Murray promptly turned this over to the company doctor, and the latter sighed. Almost the only satisfaction in life that Murray had during this time arose from his ability to make the doctor miserable.
“He was not a good risk when I examined him,” the doctor insisted, “but he may be a good one now. We can’t be certain of results in such a case, and the law of probabilities frequently works out wrong. He could not have done a better thing, under the circumstances,than to go in for a simple, outdoor life. The basis of trouble was there, in my judgment, but it may have been overcome.”
“The basis of trouble is still there,” declared Murray; “not only the basis of trouble, but the whole blame structure, and it’s resting on us. I can feel the weight.”
“So can I,” replied the doctor disconsolately.
Less than a week after this Tucker telegraphed to know if Murray had changed his mind about disposing of any stock.
“No,” was the reply sent back.
“All right,” Tucker answered. “I just wanted to give Mrs. Tucker another slice of your company. She has a little of it already.”
Investigation showed that the broker had succeeded in picking up a few shares, but hardly enough to exert any considerable influence. Still, it was disquieting to find the Tuckers so persistent.
“I’ll bet,” said Murray, “that mental worry has put me where you wouldn’t pass me for a risk.”
“If your wife,” returned the doctor, “is anything like Mrs. Tucker I’d pass you for any kind of risk rather than incur her displeasure. They’ll begin to take a stock-holder’s interest in the affairs of this particular office pretty soon.”
“The affairs are in good shape,” declared Murray.
“But a real determined stock-holder can stir up a devil of a rumpus over nothing,” asserted the doctor. “If she should send all those physicians’ reports to headquarters, they would rather offset my report on which he was turned down, and the company would feel that it had lost a good thing. The company will not stop to think that my report may have been justified by conditions at the time.”
“And the risk that I thought too big for him then may not seem too big for him now,” commented Murray ruefully.
“I’d like to examine him again,” said the doctor.
“I don’t think it would be safe,” returned Murray, “unless you were searched for weapons first.”
So the doctor and Murray settled down to await, with some anxiety, the next move in the game, and their patience was rewarded by the receipt of five certificates of health from as many different physicians, each certificate having a message of some sort scribbled across the top. “The patient had to ride a hundred miles to get these,” Mrs. Tucker had written on the first. “There were a few shares of this stock in my late lamented uncle’s estate,” appeared in Tucker’s handwriting on the second. “The president of your company is rusticating a few miles from here,” Mrs.Tucker asserted on the third. “Better come out here for a few days,” Tucker urged on the fourth. “Poor Ralph!” was Mrs. Tucker’s comment on the fifth.
“Poor Dave Murray!” grumbled Murray, and he and the doctor started West the next day. “Might as well get this thing settled,” he said. “You and I have got to be on harmonious terms with the stock-holders. Besides, there’s an early grave yawning for me if I don’t succeed in making peace with Mrs. Tucker. I tell you, Doctor, when a woman decides to make things uncomfortable for a man,—well, the man might just as well resign himself to being perpetually uncomfortable.”
And yet, no one could have greeted them more graciously than did Mrs. Tucker.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, “and brought the doctor. It is particularly pleasing to have the doctor here, for I want him to see if something can’t be done for poor Ralph. I’m sure I don’t know what’s going to become of the poor fellow. He doesn’t sleep any better than a baby, and he can’t ride over a hundred miles without getting tired. His muscles aren’t a bit harder than iron, either, and his heart beats all the time.”
“Mrs. Tucker,” said Murray appealingly, “what can we do to make peace with you?”
“Without even seeing your husband again,” added the doctor, “I am willing to concede that he will live to be three thousand years old.”
“We are beaten,” asserted Murray. “You have humbled our business and professional pride. We give Mr. Tucker none of the credit; it all belongs to you. We claim to be the equals of any man, but of no woman. Now, on what terms can we have peace?”
“I did want your insurance company for a sort of belated wedding present,” said Mrs. Tucker thoughtfully.
“I’d give it to you if I could,” said Murray with the utmost sincerity. “I assure you, that company has been nothing but an annoyance to me ever since you cast longing eyes on the stock.”
“Oh, I’ve become more modest in my expectations,” replied Mrs. Tucker cheerfully. “I don’t expect much more than we’ve got now.”
“How much have you got?” asked Murray.
“Well, our broker picked up a few shares, and there were some more in the estate of Ralph’s uncle, and the president of the company kindly arranged it so that we could get a little more. Such a delightful man he is, too! It was when I heard he had a place in this vicinity, where he came for an outing every year, that I insisted upon Ralph’s buying this ranch. I thought itwould be nice to be near him—and it was. We’re great friends now, although he’s only here for a little while in the spring and fall.”
“Did—did you tell him about the insurance?” asked Murray.
“What insurance?” asked Mrs. Tucker blandly. “We haven’t any insurance. Poor Ralph—”
“Mrs. Tucker,” interrupted Murray, “if you say ‘Poor Ralph’ again, you will see a driveling idiot making streaks across the prairie. I have reached the limit of endurance. All I want is peace, peace, peace, and I’ll pay the price for it. Do you want some of my stock?”
“Oh, dear, no,” she replied. “We’ve got it fixed now so that Ralph is pretty sure to be a director next year. We talked it over with the president.”
“Does Mr. Tucker still want a policy?” asked Murray.
“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Tucker. “If he’s going to die so soon, it would be beating the company, and we’re part of the company now, so we—”
“Stop it! stop it!” pleaded Murray. “I’ll bet you couldn’t kill him with an ax!”
“Sir!”
“I beg your pardon, but this is the climax of a year of torment that I didn’t suppose was possible this sideof the infernal regions,” explained Murray dismally, “and I’m just naturally wondering why you brought me out here.”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you that, did I?” returned Mrs. Tucker ingenuously. “I just wanted to tell you that, now that we’re stock-holders to a reasonable amount—Ralph retained a few shares, you know, and holds a proxy for mine—we look at the matter from an entirely different viewpoint, and we think that every reasonable precaution should be taken to avoid poor risks, as you call them. We are highly gratified by the evidence of caution that has inadvertently come under our notice, even if there was an incidental error that baffled human foresight.”
The sudden and startling changes of position by this young woman were too much for both Murray and the doctor; they could only look at her in amazement as she calmly commended their course.
“You have brought us all this distance to tell us that!” ejaculated Murray at last.
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s worth the trip!” he announced, as he recalled the events of the last year.
