with his
pistol. "If ye stir a foot I'll bore a hole in ye."
The man threw up his hands and stood still.
In half a moment Abe Lincoln and Harry had got up and captured the man
and the loosed horse.
This is part of the entry which Samson made in his diary a week or so
later:
       *       *       *       *       *
"Harry put some wood on the fire while Abe and I led him up into the
light. He was one of the dirty white men we had seen at the tavern.
"'I'll give ye four hundred dollars for a hogs in good Michigan money,'
he said.
"'If ye can't steal a horse you're willin' to buy one,' I says.
"'No, sir. I only come to buy,' says he.
"I flopped him sudden and asked him why he was putting on the bridle.
"He owned up then. Said a man had hired him to steal the horse.
"'That man has got to have a hoss,' he said. 'He'll give ye any price ye
want to ask. If you'll give me a few dollars I'll take ye to him.'
"'You go and bring him here and I'll talk to him,' I said.
"I let the feller go. I didn't suppose he'd come back but he did. Came a
little before sunrise with that well dressed feller we saw at the tavern.
"'Do you want to buy a horse?' I says.
"'Yes, sir, I've got to get to Chicago to-day if possible.'
"'What's your hurry?'
"'I have engagements to-morrow and land to sell.'
"'How did ye get here?'
"'Came up from Tazewell County to-day on a horse. It died last evening.'
"'What's your name?' I says.
"He handed me a card on which I read the words 'Lionel Davis, Real
Estate, Loans and Insurance, 14 South Water Street, Chicago, Ill.'
"'There's one branch o' your business that isn't mentioned on the card,'
I says.
"'What's that?' says he.
"'Horse-thief,' says I. 'You sent that feller here to steal a horse and
he got caught.'
"'Well I told him if he'd get me a good horse I'd give him five hundred
dollars and that I didn't care how he got him. The fact is I'm desperate.
I'll give you a thousand dollars for one of your horses.'
"'You couldn't buy one of 'em at any price,' I said. 'There's two
reasons. I wouldn't do business with a horse-thief and no money would
tempt me to sell an animal to be ridden to death.'
"The two thieves had had enough of us and they got out."
       *       *       *       *       *
That night our party camped on the shore of the Kankakee and next day
they met the contractors. Lincoln joined the latter party and Harry and
Samson went on alone. Late that afternoon they crossed the nine mile
prairie, beyond which they could see the shimmer of the lake and the
sunlit structures of the new city. Pink and white moccasin flowers and
primroses were thick in the grass. On the lower ground the hoofs of their
horses plashed in wide stretches of shallow water.
Chicago looked very bare on the high prairie above the lake. It was Mr.
William Cullen Bryant who said that it had the look of a huckster in his
shirt-sleeves.
"There it is," said Samson. "Four thousand, one hundred and eighty people
live there. It looks like a sturdy two-year-old."
The houses were small and cheaply built and of many colors. Some were
unpainted. Near the prairie they stood like people on the outer edge of
a crowd, looking over one another's shoulders and pushing in a disordered
mass toward the center of interest. Some seemed to have straggled away as
if they had given up trying to see or hear. So to one nearing it the
town had a helter-skelter look.
Our travelers passed rough boarded houses with grand-looking people in
their dooryards and on their small porches--men in broadcloth and tall
hats and ladies in silk dresses. It was six o'clock and the men had come
home to supper. As the horsemen proceeded larger buildings surrounded
them, mostly two stories high. There were some stores and houses built of
red brick. Beyond the scatter of cheap, wooden structures they came to
streets well laid out and crowded and busy and "very soft" to quote a
phrase from the diary. Teams were struggling in the mud, drivers shouting
and lashing. Agents for hotels and boarding-houses began to solicit the
two horsemen from the plank sidewalks. The latter were deeply impressed
by a negro in scarlet clothes, riding a horse in scarlet housings. He
carried a scarlet banner and was advertising in a loud voice the hour and
place of a great land sale that evening.
A sound of many hammers beating upon boards could be heard above the
noises of the street and behind all was the constant droning of a big
steam saw and the whir of the heavy stones in the new grist mill. It was
the beginning of that amazing diapason of industry which accompanied the
building of the cities of the West.
They got out in the livery stable of the City Hotel and at the desk of
the latter asked about the price of board. It was three dollars a day and
no politeness in the offer.
"It's purty steep," said Samson. "But I'm too hungry for argument or
delay and I guess we can stand it to be nabobs for a day or so."
"I shall have to ask you to pay in advance," the clerk demanded.
Samson drew out the pig's bladder in which he carried his money and paid
for a day's board.
Samson writes that Harry spent half an hour washing and dressing himself
in the clean clothes and fine shoes which he had brought in his
saddle-bags and adds:
       *       *       *       *       *
"He was a broad-shouldered, handsome chap those days, six feet and an
inch high and straight as an arrow with a small blond mustache. His
clothes were rumpled up some and he wore a gray felt hat instead of
a tall one but there was no likelier looking lad in the new city."
