He drew a curious object out of the breast pocket of his faded jumper. It was the tip of a cow's horn securely plugged. Into this plug were inserted two strips of whalebone, and these he grasped, as he had clutched the "legs" of the apple-tree wand.
"One of you lay some gold and silver down on the ground," he requested. "I'd do it, but I ain't got a cent in my pocket."
Hiram obeyed, his expression plainly showing his curiosity.
When Mr. Bodge advanced and stood astride over the money, the cow's horn turned downward and the whalebone strips twisted.
"It's a divinin'-rod to find buried treasure," said Mr. Bodge; "and it's the only one in the world like it, because I made it myself, and I wouldn't tell an angel the secret of the stuff I've plugged in there. You see for yourself what it will do when it comes near gold or silver."
Hiram turned a cold stare on his wistful eagerness.
"I don't know what you've got in there, nor why it acts that way," said the showman, "but from what I know about money, the most of it's well taken care of by the men that own it; and just what good it's goin' to do to play pointer-dog with that thing there, and go round and flush loose change and savin's-banks, is more than I can figger."
Mr. Bodge merely smiled a mysterious and superior smile.
"Cap'n Sproul," said he, "in your seafarin' days didn't you used to hear the sailormen sing this?" and he piped in weak falsetto:
"Oh, I've been a ghost on Cod Lead Nubble,
Sence I died—sence I died.
I buried of it deep with a lot of trouble,
And the chist it was in was locked up double,
And I'm a-watchin' of it still on Cod Lead Nubble,
Sence I died—sence I died."