Then Tucker appeared, big, strong, bronzed, hearty, and shook hands with them. Never a weakling in appearance, his year of outdoor life had made himthe embodiment of health. He beamed upon his guests with hearty good nature as he gave them each a grip that made them wince. His wife regarded him critically for a moment.
“Poor Ralph!” she said mischievously, and then she hastily assured them that this was really the last of the joke.
Adolph Schlimmer’s wink was of the self-satisfied variety that plainly says to the person at whom it is directed, “They’re mostly fools in this world—except you and me, and I’m not quite sure about you.” Adolph Schlimmer was a small man, but he thought he had enough worldly wisdom and sharpness for a giant. “You bet you, I don’t get fooled very much,” he boasted.
Just now his wink was directed at Carroll Brown, an insurance solicitor.
“How much iss there in it for you?” he asked.
“Oh, I get my commission, of course,” replied Brown.
“Sure, sure,”—and again Adolph winked. “You don’t need it all, maybe.”
“Why not?” asked Brown with disconcerting frankness. “I’m entitled to what I earn.”
“Sure, sure,” admitted Adolph, somewhat annoyed. “It’s vorth something to you to make the money, ain’t it, yes? I gif you the chance. It might be vorth something to me, perhaps, maybe.”
“Oh, if you want me to divide my commission with you,” exclaimed Brown, “we might as well quit talking right here. It would cost me my job, if anybody found it out.”
“Who iss to find it out? I bet you, if people could find out things, we’d haf more people in jail than out. Some big men, vorth millions, would haf to live a century to serf their time out. The boss discharges hiss clerk for doin’ what he iss doin’ himself.”
“It’s against the law,” argued Brown. “It’s a rebate on premiums and is prohibited.”
“Sure, sure,” conceded Adolph again. “But you got to do something to make business, ain’t it? I gif premiums and I get discounts. There don’t nobody fool me very much.”
“Well, I’m taking no chances with either my job or the law,” announced Brown, “even if I wanted to sacrifice part of my legitimate commission. I’m offering you a policy in a first-class company on the same terms that we give them to all others, and that’s the best I can do. If you’re looking for an advantage over your neighbors, you’ll have to go elsewhere. The very first rule of straight business is to treat all alike.”
“Sure it iss,” returned Adolph. “Look at the railroads and the big shippers.” Again he winked wisely. “I bet you, your boss ain’t such a fool as you. Makethe big money when you can, but don’t run avay from the little money. I gif you a chance for the little money because I’m smart; some other feller let you haf it all because he issn’t.”
Therein lay the measure of Adolph. It was beyond his comprehension that any man should treat all fairly: some one surely was “on the inside,” and his first thought in any transaction was to make a quiet “deal” with some interested party that would give him a trifling advantage over others. He was shrewd in a small and near-sighted way, and he had an idea that all men, except fools, looked at things as he did. He believed there was “graft” in everything. That being the case, it was the duty of a sharp man to get a share of it, even if, as in this instance, it only lessened his own expense somewhat. So Adolph Schlimmer went to see Brown’s boss, who happened to be Dave Murray.
“I get me some insurance,” he announced.
“All right,” returned Murray agreeably. “You look like a good risk.”
“Risk?” repeated Adolph. “No,nein. I’m a sure thing.”
Murray laughed.
“That’s bad,” he said banteringly. “Sure things are what men go broke on in this world; they’re thebiggest risks of all.” Then, explanatorily: “I mean you seem to be in good physical condition, so that our physician is likely to pass you.”
“You bet you,” returned Adolph, “but it’s my vife what counts. If I die, I leaf her the money; if she die, she leaf me nothing.”
“Oh, you want to get a policy on your wife’s life,” said Murray thoughtfully, not favorably impressed with the other’s commercial tone. “How much?”
“Zweit’ousand dollars.”
“Not very much,” commented Murray. “A man of sense would prefer a good wife to two thousand dollars any day. Is she a worker?”
“You bet you, yes,” replied Adolph earnestly. “If she die, I looss money on her at that price. I figger it all out. She safe me the wages uf a clerk and a cook and some other things. I count up what she safe me and what she cost me and she’s vorth fifteen dollars a week easy in work and ten dollars a week in saving. I can’t afford to looss that. I insure the store and the stock, and now I insure this. I watch out for myself pretty close.”
Murray was both disgusted and amused. Such a character as this was new to his experience, but the risk might be, and probably was, a perfectly good and legitimate one.
“Well, you bring your wife in,” he said after a moment of thought, “and I’ll talk to her.”
“Sure,” said Adolph. Then he winked in his wise way. “I safe you the commission. What iss there in it for me?”
“What?” exclaimed Murray.
“I haf a talk with Brown,” explained Adolph. “It’s vorth something to him to get the business, but he don’t make it vorth nothing to me to give it.”
“If he did we’d discharge him.”
“Sure, sure,” returned the imperturbable Adolph. “We got to watch the boys or there won’t be nothing left for us. So I safe the commission for you. What iss there in it for me?”
“Not a damn thing!”
“You play it that way with the fool,” advised Adolph complacently. “It’s a bully bluff for the feller that don’t know how things was done in business. Then we go splits, yes?”
The ignorance and effrontery of the man so amazed Murray that he forgot his indignation for a moment and undertook to explain.
“There is no commission on business that comes to the office,” he said.
“Sure!” laughed Adolph, again resorting to that sagacious wink. “You let the company make it, yes?I stay home, you send man to tell me get insured, I say yes, man get paid—ain’t it so? I come here to get insured, and you give that man’s pay to the company, the men vorth millions—oh, yes, sure!” Adolph laughed at the absurdity of the thing. “Iss there anything in my eye?” he asked suddenly.
“You sit down there!” ordered Murray, for Adolph was now leaning familiarly over Murray’s desk. “I ought to kick you out, but I’m going to tell you a few things. Sit down and keep still. I’m several sizes bigger than you are and it’s my turn.” Murray spoke so aggressively that Adolph promptly returned to his seat. “Now, to begin with, you make a mistake in judging everybody else by yourself; there are a lot of decent people in this world. A good many may worship the almighty dollar, and that’s bad enough, but God help the few who get down to worshiping the almighty cent. A good many keep a lookout for graft, but you are the first one I ever saw who seemed to think everybody was crooked.”
