Abby stood so fast her chair fell over.
Doc was frozen in pre-jump position, knees bent and arms out in front of him.
The man in the box lifted a very long leg and tried to step out, but the whole thing tipped over. He tumbled to the floor with a loud thud. His tall hat went flying and a few pieces of paper fell out.
Slowly, calmly, like nothing unusual was going on, the man collected the papers. He stuck them in the lining of his hat. He stood and dusted off his jacket.
The guy really looked exactly like the poster of Abraham Lincoln in their classroom. Except he didn’t have that beard-but-no-mustache you always see in Lincoln pictures.
He said, “How many legs does a dog have, if you call the tail a leg?”
Abby was too stunned to speak.
Doc said, “Um, five?”
“No, only four,” the man said, smiling. “Calling the tail a leg doesn’t make it a leg!” He roared with laughter.
He was the only one.
“I see you don’t care for my jokes,” the man said. “Well, you’re in good company. Mrs. Lincoln is very much on your side.” And he laughed again. “Forgive me for dropping in like this. I’m Abraham Lincoln.”
He held out his right hand to Abby. They shook.
“Abby,” she said. “That’s Doc.”
The visitor reached up and shook hands with Doc.
“Pleasure to meet you, friend,” he said. “Need help getting down?”
“Not really,” Doc said. “But since you’re standing right there.” He rested a hand on the man’s shoulder and jumped to the ground.
The man looked around.
He was still acting like everything was normal.
“So, um,” Abby said. “Who actually are you?”
He laughed. “I’m truly Abraham Lincoln, I assure you.”
“Then where’s your beard?” Doc asked. “Everyone knows you have a beard.”
“Oh, I grew that later. It’s a good story, actually.”
The man claiming to be Lincoln sat down and folded one leg over the other. The look on his face turned serious.
“But we have more important matters to discuss than facial hair,” he said. “I want to talk to you about what happened today. In class, when you were reading the history book, you may have noticed that the story didn’t seem quite right.”
“You mean the part where Lincoln just sat at his desk?” Doc said.
“And read a newspaper?” Abby added.
“Lovely way to spend the day,” the man said. “But all wrong! Don’t you see?”
They didn’t see.
“It’s not what’s supposed to happen!” the man shouted. “And that’s all your fault!”
“Ours?” Abby asked.
“Yes, yours. Both of you, your class, your teacher …”
Abby and Doc both started to think of a lot of questions. But the man didn’t give them time to ask.
“We can hear what you say, you know,” he said. “When you say, ‘History is boring.’ When you make snoring noises.”
“Wasn’t me,” Doc said.
“Please, friend,” the man said. “We hear it all. How do you think that makes us feel?”
“Hold on,” Abby said. “You’re saying ‘we’ … you mean you and, um …”
“I mean myself, yes. And all the other people from history. Everyone. We hear everything you say.”
The box he’d come out of was still on its side. Abby bent down to look in. There were a few books in the back corner.
“How did you get here?” she asked.
“What matters is that I’m here,” he said. “Just this once. I’m here to tell you that I won’t stand for it anymore.”
“Stand for what?” Doc asked.
“Snoring, for one thing,” the man said, looking right into Doc’s eyes. “Saying I’m boring, groaning in agony when it comes time to read about history. As I said, today was just a warning. If you do it again—well, you’ll see.”
He set the box upright.
“And believe me, you won’t like it,” he said. “Now, help me get back into this thing.”
Doc and Abby held the box steady. The tall man stood on a chair, leaned forward, and sort of stepped, sort of belly flopped into the box.
But with no sound.
Abby stood on her tiptoes to look into the box. It was about as tall as she was. And empty, except for the books at the bottom.
