The company noticed it.
Good effect.
"You don't answer, brother.

You were about to glorify the pillory a while ago, and shed some pity on a future age that isn't going to use it.

I think the pillory ought to be abolished.

What usually happens when a poor fellow is put in the pillory for some little offense that didn't amount to anything in the world?
The mob try to have some fun with him, don't they ?" "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 ?" "He surely can! One may not deny it." "I take it none of _you_ are unpopular--by reason of pride or insolence, or conspicuous prosperity, or any of those things that excite envy and malice among the base scum of a village?
_You_ wouldn't think it much of a risk to take a chance in the stocks ?" Dowley winced, visibly.

I judged he was hit.