“No,nein; only business—”
“Keep still! You insult everybody you try to do business with by acting on the assumption that he is in your class. You have absorbed some of the tricky commercialism that is prevalent these days, and you’ve got the idea that there isn’t anything else—not evencommon sense. You would break the law for a trifle. What you propose is morally wrong, but we won’t discuss that, because you can’t understand it.”
“I don’t like—”
“Keep still! I’m doing you a favor, but I’ve got to tell you first what a libel you are on the average human being. The law that you want to break was made for the protection of just such financially insignificant people as you. It prohibits giving rebates in any form on insurance premiums and provides that the acceptance of such a rebate by the policy-holder shall invalidate his policy, and that the giving of such a rebate by a company or any of its agents shall subject the company to a fine. Do you understand?”
“Sure; but who iss to know?”
Murray was discouraged, but he had set out to drive a lesson home to this dull-witted fellow who thought he was smart, and he valiantly held to his task. He could feel nothing but contempt for the man, but he had become rather interested in convincing him how foolish he was. Besides, Murray was a bitter opponent of the rebate evil in all lines of business—every one knows how it fosters monopoly—and he attacked it whenever and wherever he could.
“If rebates on insurance premiums were not unlawful,” he asked, “do you think people of your kindare the ones who would get them? Well, hardly. The millionaires, the rich men, the men who take out the big policies, would get them, and you little fellows would pay the full price, just as you do wherever else the rebate evil exists. This law was made to protect you, and you want to break it down. Well, I suppose there are others just as bad. The men for whose benefit a law is made frequently insist upon playing with it until they drop it and break it, and then they wonder why the splinters won’t do them as much good as the original law.” Having warmed up to a subject that interested him, Murray was talking for himself now. Adolph could understand in a general way what he meant, but many of the remarks were entirely beyond his comprehension. “Look at it in another way,” Murray went on. “As a speculation, the insurance rebate is a mistake. The man who gets or accepts a rebate is taking a risk. ‘Well,’ he argues, ‘so is the man who buys wheat or stocks or undeveloped real estate of problematical future value.’ Quite right; but when you speculate you want to be sure that your probable or possible profits bear a fair proportion to the risk and your possible losses. It’s all right to make a secured loan of one thousand dollars at five per cent., but when you put your thousand into a scheme where there is a chance of losing every cent of it, you alsowant a chance of making a good deal more than the legal rate of interest. Russell Sage is said to look as closely after the small profits as the large, but Russell would shy away from an investment—a real safeinvestment—that promised only a ten cent profit on five dollars; and if it were aspeculation, where he might lose the whole five, he would want to see a possibility of winning at least half as much. The man who accepts an insurance premium rebate is going into a speculation—a flimsy, cheap speculation, with a chance of loss so entirely out of proportion to the slight advantage he gains over other policy-holders that no man with a grain of sense would consider it for a moment. To secure a discount on his premium he risks his whole policy. Why, in your case you would put a two-thousand-dollar policy in danger to save a few miserable dollars. It isn’t cleverness, it isn’t shrewdness, it isn’t business, it isn’t sense; it isn’t anything but damn foolishness. Do you understand?”
“Sure,” answered Adolph. “If we iss found out, I looss the policy and you looss a fine. We both looss.”
“That’s it exactly.”
“Vell, if we both looss by telling, who iss going to find it out?” demanded Adolph triumphantly. “You bet you, I take the chance. Go ahead with her.”
Murray leaned wearily back in his chair.
“You’d better get out of here,” he said. “This company wouldn’t issue a policy in which you had any sort of interest on any terms. I was curious to discover if I could not stir up just a glimmer of business sense in you, and my curiosity is satisfied. You seem to me like a man who would risk all his money to win a fly-speck, if he thought he was going to win it by some underhand deal. Get out as quick as you can! But I tell you again, don’t fool with rebates!”
Adolph stopped in the doorway.
“You got to haf the whole commission, yes?” he remarked with accusing bitterness. “I take you for a hog.”
Then he disappeared very suddenly, for he feared Murray would pursue.
Here again was the measure of Adolph. In spite of Murray’s explanation, he could see nothing except a chance to win by saving a part of the commission. He could not comprehend that he was running any unusual risk or doing anything that another would not do, if the other had the sense to see the chance. In fact, he was fully convinced in his own mind that Murray was merely talking for effect and really desired the whole commission for himself. This made him the more determined to gain this small advantage for himself—partly because his little business worldwas made up of such devious methods, and partly because it would be an evidence of his own cleverness.
Now, occasionally a solicitor for a company of high standing, acting on his own responsibility, will divide his commission in order to get some one to take out a policy. If he is trying to make a record, the temptation is considerable. If the policy is large, his half of this commission may be more than his whole commission in most other cases. He does this secretly, but he is inviting three kinds of trouble: his own discharge, a fine for his company, and a loss for the policy-holder. These three things will follow discovery, but he takes the chance. And there are irresponsible or unscrupulous companies or agencies (so it is said) that will tacitly approve such a course in some instances, taking the necessary risk in order to get business. Of course, no first-class or reliable company will sanction or even tolerate such methods.
Nevertheless, Adolph, the shrewd fool, finally found the man for whom he was searching. A man may nearly always find trouble if he searches for it industriously, and Adolph was industrious. Unfortunately for him, however, he treated several other solicitors to his knowing wink before he met the one who agreed to his proposition, and, when it was learned that Adolph was taking out a policy on his wife’s life, theywere quick to reach conclusions. But it was none of their business, and they said nothing. What they knew merely made it easier to prove the case, if the question should ever arise. The solicitor who finally entered into the deal was one who had done the same thing before. He was “broke” a good part of the time, and, when in that condition, he did not question closely the ethics of any proposition that promised an early, even though small, cash return. He was an outcast among such of the many conscientious men of the fraternity as knew him, but the local agent of the company that employed him was not particular, and there were rumors that the company itself might have been more strict.
Anyhow, Adolph got the policy he wanted. His wife was disposed to object at first, for she had not been consulted until Adolph had made his bargain. There was no use, he argued, in telling her about it until he knew what he was going to do.
“I buy you a policy,” he finally told her in the tone that a man—another man—might tell his wife he would buy her a sealskin coat.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It payszweit’ousand dollars,” he explained.
Mrs. Schlimmer was not enthusiastic.
“When?” she asked.
“What’s the use to me?” she persisted“What’s the use to me?” she persisted
“When you are in the grafe,” he answered after a pause.
“What’s the use to me?” she persisted.
