"I wanted to count for something," he said absently. "Who doesn't?"
"Yes, but for what—that's the point! What's all this good for, that you've got? Loot!"
"I wanted," said Laurence, deep in his own thoughts and oblivious of this condemnation, "I wanted—human happiness, more than anything. For myself, yes—and for other people.... I wanted life to be more interesting, richer than it was, with more pleasure in it.... Why not? Why can't it be?... I tried, here in this town—"
"Oh, I know!" broke in the old man impatiently. "Public improvements and all that. Suppose they have got cement sidewalks and lots of trees? Suppose ye did give 'em a library? I know they say you've done a lot for the town ... but you want to be a big man, the patron, the boss, and give it to 'em out of charity! That's the same old story, it doesn't interest me. Give the people justice, they won't want charity!"
"Justice!" murmured Laurence with an abstracted smile.
"Well, their rights, then, if you like it better. I don't mean the kind of justice that you deal them out, sitting up on your high seat!"
"I deal them out the best I can find," said Laurence gently. "The law gets re-made rather slowly, you know.... But I'll admit to you that I don't sleep well, the night after I've sentenced a man."
"I never thought to see that—you, Larry Carlin, sentencing people to prison!"
"No, I don't sleep well," said Laurence vaguely.
He rubbed his hand over his eyes and shrugged his shoulders with a look of weariness.