on the floor.
When he saw Cage, Lincoln sprang up off the bed and clomped over to him with his hand out.
“Everybody’s drunk except for me,” he said. “Somebody get Cage a glass. Temperance is a terrible vice and I don’t want him to fall into ruin on account of my example.”
Speed wiped out a glass with his untucked shirttail, filled it with what he proudly proclaimed was Kentucky bourbon, and handed it to Cage.
“Nobody could find you,” Speed said.
“I was at a play.”
“The Italian one?” Lincoln wanted to know. “Is it any good? I’d like to see it but first I’ve got to win a case for Stuart here so I can get paid.”
“It’s not bad,” Cage said, unwilling to betray the restless mood the play had put him into. “So you’ve moved to Springfield?”
“I’m in the lion’s den! It feels strange to have planted myself here at last. It feels exciting. And I haven’t even been here a day and we’re already trying to figure out how we can get the doctor here elected to probate justice of the peace.”
Cage turned to Merritt and raised his glass in salute. “I’m sure you’d make an exemplary probate justice of the peace, Ash. Whatever that is.”
“It’s a very important and lucrative position,” Lincoln said, “and no one would serve the public better in it than our friend. Unfortunately we have an obstacle in his opponent.”
“James Adams,” Ash Merritt said to Cage. “Do you know him?”
“Only to see him on the street.”
“He’s a liar, a forger, a thief, a fool, a traitor to his country, and a whining, wheedling windbag.”
Ash had only a sip of bourbon left in his glass but he gulped it down to punctuate his angry verdict.
“But he’s also the incumbent,” Lincoln said. “So he’s had a chance to do some favors and sew up a sack of votes. But we think we can find a few votes of our own and maybe put a hole in Mr. Adams’s sack.
“John,” he said, turning to Stuart, “how many members in the Mechanics’ Institute here in Springfield?”
“I’d say fifty, fifty-five active.”
“Who do I talk to?”
“Ezra Heath’s the president, but Ezra’s pretty far into the drink these days. Maybe Tom Tucker.”
“What about the Methodists? What do they need?”
“I’ve already talked to Reverend Wiley. They could use a new roof after that hailstorm last month, but we can’t count on the whole congregation. Methodists tend to be independent-minded.”
On they went, Lincoln and Stuart and Merritt, factoring out who controlled the votes for the masons laying the foundation for the new state capitol building, for the draymen and teamsters and the stable owners, the Presbyterians and the temperance societies, for the stagecoach drivers and boardinghouse owners and innkeepers and militiamen and the vendors who supplied tents and chairs for camp meetings. Who had influence, and who was willing to use it for the good of the cause and who needed a couple of cured hams or a new suit of clothes or a new window frame for his house. Speed offered an opinion from time to time but mostly he just joined Cage in listening in amazement. Cage knew that Lincoln was the floor leader of the Whigs in the statehouse, but he had never seen him in action. Lincoln knew the names not just of the operatives called big little men who were counted on to deliver blocks of votes, but of seemingly each individual voter and that voter’s needs and desires. He knew the men who would stand firm when they told you they were with you and the men you had to visit time and time again, shoring them up, reminding them what the stakes were.
“It’s too damned tight,” Ash said, when they had finally finished their imaginary plebiscite. “If you don’t find me some more votes I’m going to be wasting my time running against him.”
“Well, there is such a thing as campaigning, Ash,” Lincoln said. “The problem there, though, is your gloomy and combative temperament.”
“He’s
When he saw Cage, Lincoln sprang up off the bed and clomped over to him with his hand out.
“Everybody’s drunk except for me,” he said. “Somebody get Cage a glass. Temperance is a terrible vice and I don’t want him to fall into ruin on account of my example.”
Speed wiped out a glass with his untucked shirttail, filled it with what he proudly proclaimed was Kentucky bourbon, and handed it to Cage.
“Nobody could find you,” Speed said.
“I was at a play.”
“The Italian one?” Lincoln wanted to know. “Is it any good? I’d like to see it but first I’ve got to win a case for Stuart here so I can get paid.”
“It’s not bad,” Cage said, unwilling to betray the restless mood the play had put him into. “So you’ve moved to Springfield?”
“I’m in the lion’s den! It feels strange to have planted myself here at last. It feels exciting. And I haven’t even been here a day and we’re already trying to figure out how we can get the doctor here elected to probate justice of the peace.”
Cage turned to Merritt and raised his glass in salute. “I’m sure you’d make an exemplary probate justice of the peace, Ash. Whatever that is.”
“It’s a very important and lucrative position,” Lincoln said, “and no one would serve the public better in it than our friend. Unfortunately we have an obstacle in his opponent.”
“James Adams,” Ash Merritt said to Cage. “Do you know him?”
“Only to see him on the street.”
“He’s a liar, a forger, a thief, a fool, a traitor to his country, and a whining, wheedling windbag.”
Ash had only a sip of bourbon left in his glass but he gulped it down to punctuate his angry verdict.
“But he’s also the incumbent,” Lincoln said. “So he’s had a chance to do some favors and sew up a sack of votes. But we think we can find a few votes of our own and maybe put a hole in Mr. Adams’s sack.
“John,” he said, turning to Stuart, “how many members in the Mechanics’ Institute here in Springfield?”
“I’d say fifty, fifty-five active.”
“Who do I talk to?”
“Ezra Heath’s the president, but Ezra’s pretty far into the drink these days. Maybe Tom Tucker.”
“What about the Methodists? What do they need?”
“I’ve already talked to Reverend Wiley. They could use a new roof after that hailstorm last month, but we can’t count on the whole congregation. Methodists tend to be independent-minded.”
On they went, Lincoln and Stuart and Merritt, factoring out who controlled the votes for the masons laying the foundation for the new state capitol building, for the draymen and teamsters and the stable owners, the Presbyterians and the temperance societies, for the stagecoach drivers and boardinghouse owners and innkeepers and militiamen and the vendors who supplied tents and chairs for camp meetings. Who had influence, and who was willing to use it for the good of the cause and who needed a couple of cured hams or a new suit of clothes or a new window frame for his house. Speed offered an opinion from time to time but mostly he just joined Cage in listening in amazement. Cage knew that Lincoln was the floor leader of the Whigs in the statehouse, but he had never seen him in action. Lincoln knew the names not just of the operatives called big little men who were counted on to deliver blocks of votes, but of seemingly each individual voter and that voter’s needs and desires. He knew the men who would stand firm when they told you they were with you and the men you had to visit time and time again, shoring them up, reminding them what the stakes were.
“It’s too damned tight,” Ash said, when they had finally finished their imaginary plebiscite. “If you don’t find me some more votes I’m going to be wasting my time running against him.”
“Well, there is such a thing as campaigning, Ash,” Lincoln said. “The problem there, though, is your gloomy and combative temperament.”
“He’s
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