“My dear,” he said, with such gallantry as he could command, “it shows what you iss vorth.”
Somehow, she was not flattered. She was a good wife, who worked hard, and she herself thought she was worth it, but she was selfish enough to think she ought to realize on her own value.
“No,nein,” he argued, “it ain’t the vay it’s done. You got yourself, ain’t it, yes? When you ain’t got yourself, you ain’t here, but I am. You don’t looss yourself when you die, but I looss you, and you’re vorth a lot.”
“There’s other women,” she retorted.
“But they ain’t vorth what you are byzweit’ousand dollars,” he insisted, and this delicate bit of flattery won the day. After all, it made no difference to her. She rebelled a little at going to the insurance office to be examined, however.
“You tell ’em I’m all right,” she urged. “You know.”
But a new gown—a cheap one—gained this point, and she went.
Adolph prided himself very much on this stroke of business. His great aim in life was to pay a littleless than the market price for everything, and he was never convinced that he was really doing this unless the deal had to be carried out in some underhand way. When he could buy for less than others he was making so much more money, and it was his experience that the biggest profit lay in shady transactions. In others he had made, or saved, much more than in this, but the difficulties he encountered in this instance convinced him that it was an especially notable achievement. He was proud of his success.
“You bet you, they don’t fool me very much,” he asserted frequently.
And, in time, he told how clever he was. Not at first, however; he was very cautious at first, for Murray’s words had made an impression on him. But, after he had paid a few premiums, the lapse of time gave him a feeling of security, and one day, in boasting of his business shrewdness, he mentioned that he was even sharp enough to get life insurance at a bargain. After that, it was easier to speak of it again, and he finally told the story. The news spread in his own little circle. It was quite a feat, and he was held to have demonstrated remarkable cleverness. When another told of some sharp business deal, some one would remark, “Yes, that was clever, but you never got life insurance at a bargain.” And, in the courseof time—six months or more from the time the story was first breathed—it came to the ears of one Daniel Grady. This was unfortunate, for Daniel at once jumped to the conclusion that he had been cheated. Daniel had a small policy in the same company, and this policy was costing him the full premium without rebate of any kind from any insurance solicitor or anybody else. Daniel did not like this, and neither did he like Adolph; in fact, he would have been willing to pay a little higher premium for the privilege of making trouble for Adolph. Failing that, Daniel would like to get on even terms with him.
“It’s th’ divil iv a note,” said Daniel, “that I sh’u’d be payin’ more than that little shrimp, an’ me only thryin’ to take care iv Maggie an’ th’ childhern. I’ll go down to th’ office an’ push th’ face iv th’ man in if he don’t give me th’ same rate, I will so.”
But Daniel wisely did nothing of the kind, for he recalled that there were a number of clerks in the office and a police station not far away, and he had no wish to add a fine to his expenses. Instead, after pondering the matter a few weeks and growing steadily more indignant, he went to see a little lawyer who had an office over a saloon, next to a justice of the peace. Daniel planned only to get his premiums reduced, but the lawyer saw other opportunities.
“It’s a great chance,” said the lawyer. “You’re a policy-holder—”
“Who says so?” demanded Daniel, for this sounded to him like an accusation.
“I mean,” explained the lawyer, “that you are insured in the company.”
“What iv it?” asked Daniel.
“Why, the other policy-holders are the ones discriminated against in a case like this,” said the lawyer, “and any one of them can file a complaint.”
“I’m not the kind iv a man to do much complainin’,” declared Daniel. “I niver see that it did much good. If I c’u’d give Schlimmer a bad turn—”
“That’s it; that’s it exactly. You can knock his insurance sky-high and get some money yourself.”
“Say that wanst more,” urged Daniel. “Me hearin’ seems to be playin’ thricks.”
“The law,” said the lawyer slowly, “fines a company for doing that—”
“How much?”
“I’ll have to look it up. Pretty stiff fine, though, and the informer—”
“I don’t like th’ word.”
“Well, the man who makes the complaint gets half the fine. Do you understand that? Let me take charge of the matter for you, and we’ll divide the money.”
“Will it hurt me own insurance?” asked Daniel.
“Not a bit.”
“I’m not lukkin’ to l’ave Maggie an’ th’ childhern without money whin I die, jist to land a dollar-twinty f’r me own pocket now. That’s a Schlimmer thrick.”
“Your insurance will be just as good as it ever was,” the lawyer asserted.
“Will there be twinty dollars in it f’r me?” Daniel persisted.
“There’ll be a good deal more than that—exactly how much I can’t say.”
“Go ahead,” instructed Daniel. “Put the little divil through.”
The lawyer investigated and found his task comparatively easy, for Adolph had now personally told the story to several people. Indeed, by the exercise of a little ingenuity, the lawyer got him to tell it to him. Then he acted.
When the news reached the local agency of the company there was no indecision as to what should be done. Unnecessary publicity in a matter of that kind was the very last thing sought. The solicitor was called in, put on the rack, and promptly confessed. Then he was discharged without further questioning. Perhaps the local agent was afraid he might learn of other similar instances if he pressed the matter toofar, and he was quite content to remain in ignorance of anything else of that nature, so long as the public also remained in ignorance. The company promptly acknowledged its fault, showed that it had cleared itself morally by discharging the offending agent, and proceeded to clear itself legally by paying the necessary fine.
When the news came to Adolph, however, there was wailing prolonged, for his policy was annulled.
“I bet you,” said Adolph, “that feller Murray put up the job. He iss a great hog; he iss like those monopolists that puts smaller people out of business and gobbles it all.”
Then Adolph got a pencil and a sheet of paper and began to figure his losses.
“Zweit’ousand dollar insurance,” he groaned, “and maybe she wouldn’t lif long. And I gif her a dress, too—a new dress.Ach, Himmel!it’s hard when a man’s vife beats him. A new dress for nothing at all but to looss money. That law iss a shame. It iss a—what you call it?—restriction of business.”
Thereafter, for some time, the sight of the new gown would make Adolph morose and gloomy, and his friends found him unusually modest and unobtrusive.
There came to Dave Murray one day a young man who was looking for a job. He was a bright young fellow and seemed to be very earnest.
“I have been a clerk,” he explained, “but there is little prospect for the future where I am now, and I want to get something that has some promise in it. In fact, I must do so. I am making barely enough to support my mother and myself, and I may want to marry, you know.”
