"Thanks," said McGregor simply. "I am sweating through my coat."
"But don't leave my horse half a day tied to a post--any animal with
horse-sense would kick."
"As if I ever did--but when the ladies keep me waiting. Heard the good
news? No--We have nominated Lincoln--and Hamlin."
"I preferred Seward. You surprise me. What of the platform?"
"Oh, good! The Union, tariff, free soil. You will like it. The October
elections in Pennsylvania will tell us who will win--later you will have
to take an active part."
"No. Come up to-morrow and get that horse--No, I'll send it."
The Squire met Rivers on the avenue. As he walked beside the horse, he
said, "I am going to dine with you."
"That is always good, but be on your guard about politics at Grey Pine.
Lincoln is nominated."
"Thank God! What do you think of it, Squire?"
"I think with you. This is definite--no more wabbling. But rest assured,
it means, if he is elected, secession, and in the end war. We will try to
avert it. We will invent compromises, at which the South will laugh; at
last, we will fight, Mark. But we are a quiet commercial people and will
not fight if we can avoid it. They believe nothing will make us fight.
The average, every-day Northerner thinks the threat of secession is
mere bluff.
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