       *       *       *       *       *
After supper the office of the hotel was crowded with men in tall hats
and tail coats smoking "seegars" and gathered in groups. The earnestness
of their talk was signalized by little outbursts of profanity coupled
with the name of Jackson. Some denounced the President as a traitor. One
man stood in the midst of a dozen others delivering a sort of oration,
embellished with noble gestures, on the future of Illinois. His teeth
were clenched on his "seegar" that tilted out of the corner of his mouth
as he spoke. Now and then he would pause and by a deft movement of his
lips roll the "seegar" to the other corner of his mouth, take a fresh
grip on it and resume his oration.
Samson wrote in his diary:
  "He said a lot of foolish things that made us laugh."
Twenty years later he put this note under that entry:
  "The funny thing about it was really this; they all came true."
The hotel clerk had a _Register of the Residents of the City of Chicago_
wherein they found the name and address of John Kelso. They went out to
find the house. Storekeepers tried to stop them as they passed along the
street with offers of land at bargains which would make them millionaires
in a week. In proceeding along the plank sidewalks they were often
ascending or descending steps to another level.
They went to a barber shop and got "trimmed and shaved." For change the
barber gave them a sort of shinplaster money, each piece of which bore
the legend: "Good for one shave or ten cents at the Palace Shaving
Parlors, 16 Dearborn Street, Chicago, Ill." The barber assured them it
was as good as coin anywhere in the city which they found to be true. The
town was flooded with this "red dog money" issued by stores or work-shops
and finding general acceptance among its visitors and inhabitants. On the
sidewalks were emigrant families the older members of which carried heavy
bags and bundles. They were followed by troops of weary, dirty children.
On La Salle Street they found the home of Jack Kelso. It was a rough
boarded small house a story and a half high. It had a little porch and
dooryard enclosed by an unpainted picket fence. Bim in a handsome, blue
silk gown came running out to meet them.
"If you don't mind I'm going to kiss you," she said to Harry.
"I'd mind if you didn't," said the young man as he embraced her.
"We must be careful not to get the habit," she laughed.
"It grows on one."
"It also grows on two," she answered.
"I'd enjoy being careless for once," said Harry.
"Women can be extravagant with everything but carelessness," she
insisted. "Do you like this gown?"
"It is lovely--like yourself."
"Then perhaps you will be willing to take me to the party to-night. My
mother will chaperon us."
"With these clothes that have just been hauled out of a saddle-bag?" said
Harry with a look of alarm.
"Even rags could not hide the beauty of him," said Kelso as he came down
from the porch to greet them. "And look at her," he went on. "Was there
ever a fairer maid in spite of all her troubles? See the red in her
cheeks and the diamond glow of youth and health in her eyes. You should
see the young men sighing and guitaring around her."
"You'll hear me tuning up," Harry declared.
"That is father's way of comforting my widowhood," said Bim. "He has made
a wonderful beauty mask and often he claps it on me and whistles up a
band of sighing lovers. As a work of the imagination I am a great
success."
"The look of you sets my heart afire again," the boy exclaimed.
"Come--put up your guitar and take mother and me to the party at Mrs.
Kinzie's," said Bim. "A very grand young man was coming to take us in a
wonderful carriage but he's half an hour late now. We won't wait for
him."
So the three set out together afoot for Mrs. Kinzie's, while Samson sat
down for a visit with Jack Kelso.
"Mrs. Kinzie enjoys the distinction of owning a piano," said Bim as they
went on. "There are only three pianos In the city and so far we have
discovered only two people who can play on them--the music teacher and a
young gentleman from Baltimore. When they are being played on people
gather around the houses where they are."
The Kinzies' house was of brick and larger and more pretentious than any
in Chicago. Its lawn, veranda and parlor were crowded with people in a
curious variety of costumes.
Nearly all the festive company wore diamonds. They scintillated on
fingers, some of which were knotted with toil; they glowed on shirt
bosoms and morning as well as evening gowns; on necks and ears which
should have been spared the emphasis of jewels. They were the accepted
badge and token of success. People who wore them not were either new
arrivals or those of questionable wealth and taste. So far had this
singular vanity progressed that a certain rich man, who had lost a finger
in a saw mill, wore an immense solitaire next to the stub, it may be
presumed, as a memorial to the departed.
Colonel Zachary Taylor, who had laterly arrived from Florida and was
presently returning with a regiment of recruits for the Seminole War, was
at Mrs. Kinzie's party. He was then a man of middle age with iron gray
hair and close cropped side whiskers. A splendid figure he was in his
uniform. He remembered Harry and took him in hand and introduced him to
many of his friends as the best scout in the Black Hawk War, and, in
spite of his dress, the young man became one of the lions of the evening.
