The Red Cow, it must be known, is an inn much frequented by the knights of the pencil, so that Pillings, by keeping his ears open, and by a few judicious investments, soon managed to make a nice little nest-egg for himself; and having fallen a victim to the charms of the chambermaid, he offered to share his fortune with her.
Unfortunately for him the lady was "willing," and in a few months became Mrs. P., and shortly afterwards a mother.
The landlord of The Red Cow, on finding it out, was exceeding wroth, and sent John and his spouse packing instanter, which, as may be supposed, did not improve the man's temper or conduce to the domestic happiness of his wife.
After various ups and downs too numerous to enter into, to make a long story short, John Pillings, through the interest of a "friend at court," found himself installed at the gate-house, with nothing to do but open the gate, take the toll, and occasionally vary the monotony of existence by getting tipsy and belabouring his spouse. The latter event has become more frequent of late years, as, unlike the generality of things, the older he gets the tighter he gets, and often people are surprised to find the gate open and no one to take the money, "Old Sulky" being drunk in bed, and his wife having taken refuge with a neighbour until her husband is all right again.
When he is not in a hopeless condition he is as smart as needs be, and a very 'cute man indeed it would have to be who could manage to evade the toll while the Man at the Gate was on the look-out.
What Pillings likes best is, on a market morning to keep the gate shut, and then when the farmers come hurrying up and shout: "Now then, gate; hi! gate," he will turn out, look up and down the road, and go slowly up to the tax-cart, or whatever the indignant individual may be in, and say "Toll."
"Hang you; open the gate, and look sharp," is the probable reply, as the money is handed down.
"Sha'n't go no quicker; ain't paid no more for looking sharp. If ye'r in such a bloomin' hurry, open it yerself," says Pillings, as he slowly unfastens the bolt and swings the gate back, laughing to himself as the farmers, pouring imprecations on his head, dash through.
More than once has "Ould Sulky" been the object of such delicate attentions as having his door nailed up, and twice has the toll-gate been lifted off its hinges and carried bodily into the next parish. A very short time ago a few adventurous spirits, coming home from the market-town and finding the toll-gate open, stormed the gate-house, where Pillings was lying dead-drunk upstairs, and lifting him into their trap they carried him off to the nearest pound, where, having borrowed a wheelbarrow, they left him for the night; and the next morning the people of the village were astonished to see the keeper of the tollbar reposing, à la Pickwick, "drunk in a wheelbarrow."