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Updated: June 22, 2025
In the midst of situations the most solemn and tragic there often falls a light purely farcical in its incongruity. Such a gleam was unconsciously projected upon the present crisis by Mr. Bodge, better known in the village as Father Bodge. Mr. Bodge was stone deaf, naturally stupid, and had been nearly moribund for thirty years with asthma.
For the next twenty-four hours the affairs of the Aurilla P. Dobson were administered without unnecessary conversations between the principals. On the afternoon of the second day Mr. Bodge, whom no solicitation could coax from his vigil on the capstan, broke his trance. "That's the island," he shouted, flapping both hands to mark his choice. It wasn't an impressive islet.
Colonel Ward says he's known him a good many years, and pities him in his present state, and, more than that, has got sort of interested in this Cap Kidd treasure business himself, and has a little money he'd like to spend on it and to help Mr. Bodge. Proposition by Colonel Ward is that if you'll step out and turn over Mr.
The scraggly ridge dimly outlined by the fire on shore could hardly be other than Cod Lead, where Colonel Gideon Ward and Eleazar Bodge were languishing. It was probable that those marooned gentlemen had lighted a fire in their desperation in order to signal for assistance. The Cap'n reflected that it was about as much wit as landsmen would possess.
Bodge noted with satisfaction the gleam of interest in capital's eyes. "You can reckon that at least a million families in this country own cats and the nature of cats and dogs can be depended on to be the same," said Mr. Bodge. "It's a self-actin' proposition, this identifier and introducer; that means fortunes for all concerned just as soon as capital gets behind it.
The first exhibits in the domain of Bodge were not cheering or suggestive of value. For instance, from among the litter in a tumble-down shop Mr. Bodge produced something in the shape of a five-pointed star that he called his "Anti-stagger Shoe." "I saw old Ike Bradley go past here with a hard-cider jag that looped over till its aidges dragged on the ground," he explained.
He pulled off his dented derby and patted his bald head. "Skatin'-rink?" inquired the Cap'n, sarcastically. "Brains!" boomed Mr. Bodge, solemnly. "But in these days brains have to be backed with capital. I've tried to fight it out, gents, on my own hook. I said to myself right along, 'Brains has got to win in the end, Bodge. Keep on! But have they? No!
The Cap'n scrutinized the surface with sullen interest. "They'd better stay inside, whatever they are you're talkin' about," he growled. "They couldn't pick up no kind of a livin' on the outside." "Gents, do you know what's the most solemn sound in all nature?" Mr. Bodge went on. "I heard it as I came away from my house.
"You get me in reach of a telegraph-office before nine o'clock to-morrow and I'll make it worth your while." "By the long-horned heifers of Hebron!" bawled Hiram. "We've come back to just the place we started from! If you built that fire to tole us ashore here, I'll have you put into State Prison." "Here they are, Bodge!" shrieked the Colonel, his teeth chattering, squirrel-like, in his passion.
I'll show you later why we'll need just those kind of men." The Cap'n took these orders with dogged resignation. "Next day you'll start with Bodge and charter a packet in Portland for a pleasure cruise you needin' a sniff of salt air after bein' cooped up on shore for so long. Report when ready, and I'll come along with men and esteemed relative."
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