"I reckon I could tell you some things about this boy," the Colonel said
to Bim.
"He may not be afraid of guns or Indians but he has always been scared of
women," said she.
"Which shows that he has a just sense of the relative importance of
perils," the Colonel answered. "A man of the highest chivalry is ever
afraid in the presence of a lovely woman and chiefly for her sake. I
once held a beautiful vase in my hands. They said it was worth ten
thousand dollars. I was afraid until I had put it down."
"A great piano player from New York" was introduced. She played on Mrs.
Kinzie's instrument, after which Bim sang a number of Scottish ballads
and "delightfully" if one may believe a chronicler so partial as Harry
Needles, the value of whose judgment is somewhat affected by the
statement in his diary that as she stood by the piano her voice and
beauty set his heart thumping in his breast. However of the charm and
popularity of this young lady there is ample evidence in copies of The
Democrat which are still preserved and in sundry letters and journals of
that time.
The refreshment table was decorated with pyramids of quartered oranges in
nets of spun sugar and large frosted cakes. There were roasted pigeons
and turkeys and chickens and a big ham, served with jelly, and platters
of doughnuts and bread and butter and cabbage salad. Every one ate
heartily and was served often, for the supper was thought to be the most
important feature of a party those days.
After refreshments the men went outside to smoke and talk--some with
pipes--of canals, railroads and corner lots while the younger people were
dancing and being proudly surveyed by their mothers.
As Harry and the ladies were leaving Colonel Taylor came to them and
said:
"Young man, I am the voice of your country. I call you to Florida. Will
you go with us next week?"
Harry looked into Bim's eyes.
"The campaign will be over in a year and I need you badly," the Colonel
urged.
"I can not say no to the call of my country," Harry answered. "I will
join your regiment at Beardstown on its way down the river."
That night Harry and Bim stood by the gate talking after Mrs. Kelso had
gone into the house.
"Bim, I love you more than ever," said the boy. "Abe says you can get a
divorce. I have brought the papers for you to sign. They will make you
free. I have done it for your sake. You will be under no obligation. I
want you to be free to marry whom you will. I would be the happiest man
in the world if you were to choose me. I haven't the wealth of some of
these city men. I can only offer you my love."
"Be careful and please let go of my hand," she said. "The time has come
when it would be possible to spoil our story. I'm not going to say a word
of love to you. I am not free yet. We couldn't marry if we wanted to. I
wish you to be under no sense of obligation to me. Many things may happen
in a year. I am glad you are going to see more of the world before you
settle down, Harry. You will stop in New Orleans and see some of its
beautiful women. It will help you to be sure to know yourself a little
better and to be sure of what you want to do."
There was a note of sadness in her voice as she spoke these words which
be recalled with a sense of comfort on many a lonely day.
"I think that I know myself fairly well," he answered. "There are so many
better men who want to marry you! I shall go away with a great fear in
me."
"There are no better men," she answered. "When you get back we shall see
what comes of our little romance. Meanwhile I'm going to pray for you."
"And I for you," he said as he followed her into the house where the
older people sat waiting for them. Harry gave the papers to Bim to be
signed and attested and forwarded to Mr. Stuart in Springfield.
On their way to the hotel Samson said to Harry:
"I don't believe Bim is going to be carried away by any of these
high-flyers. She's getting to be a very sensible person. Jack is
disgusted by what he calls 'the rank commercialism of the place.' I told
him about that horse-thief Davis. He was the man who was going to the
party to-night with the ladies. He's in love with Bim. Jack says that the
men here are mostly of that type. They seem to have gone crazy in the
scramble for riches. Their motto is: 'Get it; do it honestly if you can,
but get it.' I guess that was exactly the plan of Davis in trying to get
a horse.
"Poor Jack has caught the plague. He has invested in land. Thinks it will
make him rich. He's in poor health too--kidney trouble--and Bim has a
baby with all the rest--a beautiful boy. I went up-stairs and saw him
asleep in his cradle. Looks like her. Hair as yellow as gold, light
complexion, blue eyes, handsome as a picture."
That night in the office of the City Hotel they found Mr. Lionel Davis
in the midst of a group of excited speculators. In some way he had got
across the prairies and was selling his land and accepting every offer on
the plea that he was going into the grain business in St. Louis and had
to leave Chicago next day. Samson and Harry watched him while he
exercised the arts of the auctioneer in cleaning his slate. Diamonds and
gold watches were taken and many thousands of dollars in bank bills and
coin came into his hands. He choked the market with bargains. The buyers
began to back off. They were like hungry dogs laboring with a difficult
problem of mastication. Mr. Davis closed his carpet bag and left.
"It was a kind of horse stealin'," said Samson as they were going to bed.
"He got news down there on the main road by pony express on its way to
St. Louis. I'll bet there's been a panic in the East. He's awake and the
others are still dreamin'."