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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Oh, yes; he is carting sand, dressed in a grey shirt, and with a lot of other gentlemen in a long row A Oh, very honourable gentlemen, all of them! A thief on one side of him, and on the other a person who did not quite know the difference between mine and thine." "Your son!" "My son, neighbour." The turnpike-keeper seized the letter again to see how the thing went exactly.
He walked in silence beside Wegstetten, who was speaking to him earnestly the while. At the door of the court-house the old man stood still and saluted, meaning to take leave of the captain. Then the officer asked him: "Would you not like to speak to your son? I will get you a permit." "Thank you, sir," said the turnpike-keeper, "if you would have the kindness, sir." This was soon done.
Frank, however, missed the short cut, and came out into the high road; a turnpike-keeper, after first taking his toll, put him back again into the short cut; and finally, he got into some green lanes, where a dilapidated finger-post directed him to Rood.
Five months' imprisonment! It struck the old turnpike-keeper like a blow. He staggered, and the captain was obliged to support him. But the weakness soon passed, and Vogt begged the officer's pardon. He could not, however, listen to Wegstetten's explanation of the harsh verdict. The disproportion between crime and sentence was incomprehensible to his mind.
He led the old man to the banister and said, "Take care you don't fall; it is rather dark here. And you know, Herr Vogt, the men of the battery all say it is a mean shame, what's happened to Vogt, a mean shame." But the turnpike-keeper did not seem to understand him. He only nodded and said, "Thank you, thank you," and tramped slowly down the stairs in his heavy boots.
Then the folding-doors closed, and shut in the grey twilight of the corridor. The villagers had always regarded the turnpike-keeper as rather an eccentric person; but henceforth they began to look upon him as downright crazy. The old widow who had hitherto done his housekeeping was the first to spread this rumour. The old man took to shutting himself up more and more.
I felt that I looked like a dirty young tramp, and that anybody who saw me would think that I was one. Besides, I had always hated dirt and untidiness, and the feeling that I carried both about me was hateful. But Bill's clothes were to be a great help to me before noon that day. The turnpike-keeper was cleaning his windows, outside his little house.
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