"Do you want all of the public highway? Can't a gentleman from the
South even walk in the streets without--without--" and the broken
sentence ended in a sob.

The anger and the insolence of the lad were nothing to the man who
towered above him--to that broad mind this was but a child in trouble.
"My boy, the fellow that's interfering with your walking is down
inside of you," he said gently, and with that the astonished youngster
opened his wet eyes wide and laughed--a choking, childish laugh that
pulled at the older man's heart-strings. "That's better, sonny," he
said, and patted the slim shoulder. "Now tell me what's wrong with the
world. Maybe I might help straighten it."

"Wrong, wrong!" the child raved; "everything's wrong," and launched
into a mad tirade against the government from the President down.

Lincoln listened patiently, and when the lad paused for breath, "Go
ahead," he said good-naturedly. "Every little helps."

With that the youngster was silent and drew himself up with stiff
dignity, offended yet fascinated; unable to tear himself away from
this strange giant who was so insultingly kind under his abuse, who
yet inspired him with such a sense of trust and of hope.

"I want a lawyer," he said impulsively, looking up anxiously into the
deep-lined face inches above him. "I don't know where to find a lawyer
in this horrible city, and I must have one--I can't wait--it may be
too late--I want a lawyer _now_" and once more he was in a fever
of excitement.