As to natural gifts, it is probable that Thomas A. Edison hadn't a very great deal the edge on Bogy, his contemporary; indeed, if tradition is to be accepted, both, when young, were afflicted with an overdose of inertia, though Edison even then spent much of his time dabbling with electrical instruments.
Edison, so the tale runs, stuck to the home base and to the dabbling, until there was born in him the desire to do something no other man had done, and to serve his fellowmen in the doing. In due time the "inertia" gave place to a power of consecutive, concentrated effort, matched but few times in the annals of human endeavor.
Edison finally reached the stage where he blessed work and was blessed by it; and to-day, when crowding close to four-score-and-ten, "Work is worship" with him, and none need expect his approbation who trains the clock eye, while measuring commensurate labor with sand that has run.
Bogy, struck with an instinctive distaste for buckling to and blocking out results agreeably with his bulking gifts, and periodically by an engulfing wave of wanderlust, wouldn't plant himself and take root. He could both "send" and "receive" faster than any man on earth. He was the best of fellows when "lush"; but he couldn't control either the soles of his feet, or the feet of his brain. Therefore 'twas Bogy in America in April, Canada in July, England in October, and Australia in December.
Bogy, the personification of the aimless, senseless globe-trotter. Bogy, distributing his precious belongings in bits about the globe. Bogy, sensing not the least of responsibility unto himself, to man or his Maker, to properly express princely attributes. Bogy, lighting like the butterfly here for a sip, there for a sip, then making tangentially for other fields and cheap sweets.
Writing the author about Bogy, Edison related: "I heard a funny one about Bogy: One day he walked into the New York Produce exchange, and going to the W. U. booth asked the loan of a dollar from the operator. Bogy said, 'I am Bogy; have you never heard of me?' The operator said 'No.' 'Well,' says Bogy, 'you must be a helluvanoperator.'"
The last time the writer saw Bogy, he was down-and-out, unblushingly "hitting" his home friends for petty largesse, the bulk of which went for lager beer--his arch enemy.