Garvin nodded in a fashion of reserved approval. There was no betrayed hint of his perfect understanding that it meant other things as well: an end of "Garvinism," a period to his baronial powers; the imminent danger which lurked for him in courts no longer afraid to try, and witnesses no longer terrified into perjury.
"That sounds purty promisin'," he agreed. "It sounds purty good."
"Then why would the people not coöperate?"
Garvin gave the question deliberate consideration.
"Well, now," he finally said, "that ain't such an easy question to answer just right off. The people hereabouts have been livin' purty much the same way fer nigh onto a hundred years. They're satisfied."
"Are they satisfied with a reign of terror?" Weighborne was treading the thin ice of local conditions. I fancied he was trying to force Garvin into committing himself, but it was a dangerous experiment.
"What's anybody terrified about?" inquired the Judge with entire blindness.
Weighborne, totally checkmated by this childlike query, changed ground and laughed.
"Oh, we hear a good deal of talk down below," he explained, "about the shot from the laurel and all that sort of thing."
Judge Garvin laughed heartily.