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diff --git a/36393-0.txt b/36393-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0b77ac --- /dev/null +++ b/36393-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7358 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Best Policy, by Elliott Flower + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Best Policy + +Author: Elliott Flower + +Illustrator: George Brehm + +Release Date: June 12, 2011 [EBook #36393] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST POLICY *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: “Mrs. Vincent, I have found the insurance policy” _Page +114_] + + + + + The Best Policy + + _By_ ELLIOTT FLOWER + + Author of + “The Spoilsman,” “Policeman Flynn,” etc. + + Illustrated By + GEORGE BREHM + + _A. L. BURT COMPANY_ + _Publishers New York_ + + + + + Copyright 1905 + The Bobbs-Merrill Company + + October + + + + + TO THOSE + FOR WHOSE BENEFIT I HAVE + INSURED MY OWN + LIFE + + + + + THE BEST POLICY + + INCLUDING + + An Incidental Comedy 1 + An Incidental Question 25 + An Incidental Tragedy 47 + An Incidental Speculation 73 + An Incidental Favor 99 + An Incidental Error 123 + An Incidental Failure 149 + An Incidental Scheme 167 + An Incidental Courtship 187 + An Incidental Sacrifice 207 + An Incidental Discovery 229 + An Incidental Grievance 251 + + + + +THE BEST POLICY + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL COMEDY + + +Naturally, when Harry Beckford married he began to take a more serious +view of life. If there is anything at all of thoughtfulness and +consideration in a man, marriage brings it out: he begins to plan. He +has some one dependent upon him, some one for whom he must provide. That +he should trust to luck before was solely his affair; that he should +trust to luck now is quite another matter. + +In the case of Beckford, as in the cases of most other young men, this +feeling was of gradual growth. He was optimistic and happy; his future +looked long and bright; he had ample time in which to accumulate a +comfortable fortune; but—he wasn’t even beginning. He and his wife so +enjoyed life that they were spending all he made. It wasn’t a large sum, +but it was enough to make them comfortable and contented, enough to give +them all reasonable pleasures. Later—he thought of this only in a hazy, +general sort of way—they would begin to save. There was plenty of time +for this, for they were both young, and he had proved himself of +sufficient value to his employer to make his rapid advancement +practically certain. The employer was a big corporation, the general +manager of which had taken a deep personal interest in him, and the +opportunities were limitless. + +But the feeling of responsibility that came to him with marriage +gradually took practical form, perhaps because the girl who sat opposite +him at the breakfast-table was so very impractical. She was loving, +lovable, delightfully whimsical, but also unreasoningly impractical in +many ways. Before marriage she never had known a care; after marriage +her cares were much like those of a child with a doll-house—they gave +zest to life but could be easily put aside. If the maid proved +recalcitrant, it was annoying, but they could dine at a restaurant and +go to the theater afterward, and Harry would help her with breakfast the +next morning. Harry was so awkward, but so willing, that it all became a +huge joke. Harry had not passed the stage where he would “kiss the cook” +in these circumstances, and an occasional hour in the kitchen is not so +bad when there is a fine handsome young man there, to be ordered about +and told to “behave himself.” So even marriage had not yet awakened +Isabel Beckford to the stern realities of life. + +It was her impracticalness, her delightful dependence, that finally +brought Harry to the point of serious thought. What would she do, if +anything happened to him? Her father had been successful but +improvident: he would leave hardly enough for her mother alone to live +in modest comfort; and, besides, Harry was not the kind of youth to put +his responsibilities on another. He began to think seriously about +cutting expenses and putting something aside, even at this early day. +The really successful men had begun at the beginning to do this. Then +there came to his notice the sad case of Mrs. Baird, who was left with +nothing but a baby. Baird had been a young man of excellent promise and +a good income, but he had left his widow destitute. He had put nothing +aside, intending, doubtless, to begin that later. + +“Just like me,” thought Harry, as he looked at his girl-wife across the +table. + +“Isn’t it frightful?” she asked, referring to the little tragedy +contained in the item he had just read to her from