knee-breeches. And I know a great speech when I see it. And when
Nellie--my sister--brought in the paper this morning and read that
to me I told her at once that not six times since history began has a
speech been made which was its equal. That was before she told me what
the Senator said."

"What did the Senator say?" asked the quiet man who listened.

"It was Senator Warrington, to whom my sister is--is acting as
secretary." The explanation was distasteful, but he went on, carried
past the jog by the interest of his story. "He was at Gettysburg
yesterday, with the President's party. He told my sister that the
speech so went home to the hearts of all those thousands of people
that when it was ended it was as if the whole audience held its
breath--there was not a hand lifted to applaud. One might as well
applaud the Lord's Prayer--it would have been sacrilege. And they
all felt it--down to the lowest. There was a long minute of reverent
silence, no sound from all that great throng--it seems to me, an
enemy, that it was the most perfect tribute that has ever been paid by
any people to any orator."

The boy, lifting his hand from his brother's shoulder to mark the
effect of his brother's words, saw with surprise that in the strange
lawyer's eyes were tears. But the wounded man did not notice.

"It will live, that speech. Fifty years from now American schoolboys
will be learning it as part of their education. It is not merely my
opinion," he went on. "Warrington says the whole country is ringing
with it. And you haven't read it? And your name's Lincoln? Warry, boy,
where's the paper Nellie left? I'll read the speech to Mr. Lincoln