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." John Pillings was perfectly furious, and did all he could to find out with the aid of the police who the offenders were; but the matter coming to the ears of Sir John Lappington in his capacity as chairman of the bench of magistrates, he thought it best to give "Ould Sulky" a timely hint that, unless he reformed, he would find himself again on the world, and also recommended him strongly to give up searching for his abductors. Perhaps the Master's brother, Harold Lappington, having been the prime mover in the freak, had as much to do with this sage counsel as Sir John's magisterial capacity; but no matter how that is, suffice it that Pillings dropped the subject like a hot potato, and fell back on his own thoughts for comfort. He says now: "I'll be even with them scamps some day, or my name ain't Pillings. As soon as ever I finds out--and find 'em I will, police or no police--I'll smash 'em; you see." Old Tom and the Master he holds in great dread, and looks up to them with as much veneration as his nature is capable of feeling. But for the common herd, _alias_ the field, he has no respect, and often makes himself exceedingly unpleasant to boot. If the hounds happen to run his way, and the macadam brigade come galloping down the road, "Ould Sulky" is out in a jiff, and bang goes the gate, while he stands in front and utters the monosyllabic "Toll." "Oh, all right, open the gate, the last man will pay," shouts someone.