Murray readily admitted that young men frequently were attacked by the matrimonial bacillus and that, there being no sure antidote, the disease had to run its course. “Which is a good thing for the world,” he added, “so you are quite right to prepare yourself for the attack. But are you sure that insurance is your field?”
“I have given the subject a good deal of thought,” was the reply, “and insurance interests me.”
“That’s a good sign,” commented Murray. “Success is for the man who is interested in his work, and not merely in the financial results of that work.”
“Oh, I want to make money, too,” said the young man frankly.
“We all do,” returned Murray, “but the man who has no other aim than that would better stick to business and let the professions alone. Life insurance has become a profession, like banking. Time was when anybody with money could be a banker, but now it is conceded to require special gifts and a special training. I place life insurance right up in the front rank of the professions, for it is semi-philanthropic. We are not in it for our health, of course, but, if we are conscientious and earnest, we may reasonably flatter ourselves that we are doing a vast amount of good in line with our work. The life insurance solicitor has been the butt of many jokes. Perhaps he himself has been responsible for this, but times have changed and so have methods. If I ever caught one of my men slipping into an office with an apologetic air, like a second-rate book-canvasser, I’d discharge him on the spot. The insurance solicitor of to-day wants to consider himself a business man with a business proposition to make; he must have self-respect and show it. The best men plan their work carefully, do not attempt to hurry matters, and usually meet those that they expect to interest in their proposition by appointment, instead of trying to force the thing upon themby pure nerve. When a fellow becomes a nuisance he is hurting himself, his company and all others in his line. Do you still think insurance the line for you?”
“I can begin,” said the young man, by way of reply, “with an application from my present employer. I’ve been talking insurance to him for practice, and he has agreed to take out a policy. He’s a pretty good fellow. He says I’m worth more than he can afford to pay me and he wants to help me along.”
“I guess you’re all right,” laughed Murray. “At any rate, you impress me as being the kind of man I want. Leave your references and come in again tomorrow.”
Murray was unusually particular as to the character of the men he employed. It was not enough for him that a man could get business, but he had his own ideas as to the way business should be secured. Absolute integrity and the most painstaking care to state a proposition fairly, without exaggeration, were points upon which he insisted.
“A dissatisfied policy-holder,” he said, “is a dead weight to carry; a satisfied policy-holder is an advertisement. If a man finds he is getting a little more than he expected, he is so much better pleased; if he finds he is getting a little less, he feels he has beentricked. Insurance is a good enough proposition, so that you don’t have to gild it.”
Murray himself, in his younger days, had once secured an application for a large policy by refusing to expatiate on the merits of the particular form of insurance he was advocating.
“Well, let’s hear what a beautiful thing it is,” the man had said.
“My dear sir,” Murray had replied, “it is a straight business proposition, with no frills or twists of any kind. You have the facts and the figures. If you, with your business training, can’t see the merit of it, it would be a waste of time for me to attempt any elucidation. I have not the egotism to think I cantalkyou into taking out a policy. As a matter of fact, this proposition doesn’t need any argument, and it would be a reflection on the plain merit of the proposition for me to attempt one.”
Different methods for different men. This man never before had seen an insurance solicitor who would not talk for an hour, if he had the chance, and he was impressed and pleased. This was business,—straight business and nothing else. He straightway took out a large policy.
Something of this Murray told the young man when he came back the next day, for he was anxious to impressupon him the fact that life insurance was not like a mining scheme, which has to be painted with all the glories of the sunset in order to float the stock, and that the man who overstated his case would inevitably suffer from the reaction.
Murray had been favorably impressed with the young man—Max Mays was the name he gave—and the employer of Mays had spoken well of him. He was rather a peculiar fellow, according to the employer—always busy with figures or financial stories and seemingly deeply interested in the details of the large business affairs that were discussed in the newspapers and the magazines. Aside from this, he was about like the average clerk who hopes for and seeks better opportunities, and meanwhile makes the best of what he has—reasonably industrious and yet far from forsaking the pleasures of this life.
All in all, Mays seemed like good material from which to make a life insurance man, and the fact that he did not propose to desert his present employer without notice was in his favor. Possibly the fact that he was getting his first commission through the latter had something to do with this, but, anyhow, he planned to continue where he was until a successor had been secured; and too many young men, contemplatingsuch a change, would have let their enthusiasm lead them to quit without notice when they found the new place open to them. This is mentioned merely as one of the things that led Murray to think he had secured a thoroughly conscientious, as well as an ambitious, employee.
When he finally reported for duty Murray gave him certain general instructions, principal among which was this: “Never make a statement that will require explanation or modification later. Any time you decide that the proposition you are making is not good enough to stand squarely on its merits, without exaggeration or deception, direct or inferential, come into the office and resign. Any time you find yourself saying anything that you yourself do not believe implicitly, it is time for you to quit. When you have to explain what you really meant by some certain statement, you are creating doubt and distrust, for the unadulterated truth, of course, does not have to be explained.”
For a time Murray watched Mays rather closely—not in the expectation of finding anything wrong, but rather with the idea of giving him helpful suggestions—but the young man seemed to be unusually capable and unusually successful for a beginner. He seemed to be working a comparatively new field—a field thatturned up no large policies but that seemed to be prolific of small ones. This, however, was quite natural. Every new man works first among those he happens to know, and Mays was doing business with his old associates. In time, Murray ceased to give him any particular attention, except to note the regularity with which he turned in applications for small policies, and there probably would have been no deviation from the customary routine had it not been for an unexpected and apparently trivial incident.
An application for a small policy had come in through one of the other solicitors. Mays happened to be in the office when the applicant called for his physical examination, but they exchanged no greetings. Apparently they were strangers. Yet Mays slipped out into the hall and intercepted the other as he came from the doctor’s office. Murray, emerging suddenly from his own room, saw them talking together and caught this question and answer:
“Is it all right?”
“Of course. I’m a bully good risk, as you call it.”
Then, seeing Murray, they hastily separated and went their ways.
Now, why should a friend of Mays apply for insurance through another solicitor? Well, he might have been ignorant, when he made his application, ofthe fact that Mays was in the insurance business. But why did they give no sign of recognition when they met in the main office? It was quite natural that Mays should be anxious to learn how his friend came out with the physician, but why should he sneak out into the hall to ask the question?
