e left the house hastily, and hurried
to the ale-house, in the garden of which the polling-booth had been
erected.

Before the door stood the two men who were distributing voting-papers.
Tired with their day's work, they were leaning against the paling in
front of the tavern. One of them, employed by the conservatives, was a
superannuated farm labourer from the manor; the socialist was an
invalided stonemason, who had lost a leg in consequence of a fall from
some scaffolding. They were chatting together in a friendly fashion,
notwithstanding the antagonism of their employers.

The one-legged man did not even give himself the trouble to offer Vogt
one of his voting-papers. Everybody knew old Vogt. The blood of an old
soldier ran in his veins, he was conservative to the bone.

The farm labourer held out a conservative voting-paper, and said:

"You are nearly too late, Herr Vogt. Here is your vote."

But the turnpike-keeper turned away with a lowering look. He stretched
out his hand to the other man and demanded a voting-paper, with which
the stonemason hastened to furnish him; and Friedrich August Vogt
stumped heavily up the steps into the polling-station.

The magistrate of the district was taking charge of the proceedings.
Beside him sat the schoolmaster of the church schools, and the
inspector of the manor. A few peasants and a workman from the fire-clay
factory, his clothes covered with lime, were standing about.

The schoolmaster announced the name: "Vogt, Friedrich August, retired
turnpike-keeper, registered number 41."

The old man stretched out the folded voting-paper with a hesitating
movement; the magistrate took it and placed it in the tin-box which
served as a receptacle for the votes. He nodded familiarly to the
elector; this was a certain vote for the conservatives.

But the turnpike-keeper did not respond to the greeting. He stood
stiffly by the table looking at the box that contained the
voting-papers; suddenly his erect figure seemed to collapse, and the
old man slunk out of the polling-station almost like an evil-doer.

The results of the election were known in the village by seven o'clock.
One hundred and fifty-three votes had been registered: seventy-seven
for the social-democrats, seventy-six for the conservatives. It was the
first time there had been a socialist majority in this place. The
social-democrats had, therefore, every reason for rejoicing. They sat
in the little inn at the end of