the morning paper. +“Every one thought the Bairds were so prosperous, too.” + +“Every one thinks we are prosperous,” he commented thoughtfully. + +“Oh, that’s different!” she exclaimed. “You mustn’t talk like that or +you’ll make me gloomy for the whole day! Why, it sounds as if you were +expecting to die!” + +“Not at all,” he replied, “but neither was Baird.” + +“Please don’t!” she pleaded. “I shan’t have another happy minute—until +I’ve forgotten what you said.” + +He laughed at the ingenuousness of this and blew her a kiss across the +table; but he did not abandon the subject. + +“Baird was a young man,” he persisted, “but, with a little care and +forethought, he could have left things in fair shape.” + +“Perhaps we ought to be saving a little,” she admitted in a tone of +whimsical protest. “I’ll help you do it, if you just won’t make me +blue.” + +“He hadn’t even life insurance,” he remarked, “and neither have I.” + +“Oh, not insurance!” she cried. “I wouldn’t like that at all.” + +“Why not?” he asked. + +“Why—why, think how much you could do with the money you’d be paying to +the old life insurance company!” + +“Wouldn’t it be just the same if you were saving it?” he argued. + +“Oh, no; not at all,” she asserted. “Why, you can get money that you’re +saving whenever you want it, but life insurance money is clear out of +your reach.” + +“A policy has a cash surrender value,” he explained. “Every cent paid in +premiums adds to its value, if you want to give it up.” + +“But then you lose the insurance,” she argued with feminine +inconsistency. + +“Of course,” he admitted, “just as you lose your savings when you spend +them.” + +“Oh, but you can get at your savings easier, and it’s easier to start +again, if you happen to use them,” she insisted. + +“The very reason why life insurance is better for us,” he said. “I want +to make sure of something for you that we’re certain not to touch while +I live.” + +But she took the unreasonable view of insurance that some young women do +take, and refused to be convinced. + +“If I should die first,” she said, with a little shudder at the very +thought of death for either of them, “all the money you’d paid the +company would be wasted.” + +“Not necessarily,” he returned. “There might be—” + +“Hush!” she interrupted, blushing so prettily that he went over and +kissed her. Then he dropped the subject temporarily, which was the +wisest thing he could have done. She had the feminine objection to +paying out money for which she got no immediate return, but she wanted +to please her husband. She was capricious, imperious at times and then +meekly submissive—a spoiled child who surrendered to the emotion of the +moment, but whose very inconsistencies were captivating. So when she +decided that victory was hers, she also decided to be generous: to +please him she would make a concession. + +“I’ve changed my mind about insurance,” she told him a few days later. +As a matter of fact, she had changed her mind, but not her opinions: she +was not convinced, but she would please him by accepting his plan—with a +slight modification. + +“I knew you would see the wisdom of it!” he exclaimed joyously. + +“How much insurance did you plan to get?” she asked, with a pretty +assumption of business ways. + +“Ten thousand dollars,” he replied. + +“Well, we’ll divide it,” she said, “and each get five thousand dollars.” + +“You mean that you’ll be insured, too?” he asked doubtfully. + +“Of course. Isn’t my life worth as much as yours?” + +“More! a thousand times more!” he cried, “but—but—” + +Her eyes showed her indignation, and he stopped short. + +“You don’t want me to be insured!” she exclaimed hotly. “You don’t think +I’m worth it!” + +“Why, dearest,” he protested, “you’re worth all the insurance of all the +people in the world, but it isn’t necessary in your case. It’s my +earning capacity that—” + +Unfortunate suggestion! There was an inference that she considered +uncomplimentary. + +“Haven’t I any earning capacity?” she demanded. “Don’t I earn every cent +I get? Isn’t the home as important as the office?” + +“Surely, surely, darling, but—” + +“Doesn’t a good wife earn half of the income that she shares?” she +persisted. + +“More than half, sweetheart.” + +“Don’t say ‘sweetheart’ to me in the same breath that you tell me I’m +not worth being insured!” she cried. “It’s positively insulting, +and—and—you always said you loved me.” + +Her voice broke a little, and he was beside her in an instant. + +“You don’t understand,” he explained. “Insurance has nothing to do with +your value to me or my value to you, but there is a more worldly value—” + +“Oh, you’re of some account in the world and I’m not!” she broke in, her +indignation driving back the tears. + +“Isabel, you’re simply priceless to