“I am not prepared at this moment,” replied Barry, “to go to that extreme; but incidents of unblushing presumption, such as we have just witnessed, make one feel that some kind of a curb must be put on the lower and less intelligent classes, or they will become actually tyrannical.”
In the meantime the judge had left the bench. The court-room audience was shuffling noisily out. The jurors, who had just rendered their enforced verdict, found their hats, and all except No. 7 strolled down the aisle by twos and threes discussing the sudden ending of the case. The lawyer for the plaintiff gathered up his books and papers, thrust them into his green bag, and then stopped to consult with the plaintiff’s wife. Westgate and his client strolled across the bar enclosure to where Barry and the rector were standing.
“Congratulations, old boy!” said Barry to the lawyer. “You did a fine piece of work!”
“Oh,” replied Westgate carelessly, “the case was easy. The law was all on our side.” He turned to the rector. “We are always glad to see you in court, Mr. Farrar.”
“The court-room is an extremely interesting place,” replied the clergyman.
“More interesting than profitable, if one is a litigant,” remarked Mr. Malleson. “I suppose, when the millennium comes, there will be no more litigation, Mr. Farrar?”
“No,” replied the clergyman. “The voice of the lawyer will no longer be heard in the land, and we shall have a thousand years of peace.”
Barry laughed, but the others only smiled.
“That’s one on me,” said Westgate. “Are you going our way, Mr. Farrar? Will you come along with us?”
“No,” replied the clergyman, “thank you! I want to stop and speak to Mrs. Bradley. A little consolation might not come amiss. She must be suffering severely from disappointment.”