A messenger opened the door to announce that Governor Johnson was in the anteroom requesting speech with Coleman. The latter, handing his gavel to Dempster, immediately answered the summons.
He found Johnson, accompanied by Sherman, Garrison, and two strangers, lounging in the anteroom. The governor sprawled in a chair, his hat pulled over his eyes, a cigar in the corner of his mouth. His companions arose and bowed gravely as Coleman entered the room, but he remained seated, nodding at Coleman with an air of cavalier bravado that was plainly intended to conceal his nervousness. Without waiting for the exchange of spoken greetings, he burst out:
"We have come to ask what you intend to do," he demanded truculently of
Coleman, as though he had never seen or talked to him before.
Coleman stared at him for an instant, completely surprised; read him; set his mouth grimly.
"Outrages are of constant occurrence," he recited briefly; "our suffrages are profaned, our fellow-citizens shot down in the street, our courts afford us no redress, we will endure it no longer."
"I agree with you as to the grievances," rejoined the governor, almost as though reciting a learned lesson; "but I think the courts are the proper remedy. The judges are good men, and there is no necessity for the people to turn themselves into a mob and obstruct the execution of the laws."
A flush mounted Coleman's cheek.
"Sir!" he cried indignantly, "this is no mob! You know this is no mob!"
Johnson looked at him from between half-closed lids, as though from a great distance.
"The opposition is stronger than you imagine," he said. "There is danger to the city—great danger of bloodshed—which should be prevented if possible." He paused, focussed his whole attention on Coleman, and went on with deliberate significance: "It may be necessary to bring out all the force at my command. I strongly advise you to leave the case of Casey to the courts; and I pledge myself to his fair and speedy trial."