me!” + +“But, if I hadn’t happened to meet you, I suppose I’d be a nonentity!” +she flashed back at him. “I’m just a piece of property that you happen +to like, and—why, Harry Beckford, men insure property, don’t they?” + +“Of course, but—” + +“And I’m not worth insuring, even as property!” she wailed. “Oh, I +didn’t think you could ever be so cruel, so heartless! You might at +least let me think I’m worth something.” + +The young husband was in despair. He argued, pleaded, explained in vain; +she could only see that he put a value on his life that he did not put +on hers, and it hurt her pride. Besides, they were partners in +everything else, so why not in insurance? + +“But I wouldn’t want the insurance on your life,” he urged. + +“Do you think I’m any more mercenary than you?” she retorted. “I don’t +want the insurance, either; I want you—when you’re nice to me.” + +“We’ll think it over,” he said wearily. + +“I’ve thought,” she returned decisively. “If it’s such a good thing, I +think you’re mean not to let me share it with you.” Then, with sudden +cheerfulness: “It would be rather jolly and exciting to go together, +just as we go to the theater and—and—all other amusements.” + +He laughed at her classification of life insurance among the pleasures +of life, and then he kissed her again. Her unreasoning opposition +distressed him, but resentment was quite out of the question. There was +momentary exasperation, and then a little love-making, to bring the +smiles back to her face. All else could wait. + +It is a noteworthy fact, however, that life insurance takes a strong +hold on a man the moment he really decides he ought to have it, and +opposition only adds to his determination. He who finds that, because of +some unsuspected physical failing, he can not get it, immediately is +possessed with a mania for it. So long as he considered it within his +reach, he turned the agents away; now he goes to them and lies and +pleads and tries desperately to gain that which he did not want until he +found he could not get it. + +Thus, in a minor degree, the opposition of Beckford’s wife served only +to impress on Beckford’s mind the necessity and advantage of some such +provision for the future. Perhaps the explanation of this is that in +trying to convince her he had convinced himself. At any rate, the +subject, at first taken up in a desultory way, became one of supreme +importance to him, and he went to see Dave Murray. Dave, he was solemnly +informed by a friend who claimed to know, probably had been christened +David, but the last syllable of the name had not been able to stand the +wear and tear of a strenuous life, in addition to which Murray was not +the kind of man to invite formality. He was “Dave” to every one who got +past the “Mr. Murray” stage, and it never took long to do that. +“Anyhow,” his informant concluded, “you have a talk with him. There +isn’t a better fellow or a more upright man in the city. The only thing +I’ve got against him is that he’ll insure a fellow while he isn’t +looking and then make him think he likes it. But if you want insurance, +go to him.” So Beckford went, and presently he found himself telling +Murray a great deal more than he had intended to tell him. + +“The fact is,” he explained, “my wife was violently opposed to the idea +at first.” + +“Not unusual,” said Murray, and then he added sententiously: “Wives +don’t care for insurance, but widows do.” + +Beckford smiled as he saw the point. + +“It doesn’t do a widow much good to care for insurance, if she objected +to it as a wife,” he suggested. + +“It may,” returned Murray. “It isn’t at all necessary that a wife should +know what’s coming to her when she becomes a widow. She may be provided +for in spite of herself.” + +“That would be rather difficult in my case,” said Beckford, “for my wife +knows just what my salary is, and we plan our expenditures together. +It’s a pretty good salary, but we have been living right up to the limit +of it, so I can’t provide for premiums without her knowledge, although I +can do it easily with it.” + +“That complicates matters a little,” remarked Murray. + +“Besides,” Beckford added, “we have been so frank with each other that I +should be unhappy with such a life-secret, and, if I acted on my own +judgment and took the policy home to her, she says she would tear it up +and throw it away.” + +“I knew a woman to do that once,” said Murray reflectively. “Her husband +insured his life before going on the excursion that ended in the +Ashtabula disaster. A few days later her little boy came in to ask if +anything could be done about the policy that she had destroyed.” + +“I don’t think Isabel would really destroy it,” said the troubled +Beckford, “but it would distress her very much to have me go so contrary +to her wishes in a matter that we had discussed.” + +“It would distress her very much to be left penniless,” remarked Murray. + +“I think,” said Beckford thoughtfully, “I really think, if I had known +that she was going to take this view of the matter, I would have insured +myself first and talked to her about it afterward. Then the situation +wouldn’t be so awkward. But I thought that all women favored life +insurance.” + +“Not at first,” returned Murray, “but usually there comes a change.” + +“When?” asked Beckford hopefully. + +“When they begin to think of the needs and the future and the possible +hardships of the first baby,” replied Murray, whereat Beckford blushed a +little, even as his wife had done a few days before, for young people do +not consider and discuss prospective family problems with the same +candor that their elders do. + +“Woman, the true woman,” Murray continued, “is essentially unselfish; +she thinks of others. Careless for her own future, she plans +painstakingly for those she loves. The insurance premium that is for her +own benefit she would rather have to spend now, but you never hear her +object to the investment of any money that is to benefit her husband or +children, even when she has to make sacrifices to permit it.” + +“But that doesn’t help me,” complained Beckford. “I don’t want any +insurance on her life; I don’t need it, and there is no reason to think +that I ever shall need it. It’s for her that I am planning, but she +won’t listen to anything but this dual arrangement.” + +“I quite understand the situation,” returned Murray. “What insurance you +are able to take out must be to protect her.” + +“Precisely; and I never knew before that a woman could be so +unreasoningly wilful in opposition to her own interests.” + +“My dear sir,” said Murray, with some feeling, “you have a great deal to +learn about women. I have more than twenty thousand dollars charged up +to them in commissions that I have lost, after convincing the men +interested. But if I can help you to provide for this one perverse +sample of femininity, in spite of herself, I shall feel that I have +taken a Christian revenge on the whole sex.” Beckford rather objected to +this reference to his wife, but there was nothing of disrespect in the +tone, and somehow the quaintness of the sentiment made him smile. + +“I wonder,” Murray went on, “if we could refuse the risk without +frightening her.” + +“I’m afraid not,” returned Beckford, “but”—and a sudden inspiration +lighted his face, “couldn’t you put in some restrictions that would +frighten her away?” + +Murray leaned back in his chair and gave the matter thoughtful +consideration. Somehow he had become unusually interested in this young +man’s effort to do a wise and generous thing for his wife in the face of +her opposition. If the man had been seeking to gain some benefit for +himself, Murray would not have listened to even a suggestion of deceit. +But the aim was entirely unselfish, and Beckford had brought a letter of +introduction that left no doubt as to his responsibility and integrity. +Then, too, the situation was amusing. Here were two business men +plotting—what? Why, the welfare of their opponent, and that only. + +“So many women have beaten me,” said Murray at last, “that I should +really like to beat one of them, especially when it’s for her own good. +Bring your wife up here, and I’ll see what I can do.” + +But here again feminine capriciousness was exemplified. Having +apparently won her point, Isabel Beckford began to wish she had lost it. + +“I’m afraid,” she said. “Suppose I should find that something frightful +was the matter with me? Those insurance doctors are awfully particular, +and—and—I’d rather not know it, if I’m going to die very soon.” + +“Oh, very well,” acquiesced her husband. “We’ll go back to my original +plan and put the whole ten thousand dollars on my life.” + +“No, no, no!” she protested. “It would be even worse, if I learned that +there was anything wrong with you. I couldn’t bear it, Harry; I +couldn’t, really! There wouldn’t be anything left in life for me. Let’s +not go at all.” + +“That’s foolish, Isabel,” he argued. “I’m all right, and the very fact +that I am accepted as a good risk will remove every doubt.” + +“That’s so,” she admitted. “We’ll be sure, then, won’t we?” + +“Of course.” + +“Then we’ll both go,” she announced, with a sudden reversal of judgment. +“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I’ll feel a lot better and +stronger when I’m insured, because the companies are so particular, and +it will be comforting to know that you are all right. It’s worth +something to find that out, isn’t it? And sometimes a family physician +won’t tell you the truth, because it won’t do any good and he doesn’t +want