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Updated: May 18, 2025
What do you say, hadn't we better haul the boat out?" Although we tacitly had accepted Roger as commander of our expedition, he spoke always with a certain deference to the greater age and experience of Blodgett and Davie Paine, which won them so completely that they would have followed him anywhere.
Blodgett was there. Old Mr. Blodgett is Hawkins' father-in-law. There is a Mrs. Blodgett, too, but she is really too sweet an old lady to be placed in the mother-in-law category. Blodgett, however, makes up for any deficiencies on his wife's part in the traditional traits.
Up on the rock we scrambled, all of us ready to jump down on the other side, when Neddie Benson called on us to stop, and with a queer cry let himself fall back the way he had come. Fearing that he was injured, we paused reluctantly. "Don't go over that rock," he cried. "Why not?" Roger asked. "It gives me a sick feeling inside." "Stuff!" exclaimed Blodgett.
All were instructed to preserve the most profound silence from that moment until the signal should be given to open fire on the enemy, and, under the guidance of Joe Blodgett and Lieutenant Bradley, the little band filed silently down the winding trail, threading its way, now through dark groves of pine or fir; now through jungles of underbrush; now over rocky points; frequently wading the cold mountain brook, waist deep, and tramping through oozy marshes of saw-grass; speaking only in whispers; their rifles loaded, eyes peering into the starlit night, and ears strained to catch the slightest sound that might indicate the hiding-place of any lurking foe who might perchance be on an outpost to announce to his followers the approach of danger.
"Ay, ay, sir," Blodgett replied. "He's below sick." "Sick?" said the mild voice. "Sick is he? Supposing Blodgett, you go below and bring him on deck. He ain't sick, he's sojering." "But, sir, " Blodgett began. "But what?" roared Kipping. His mildness changed to fierceness. "You go!" He snapped out the words, and Blodgett went. Poor stupid old Bill!
All at once Blodgett slapped his thin legs and leaned back and laughed until tears started from his faded eyes; Neddie Benson stared at him stupidly, then poured out a flood of silly oaths. The cook burst into a hoarse guffaw, and Roger and Davie Paine chuckled softly. We stopped and looked at each other and then laughed together until we had to sit down on the ground and hold our aching sides.
It came again and then again. The cook laid his hand on my shoulder. "Boy," he gasped out, "don' you heah dat yeh screechin'?" "No," said I. "Listen!" We sat for a long time silent, and presently we heard one more very distant gunshot. Neither Blodgett nor I had heard anything else, but the cook insisted that he had heard clearly the sound of some one far off shrieking and wailing in the night.
Nor must we forget to mention the milk business. Louis P. Hawkes has a herd of some forty cows and has a milk route at Lynn. J.W. Blodgett keeps twenty-five cows, and takes his milk to market. Geo. N. Miller and T.O.W. Houghton also keep cows and have a route. Joshua Kingsbury, George H. Pearson and George Ames have a route, buying their milk. Byron Hone keeps fifty cows.
Blodgett, "that she'd have said good-bye to you." And not eliciting anything by way of a reply, she added: "Miss Havens is a nice girl. I hate to think of her slavin' her life out in an office. She'd ought to get married." "A girl has ever so many more chances in her home town," Peter offered hopefully. "Yes, I suppose so." Mrs. Blodgett sighed. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Weatheral?"
"There's an idea," Roger cried. "How about it, Bennie?" I nodded. Blodgett eagerly went first and the cook, apparently fearing that he was on his way to be served as a particularly choice tidbit at somebody else's banquet, came last. The rest of us just jostled along together.
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