"Yes," replied the turnpike-keeper. "I put on all my medals when I came to see you." And, in a loud voice, that the inspector might hear, he repeated: "I put them on for you, my dear good boy, and for you only." And for the first time in his life he embraced his son, took the boy's head between his hands, and kissed him on the forehead. Franz Vogt felt the trembling of the old man's lips, and choked back his own tears. As the warder was taking him back down the long passage he looked round once more. His father was just going out of the door, and a ray of sunlight fell on the venerable white head. 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. Nobody was ever allowed to cross his threshold.
The peasants, however, let him go his way. Every one has a right to do as he likes; and the turnpike-keeper's manner of life was beginning to be looked on as a matter of course, when suddenly he drew upon himself universal attention.
There was to be a fresh election for the Reichstag in the district, the conservative candidate's victory having been disallowed. He had only been successful after a second ballot, in which the votes of the two parties had held the balance almost even; and the election had just been declared null and void, in consequence of the protest made by the social-democrats. The two rival parties, social-democrats and conservatives, were now preparing anew for battle. Every single vote was of consequence, and canvassing went on busily. Election literature flooded the constituency; it was thrown in at open windows and pushed under door-sills.
The turnpike-keeper had hitherto always placed himself at the disposal of the conservative candidate.
The conservative party liked to display names of the "small people" of the neighbourhood on the list of their supporters, in addition to signatures of councillors of state, burgomasters, landlords, &c.
And now suddenly Friedrich August Vogt came and demanded to have his name taken off the list.
The president of the election committee, a cavalry officer in the reserve and the lord of the manor, attempted to make him reconsider his determination. He wanted to know the reasons for this sudden change of conviction, and asked pathetically if the old soldier was going to be unfaithful at this time of day to the motto: "God, King, and Country"? Vogt stuck to his demand, but he declined to give any reasons.
On the day of the election the turnpike-keeper was troubled with a feverish unrest. Ten times and more he put on his hat and stood at the house door with his big stick in his hand, but he always turned back again.