to frighten you. We’ll go right away and see about it now.” + +“Hardly this evening,” he answered, smiling, although he was sorely +troubled. “We’ll go to-morrow afternoon.” + +“But it’s so long to wait until to-morrow,” she pouted. + +He regretted the delay quite as much as she did, for his experience up +to date led him to think that there might be another change. First she +had refused to consider the matter at all; then she had insisted they +should go together; after that she had backed out; next she had demanded +he should give up the idea, also; and now she was again determined it +should be a joint affair. + +“No man,” he muttered, as he dropped off to sleep, “knows anything about +a woman until he marries, and then he only learns enough to know that he +knows nothing at all.” + +Then he mentally apologized to his wife for even this mild criticism, +and dreamed that, through some complication, he had to insure the cook +and the janitor and the grocer’s boy before he could take out a policy +on his own life, and that, when he had attended to the rest, he had no +money left for his own premiums, so he made all the other policies in +favor of his wife and hoped to thunder that the cook and the janitor and +the grocer’s boy would die a long time before he did. + +However, she was still of the same mind the next day, so they went to +see Murray. + +“Of course,” she said, as they were on the way, “if this thing wrecks +our happiness by showing that the grave is yawning for either of us, it +will be all your fault.” + +That made him feel nice and comfortable—so nice and comfortable that he +heartily wished he never had mentioned life insurance. Still, he cheered +up a little when Murray took charge of matters in a masterly, confident +way. + +“I understand, Mrs. Beckford,” said Murray, “that both you and your +husband wish to have your lives insured.” + +“Yes,” she replied, “and for some reason he has selfishly wanted to put +all the insurance we can afford on his own life.” + +“So he has told me.” + +“What right had he to discuss family matters with you?” she demanded +with asperity. + +Thus Murray was jarred out of his air of easy confidence the first +thing. + +“Why—why, he didn’t exactly tell me,” he explained, “but my experience +enabled me to surmise as much. Most men are like that.” + +“I never thought Harry would be,” she said, looking at him +reproachfully. “But it’s all right now,” she added. + +“Yes, it’s all right now,” repeated Murray. He had intended to argue +first the advisability of accepting her husband’s plan, but he deemed it +unwise. He had suddenly lost faith in his powers of persuasion, so he +resorted to guile. “Of course, you understand that life insurance is +hedged about by many annoying restrictions,” he went on. + +“I didn’t know it,” she returned. + +“Oh, yes,” he said glibly, with a wink at Beckford. “Do you use gasoline +at all?” + +“Why, I have used it occasionally to take a spot out of a gown,” she +admitted. + +“Barred!” asserted Murray. + +“I can’t do even the least little mite of cleaning with gasoline!” she +exclaimed in dismay. + +“None at all! It’s dangerous! Might just as well fool with +nitroglycerin. People who handle it at all become careless.” + +There were indications of a rising temper. That a mean old insurance +company should have the audacity to tell her what she could or could not +do was an outrage! + +“And you can’t use street-cars,” added Murray. + +“Can’t use street-cars!” she cried. “What will Harry do?” + +“Oh, that rule doesn’t apply to men,” returned Murray calmly, “for men +don’t get off the cars backward and all that sort of thing. Street-cars +are considered, in our business, a danger only for women.” + +“Well, it’s a hateful, insulting, unfair business!” she cried, rising in +her indignation. “I wouldn’t let such a contemptible lot of people +insure me for anything in the world.” + +“But please don’t blame me,” urged Murray insinuatingly. “I want to do +the best I can for you.” + +“Oh, I don’t blame you,” she returned magnanimously. + +“I admit that it sounds unfair,” Murray persisted, “but there was a time +when we wouldn’t take risks on women at all, so, even with the +restrictions, it’s quite a concession.” + +“Oh, very likely, very likely,” she admitted, “but I have too much pride +to accept any such humiliating conditions. Harry can do as he pleases,” +with dignity, “but nothing could induce me to be insured now. I’m going +home.” + +Harry took her to a cab, and then returned to Murray’s office. + +“Well, it’s settled,” said Murray, with a sigh of relief. + +“Yes, it’s settled,” returned Beckford, “but I don’t feel just +comfortable about it.” + +“She sort of bowled me over the first thing,” commented Murray. “I +haven’t quite recovered yet. But it’s