“Yes.”
“They begin by clodding him; and they laugh themselves to pieces to see him try to dodge one clod and get hit with another?”
“Yes.”
“Then they throw dead cats at him, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, suppose he has a few personal enemies in that mob and here and there a man or a woman with a secret grudge against him—and suppose especially that he is unpopular in the community, for his pride, or his prosperity, or one thing or another—stones and bricks take the place of clods and cats presently, don’t they?”
“There is no doubt of it.”
“As a rule he is crippled for life, isn’t he?—jaws broken, teeth smashed out?—or legs mutilated, gangrened, presently cut off?—or an eye knocked out, maybe both eyes?”
“It is true, God knoweth it.”
“And if he is unpopular he can depend on dying, right there in the stocks, can’t he?”