Any evidence of secrecy and underhand work always annoyed Murray. He did not like this, although he could see nothing in it to cause him any anxiety. Nevertheless, he looked up the papers of the man who had just been examined and found that his name was John Tainter and that he lived near Mays. He was a good risk, however, and he got his policy. There was no earthly reason why it should be refused. But Murray watched Mays more carefully and gave painstaking attention to the risks he brought in.
The applicants were generally small tradesmen—usually foreigners—but there was nothing in the least suspicious in any case. Indeed, it was difficult to see how there could be anything wrong, for the safeguards made it practically impossible for a mere solicitor to put up any successful scheme to beat the company, and certainly it would not be tried with any trifling policy. But it annoyed Murray to find that a man he had believed so frank and straightforward was tricky, and hecould not, try as he would, find any reason for this trickiness.
Then, one day, while he was waiting in a hotel office for his card to be taken up to the room of a man with whom he had some business, he heard a strangely familiar voice near him making a strangely familiar assertion.
“You bet you, they don’t fool me very much,” said the voice.
Murray turned to see who it was, but a big square column was in the way. Murray’s chair was backed up to one side of this, and the speaker was on the other.
“I can’t just place that voice,” mused Murray, “but I have heard it somewhere.” There was silence for an instant.
“It’s going to be vorth something, ain’t it, yes?” inquired the voice at last.
“It looks like a big thing and no mistake,” was the reply.
“By George!” muttered Murray, “it’s that Adolph Schlimmer who tried to get a rebate on his policy, and the fellow with him is Max Mays.”
Just then word came that Murray’s man would see him, and he had to leave. He was careful, however, to keep the column between him and the two he hadfound in conversation. It was just as well not to let them know of his presence, for he preferred not to have their suspicions aroused.
There was now little doubt in his mind that some scheme was being worked out. But what? What could these two men, neither of whom was versed in the theory and details of life insurance, do that would be in any way hurtful to the company or advantageous to them? Of course, it was only a surmise that their confidential business concerned him in any way, but association with Schlimmer would be sufficient to make Murray uneasy about any of his men, and the strange action of Mays in the Tainter matter added to his uneasiness.
His first move was to investigate Mays thoroughly, and, to his astonishment, he discovered that, far from having a mother to support, Mays was living with a married brother and had no one to look after but himself. He had told the truth about his business record, but he had lied about his personal responsibilities. That lie had been an artistic one, however, for it had helped materially to get him a position with Murray.
Further investigation showed that there was a light-headed, frivolous young girl, to whom he was devoted and with whom he attended Saturday-nightdances in various public halls, but it had to be admitted, to his credit, that he never let these interfere with business and was always on hand with a clear head. At the same time, it threw an entirely new light on his character, and showed him to be not at all the sort of fellow his business record had indicated.
Murray was tempted to discharge him at once, but he refrained for two reasons: first, his action would be dictated by his own disappointment in the man rather than by anything he knew that was definitely derogatory, aside from his falsehood about his mother; second, he wanted a chance to investigate further the association with Schlimmer, and the only way to do this was to pretend to be entirely unsuspicious and entirely satisfied. If there was any kind of scheme that could be put up by two such men, he was interested in finding it out, especially if they had already taken any action. Until the thing was clear, he wished to have Mays within reach.
Mays was shadowed for a few days, but nothing was learned except that he unquestionably had business relations with the unscrupulous Schlimmer, and that they occasionally met in the office of a lawyer in that district.
“A lawyer!” mused Murray. “Now, what the devildo they need of a lawyer? I can’t see where he comes in.”
“Tainter was with them once,” replied the “shadow.”
“I certainly never had anything puzzle me like this,” remarked Murray. “The separate incidents are so trifling that it seems absurd to attach any importance to them, and yet, taking them all together, I am convinced there is something wrong. I’d like to hear what they have to say to each other.”
“That,” said the shadow, “can be easily arranged, for they are to meet next Sunday afternoon, and I can get the janitor easily to let us into the adjoining office.”
“I’ll be there,” said Murray.
Now, Murray, in spite of his good nature, was a dignified man, but he knew when to sacrifice his dignity. He was an “office man,” but he rather enjoyed an excuse for getting outside and occupying himself in some unusual way. In fact, Murray had the making of a “strenuous” man in him, if fate had not decreed that he should devote his energies to the less exciting task of directing the destinies of a life insurance agency. So he rather enjoyed the mild excitement of getting into the adjoining office unobserved and lying prone on his stomach to get his ear close to the crackunder the door. But the reward was not great. The lawyer—a big blustering fellow—was there, and so were Schlimmer, Tainter and Mays, but the meeting seemed to be one for jubilation rather than for planning.
“I got the papers all ready,” said the lawyer. “Sign ’em, Tainter, and then we’re ready to go ahead the moment Mays gives the word. We want to land all we can.”
And that was the only business transacted. The rest of the time was given to gloating over some scheme that was not put in words.
“You bet you, I make that Murray sit up and take notice, yes?” remarked Schlimmer. “I gif him his chance once and I get the vorst of it, but I even up now.”
“It’s great,” commented the lawyer. “You’ve got a great head on you, Schlimmer. Not one man in a thousand would have thought of it. We’ll all even up, but they would have been mighty suspicious if I had let Tainter’s application go in through Mays. That’s where you get the advantage of having a lawyer in the deal.”
And more to the same effect, but no definite explanation of the scheme.
Murray was at his office unusually early Mondaymorning, and the first thing he did was to have a clerk look up the Schlimmer case. Some company, he knew, had got into trouble over a Schlimmer policy, and he wanted to know all about it. He learned that Schlimmer had taken out a policy on his wife’s life, had demanded and secured a rebate from the solicitor, and that another policy-holder had taken action that resulted in nullifying the policy and imposing a fine on the company.
“I think I understand it now,” mused Murray, “but it looks to me as if pretty prompt action might be necessary.”
All doubt, all hesitation had disappeared. Murray was wide awake and active. He called in his private messenger.
“When Mr. Mays reports,” he said, “he is to wait until I have had a talk with him before going out. I shall send for him when I am ready.” Then, giving the boy a slip of paper with a name and an address on it, “I want to see that man here at once. Take a cab and bring him. Tell him the validity of his life insurance depends upon it.”
While the boy was gone, Murray slipped out himself, and, when he returned, a stranger accompanied him. The stranger was secreted in a room adjoining, and then Murray took up the routine of his regularwork. The only interruption came when a clerk informed him that Mays was waiting.
