"Oh, pshaw!" he exclaimed in high good-humor. "There ain't nothin' in all that. Them newspapers down below's jest obliged to have somethin' to talk about. We're all neighbors up here. We're simple sort of folks. Sometimes we has our little arguments, but—" the lips still smiled genially; he paused and his voice was like a benediction as he went on—"but I hope we ain't got in no such serious fix that we needs regulatin' from outside. They do say that most of them fellers that got killed needed killin' pretty bad. I've lost two brothers, but I ain't kickin'."
Weighborne saw that a withdrawal from debate would be advisable, but that this withdrawal must not seem precipitate.
"However, as a matter of argument," he suggested, "is any man competent to decide that his enemy needs killing?"
The judge went into his trousers-pocket and produced a twist of tobacco into which he bit generously before replying.
"Well," he drawled, "your enemy's the man that's goin' to decide whether you need killin'. Why don't it work both ways?"
Weighborne made no reply. One cannot argue with a set opinion. The loungers were saying nothing, but their eyes dwelt admiringly on their spokesman. At last Garvin smilingly inquired:
"You'd have to condemn rights-of-way, I reckon?"
"Only where we couldn't make individual trades," answered my companion.
"That procedure ain't apt to be no ways popular," reflected Judge Garvin.
"You gentlemen understand I ain't criticisin'," he assured us when we made no reply. "If condemnation suits are brought in my co'te I ain't got no personal interests to serve. I'm jest namin' it to you, because you asked about the people's notions, that's all."