, with one hand on each hip and in a squatting position, cried, ‘Ready.’
Into the ring they toss their fowls, Bap's red rooster along with the rest.
But no sooner had the little beauty discovered what was to be done than he dropped his tail and ran. The crowd cheered, while Bap. in disappointment picked him up and started away, losing his quarter and carrying home his dishonored fowl.
Once arrived at the fatter place he threw his pet down with a feeling of indignation and chagrin.
The little fellow, out of sight of all rivals, mounted a wood pile and proudly flirting out his feathers, crowed with all his might.
Bap. looked on in disgust.
‘Yes, you little cuss,’ he exclaimed, irreverently, ‘you're great on dress parade, but not worth a d-n in a fight.’
” It is said — how truthfully I do not know — that at some period during the late war Mr. Lincoln
in conversation with a friend likened McClellan
to Bap. McNabb's rooster.
So much for New Salem sports.
While wooing that jealous-eyed mistress, the law, Lincoln
was earning no money.
As another has said, “he had a running board bill to pay, and nothing to pay it with.”
By dint of sundry jobs here and there, helping Ellis
in his store to-day, splitting rails for James Short to-morrow, he managed to keep his head above the waves.
His friends were firm — no young man ever had truer or better ones — but he was of too independent a turn to appeal to them or complain of his condition.
He never at any time abandoned the idea of becoming a lawyer.
That was always a spirit which