“Let him wait,” said Murray. “I’m not quite ready for him yet. If he tries to leave, jump on his back and hold him.”
After a time the messenger returned with the man for whom he had been sent, and Murray immediately took him into his private office and shut the door.
“Mr. Leckster,” he said abruptly, “how much of a rebate did Mays give you on the policy you took out with us?”
Leckster was plainly mystified and frightened.
“Out with it!” commanded Murray. “Your policy isn’t worth the paper it’s written on unless the matter is straightened out mighty quick. How much was the rebate?”
“I don’t understand,” said Leckster, already nearly terror-stricken.
“How much of his commission did he give to you to get you to take out a policy?”
“Oh, he give me a half.”
“Leckster,” said Murray, “that was against the law. If any other policy-holder hears of it and wants to go into court, he can nullify your policy and get half of the fine that will be assessed against us for the act of our agent. If you want to make your policyunassailable, you must refund that rebate. Now, go home and think it over.”
Then he sent word to Mays that he was ready to see him.
“Mays,” he said abruptly, “what was your scheme?”
“Sir!” exclaimed Mays.
“What was your scheme?”
“Surely you must be joking, sir,” protested Mays. “I have no scheme.”
“Why did Tainter,” replied Murray in deliberate tones, “a friend of yours, put in his application through another solicitor?”
“He didn’t know I was in the insurance business until he came up here to be examined.”
“Then why did you fail to recognize each other until you got out in the hall where you thought you were unobserved?”
Mays did not even hesitate. Evidently he had prepared himself for this.
“Another man had got his application,” he said, “and I was afraid it would look as if I were trying to interfere in some way. I did nod to him, but very likely it wasn’t noticed.”
“What are your relations with Schlimmer?” persisted Murray.
“Oh, I got into a little business deal with him, for which I am sincerely sorry. I’m trying to get out now.”
“Insurance?” asked Murray.
“No, sir; it had nothing whatever to do with insurance.”
Murray was thoughtful and silent for several minutes.
“Mays,” he said at last, speaking slowly, “I don’t know whether you’re worth saving or not. You’ve got in with a bad crowd and you’re mixed up in a bad deal. But you impressed me favorably when you came here, and I think you are capable of being legitimately successful. Of course, you lied to me about your mother—”
“I was very anxious for the job, sir.”
“I quite appreciate that, although your motive for wanting the job will hardly bear close scrutiny. Still, you are young and I am anxious to give you another chance. Now, tell me the whole story.”
“There is nothing to tell, sir,” Mays replied with an ingenuous air. “Your words and insinuations are a deep mystery to me.”
“Think again,” advised Murray. “I know the story pretty well myself.”
“I shall be glad to have you tell it, sir,” said Mays.“Your earnestness leads me to think it must be interesting.”
“If I tell it,” said Murray, “it removes your last chance of escaping any of the consequences.”
“Go ahead,” said Mays.
At least, he had magnificent nerve.
“Schlimmer,” said Murray, fixing his eyes sharply on Mays, “was once mixed up in a little trouble over rebates, which are unlawful. He tried to get me to give him a rebate on a policy, but I refused, and he seems to have got the idea that I was directly responsible for the failure of his scheme elsewhere. He learned, however, that the informer gets half of the fine assessed against the company in each case, but that only another policy-holder is empowered to make the necessary complaint. It occurred to Schlimmer that, if he could find enough rebate cases, there would be a good bit of money in it on the division of the fines. Being a man of low cunning, it occurred to Schlimmer that these cases might be manufactured, if he could get hold of a complaisant insurance solicitor, for the company is held responsible for the act of the agent, and the easiest way to get hold of a complaisant solicitor was to make one. So he went to a young man who was absorbed in the study of tricky finance and who couldn’t see why he couldn’t do that sort of thinghimself, and the young man got a job in this office. The young man, Max Mays by name, immediately began preparing rebate cases for future use. He worked among a class of people who knew little of insurance or insurance laws and who are in the habit of figuring very closely, and this rebate proposition looked pretty good to them.
“Next, Schlimmer and Mays got a lawyer into the scheme, because they would need him when it came to the later proceedings, and they further prepared for theircoupby having a confederate, named Tainter, take out a policy in the company, so that he would be in a position to make the necessary complaint. In order to avert suspicion, when the time for action came, Tainter applied for his policy through another solicitor. I think that is about all, Mays, except that you were ready to spring your surprise as soon as the policies had been issued on two or three applications now under consideration. I was in the next room to you when you held your meeting yesterday, Mays.”
Mays had grown very white during this recital, but he still kept his nerve, although he now showed it in a different way.
“Yes,” he said, “that is about all. There are some details lacking, but the story is practically correct. What do you intend to do with me?”
Then Mays was suddenly conscious of the fact that a man, a stranger, was standing beside him. The man had emerged quietly from the room in which he had been concealed.
“There are the warrants for the whole crowd, including this man,” said Murray, handing the stranger a number of documents. “The charge is conspiracy, and, if they could have secured half the fine in each of the cases they prepared so carefully, they would have made a pretty good thing. Now, I’ve got the job of straightening this matter out so that both the policies and the company will be unassailable under the rebate law. But, at any rate, Schlimmer has got his second lesson, and it’s a good one. Look out for him especially, officer. If you keep this man away from the telephone, you’ll have no difficulty in getting Schlimmer and all the others.”
Harry Renway was the kind of man that people refer to as “a simple soul.” He might feel deeply, but he did not think that way. As a matter of fact, it was stretching things a little to call him a man, for he was hardly more than a boy—a youth in years, but a boy in everything else. Nevertheless, it is worth recording that he was a reasonably thrifty boy, although his earning capacity had not permitted him to put aside anything resembling a fortune.
Love, however, visits the poor as well as the wealthy, the simple as well as the wise. Indeed, sometimes it seems as if Love rather avoids the wealthy and wise and chooses the companionship of less-favored mortals. So, perhaps, it is not at all extraordinary that Harry Renway was in love, and the object of his affections was one of the most tantalizing specimens of femininity that ever annoyed and delighted man.
She said frankly that she was mercenary, but it is probable she exaggerated. She had been poor all her life, but she had no dreams of great wealth and no ambition for it: she merely wanted to be assuredreasonable comfort—that is, what seemed to her reasonable comfort. A really mercenary girl would have deemed it poverty and hardship. Somehow, when one has been poor and has suffered some privations, one learns to give some thought to worldly affairs, and it is to the credit of Alice Jennings that she did not grade men more exactly by the money standard. Harry’s modest salary would be sufficient to meet her requirements, but Harry had nothing but his salary. A larger salary might give something of luxury, in addition to comfort, but, assured the comfort and freedom from privation, she would be guided by the inclinations of her heart. So, perhaps, she was wise rather than mercenary. Love needs a little of the fostering care of money, although too much of this tends to idleness and scandal.
“But if anything should happen to you,” argued Alice, when Harry tried to tell her how hard he would work for her.
“What’s going to happen to me?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” she answered lightly. “You’re a dear, good boy, Harry, and I like you, but I’ve had all the poverty I want.”
“Who’s talking about poverty?” persisted Harry stoutly. “I’ve got more than two hundred dollars saved up, and I’ll have a bigger salary pretty soon.”
“What’s two hundred dollars!” she returned. “We’d use that to begin housekeeping. Then, if anything should happen to you—Why, Harry, I’d be worse off than I am now. I don’t want much, but I’ve learned to look ahead—a little. I’ve neither the disposition nor the training to be a wage-earner, and I’ll never go back home after I marry. Dad has a hard enough time of it, anyhow.” There was raillery in her tone, but there was also something of earnestness in it. “Now, Tom Nelson has over two thousand dollars,” she added.
“Oh, if you’re going to sell yourself!” exclaimed Harry bitterly.
“I didn’t say I’d marry him,” she retorted teasingly, “but, if I did and anything happened to him—”
“You’d probably find he’d lost it in some scheme,” put in Harry.
“He might,” admitted Alice thoughtfully, “but he’s pretty careful.”
“And too old for you,” added Harry angrily. “Still, if it’s only money—”
“It isn’t,” she interrupted more seriously; “it’s caution. I’ve had enough to make me just a little cautious. You don’t know how hard it has been, Harry, or you’d understand. If you knew more of the disappointments and heartaches of some of the girlswho are deemed mercenary, you wouldn’t blame them for sacrificing sentiment to a certain degree of worldliness. ’I just want to be sure I’ll never have to go through this again,’ says the girl, and she tries to make sure. It isn’t a question of the amount of money she can get by marriage, nor of silks or satins, but rather of peace and security after some years of privation and anxiety. She learns to think of the future, if only in a modest way—that is, some girls do. I’m one of them. What could I do—alone?”
“Then you won’t marry me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then you will marry me?”
“I didn’t say that, either. There’s no hurry.”
Thus she tantalized him always. It was unfair, of course—unless she intended to accept him eventually. In that case, it was merely unwise. It is accepted as a girl’s privilege to be thus perverse and inconsistent in her treatment of the man she intends to marry, but sometimes she goes too far and loses him. However, Alice Jennings was herself uncertain. She had known Harry a long time, and she liked him. She had known Tom Nelson a shorter time, and she liked him also. It may be said, however, that she did not love either of them. Love is self-sacrificing and gives no thought to worldly affairs. Alice Jennings mighthave been capable of love, if she could have afforded the luxury, but circumstances had convinced her that she could not afford it, so she did not try. She would not sell herself solely for money, and her standard of comfort was not high, but she was trying hard to “like” the most promising man well enough to marry him. As far as possible, she was disposed to follow the advice of the man who said, “Marry for love, my son, marry for love and not for money, but, if you can love a girl with money, for heaven’s sake do so.”
As a natural result of her desire to make sure of escaping for all time the thraldom of poverty that was so galling to her, she was irresolute and capricious. She dressed unusually well for a girl in her position, but this was because she had taste and had learned to make her own clothes, so the money available for her gowns could be put almost entirely into the material alone. She was a capable housekeeper, because necessity had compelled her to give a good deal of time to housework in her own home. She had no thought of escaping all these duties, irksome as they were, but she did not wish to be bound down to them. A comfortable flat, with a maid-of-all-work to do the cooking and cleaning, and a sewing girl for a week once or twice a year, was her idea of luxury. This, even though there was still much for her to do, would giveher freedom, and this, with reasonably careful management, either of the men could give her. But she looked beyond, and hesitated; she had schooled herself to go rather deeply into the future.
Tom Nelson found her quite as unreasonable and bewildering as did Harry. Tom was older and more resourceful than Harry, but he was not so steady and persistent. Harry was content to let his money accumulate in a savings’ bank, but Tom deemed this too slow and was willing to take risks in the hope of larger profits. He made more, but he also spent more, and, all else aside, it was a question as to whether Harry would not be able to provide the better home. Then, too, Tom occasionally lost money, while nothing but a bank failure could endanger Harry’s modest capital. So Tom had his own troubles with the girl. He knew her dread of poverty—amounting almost to a mania—and he made frequent incidental reference to his capital.
“But that isn’t much,” she said lightly. Her self-confessed mercenariness was always brought out in a whimsical, half-jocular way that seemed to have nothing of worldly hardness in it. “And there’s no telling whether you’ll have it six months from now,” she added. “As long as I had you to take care of me, it would be all right, but—”
She always came back to the same point. Yet one of these two she intended to marry, her personal preference being for Harry, and her judgment commending Tom. The former would plod; the latter might be worth twenty thousand in a few years, or he might be in debt. Harry never would have much; Tom might have a great deal—enough to make the future secure, no matter what happened.
“Will you invest the money for me?” she asked.
“Why, no,—I must use it to make more.”
Thus she flirtatiously, laughingly, but with an undertone of seriousness, kept them both uncertain, while she impressed upon them her one great fear of being left helpless. Yet even in this her ambition was modest: no income for life, but only something for her temporary needs until she could adjust herself to new conditions, if that became necessary. Anything more than that was too remote for serious thought.
Harry finally told his troubles to a friend, when these exasperating conditions had continued for some time. He wanted consolation; he got advice.
“A little too worldly to suit me,” commented the friend. “Still, it might be better if some of the girls who marry hastily had just a little of such worldliness. There would be fewer helpless and wretched women and children.”
“That’s just it,” returned Harry. “She knows what it means, and that two thousand of Tom Nelson’s looks awful big to her. If I had as much I’d invest it for her outright, and that would settle it.”
“Doesn’t want it to spend, as I understand it?” queried the friend.
“Oh, no—just to know that she has something in case anything happens.”
“Why don’t you try life insurance?” asked the friend.
It took Harry a moment or two to grasp this. Then his face lighted up.