her welfare that we’re +considering. Better put in your application and take the examination +before there are any more complications.” + +“Perhaps that’s wise,” admitted Beckford gloomily, for he was not at all +at ease about the matter. She had said he could do as he pleased, but +there had been something in her tone that was disquieting; she might +think there was disloyalty in his patronage of a company that had so +offended her. And this was the first cloud that had appeared in the +matrimonial sky; in all else there had been mutual concession and +perfect agreement. + +He was thinking of this when he went home—and found her in tears. + +“I know what’s the matter,” she wailed. “I didn’t think of it at first, +but I did afterward, and I’ve been crying ever since. I have heart +trouble; that’s why he didn’t want to give me a policy.” + +“Nonsense!” he protested vigorously. + +“Oh, I know it! I know it!” she cried. “He didn’t want to tell me, so he +put in all that about street-cars and gasoline. But it’s heart trouble +or consumption! Those insurance men are so quick to see things that no +one else notices. Why, I could see that he was worried the very first +thing!” + +Beckford got on his knees beside the bed on which she was lying and +tried to comfort her, but she was inconsolable. He insisted that she was +the strongest and healthiest woman of her size in the world; that he +knew it; that Murray himself had commented on it later; that the company +physician, who happened to be in the outer office as they passed +through, had spoken of it; that even the clerks were impressed; but he +failed to shake her conviction that she had some fatal, and hitherto +unsuspected, malady. Finally, assuring her that he would have that +matter settled in thirty minutes, he rushed to the nearest cab-stand and +gave the driver double fare to run his horse all the way to Murray’s +house. + +Murray was just sitting down to dinner, but Beckford insisted that he +should return with him immediately. + +“You’ve got to straighten this matter out!” he told him excitedly. +“You’ve got to give her all the insurance she wants without any +restrictions! Make it fifty thousand dollars if she wants it! I’ll pay +the premiums, if we have to starve!” + +“But I can’t give her a policy to-night!” protested Murray. + +“You can tell her about it to-night, can’t you?” demanded Beckford. “And +you can take her application to-night, can’t you? Why, man, she has +convinced herself that she’s going to die in a week! We can settle the +details later, but we’ve got to do something to-night.” + +“Oh, well, I’ll come immediately after dinner,” said Murray. + +“You come now!” cried Beckford. “If you talk dinner to me, I’ll brain +you! Insurance has made a wreck of me already.” + +“I haven’t been getting much joy out of this particular case myself,” +grumbled Murray, but he went along. + +The moment he reached home, Beckford rushed to his wife’s room. + +“It’s all a mistake!” he exclaimed joyfully. “You—you mustn’t cry any +more, dearest, for it’s all right now. Mr. Murray didn’t understand at +first—thought you were one of these capricious, careless, thoughtless +women that do all sorts of absurd and foolish things on impulse—but he +knows better now. There aren’t any more restrictions for you than for +me, and he’s waiting in the parlor to take your application for all the +insurance you want.” + +“Really?” she asked, as the sobs began to subside. + +“Really.” + +“And there isn’t anything the matter with me?” + +“Of course not, sweetheart.” + +“Well,” she said, after a pause, “I can’t see him now, because my eyes +are all red, but I wish he’d write that out for me. I’d feel so much +more comfortable.” + +“Indeed he will,” asserted Beckford, “and we can fill out the +application in here, and I’ll take it back to him.” + +Hopefully and happily the young husband returned to Murray and told him +what was wanted. Murray sighed dismally. He had missed his dinner for a +woman’s whim, and the woman was merely humiliating him. Still, he felt +in a measure responsible for the trouble; he ought never to have +resorted to duplicity, even for so laudable a purpose. So he wrote the +following: “Investigation has convinced me that the restrictions +mentioned this afternoon are unnecessary in your case, and I shall be +glad to have your application for insurance on the same terms as your +husband’s.” + +Mrs. Beckford read this over carefully. Then she read the application +blank with equal care. After that she wrote at the bottom of the note: +“Insurance has almost given me nervous prostration now, and I don’t want +to have anything more to do with it. If Harry can stand the strain, let +him have it all.” + +“Give him that, Harry,” she said, “and get rid of him as soon as +possible, for I want you to come back and comfort me. I’m completely +upset.” + +Murray lit a cigar when he reached the street, and puffed at it +meditatively as he walked in the direction of the nearest street-car +line. + +“What’s the matter with nervous prostration for me?” he muttered. “One +more effort to defeat a woman who is fighting against her own interests +will make me an impossible risk in any company; two more will land me in +a sanatorium.” + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL QUESTION + + +Dave Murray, general agent, leaned back in his chair and looked +thoughtfully at the young man before him. + +“So you have run up against an unanswerable argument?” he remarked. + +“It seems so to me,” said the inexperienced Owen Ross. + +“My dear boy,” asserted Murray, “in the life insurance business the only +unanswerable argument is a physician’s report that the applicant is not +a good risk. What is the particular thing that has put you down and +out?” + +“Faith,” replied the young man; “just plain faith in the Almighty. +Perhaps, some time in your career, you have run across a religious +enthusiast who considers it a reflection on the all-seeing wisdom of the +Almighty to take any measures for his own protection or the protection +of his family.” + +“I have,” admitted Murray, “but generally it has been a woman.” + +“This is a man,” said Ross; “a sincere, devout man. If he were a +hypocrite, it would be different, but it is a matter of religious +conviction—a principle of faith—with him to trust in the Lord. Life +insurance he considers almost sacrilegious—an evidence of man’s doubt in +the wisdom of his Maker, and an attempt, in his puny insignificant way, +to interfere with the plans of the Great Master. To all arguments he +replies, ‘The Lord will provide for His children.’” + +“And you consider that unanswerable?” asked Murray. + +“In his case, yes. Even his wife is unable to move him, although she +wants insurance as a provision for the future of the children and was +instrumental in getting me to talk to him. How would you answer such a +contention as that?” + +“I wouldn’t answer it; I would agree with him.” + +“And give up?” + +“Quite the contrary. While there can be no doubt that he is right as far +as he goes, he does not go far enough. I would turn his own argument +against him.” Murray leaned forward in his chair and spoke with earnest +deliberation. “The Lord provides for His children through human +instrumentality. Why should not the man be the human instrument through +which the Lord provides for that man’s family? The Lord does not +directly intervene—at least, not in these days. If, in the hour of +extremity, an unexpected legacy should come to relieve the necessities +of that man’s family, he would say the Lord had provided. But it would +be through human instrumentality: the legacy, and the method and law by +which it reached them would be essentially human. If, when poverty +knocks at the door, some generous philanthropist were moved to come to +their relief, he would hold again that the Lord had provided; if some +wealthy relative sought them out, it would be through the intervention +of the Lord; if, through his own wise action, they are saved from want, +is he more than the human instrument through which the Lord provides? +May not an insurance company be the chosen instrument? I say this with +all due reverence, and it seems to me to answer his objections fully. Is +it only in unforeseen ways that He cares for His children? Has He +nothing to do with those cases in which reasonable precautions are taken +by the children themselves?” + +Ross, the young solicitor, looked at his chief with unconcealed +admiration. + +“By George!” he exclaimed, “you’ve got the theory of this business down +to a science. I’ll try the man again.” + +“It’s not a business,” retorted Murray somewhat warmly, for this was a +point that touched his pride; “it is a profession—at least, it lies with +the man himself to make it a business or a profession, according to his +own ability and character. There are small men who make a business of +the law, and there are great men who make a profession of it; there are +doctors to whom medicine is a mere commercial pursuit, and there are +doctors to whom it is a study, a science, a profession. You may make of +life insurance a cheap business, or you may make of it a dignified +profession; you may be a mere annoying canvasser, or you may be a man +who commands respect; but, to be really successful, you must have, or +acquire, a technical knowledge of the basis of insurance, a knowledge of +law, and, above all, a knowledge of human nature,—and even that will +avail little if you are not temperamentally suited to the work. You can +no more make a good insurance man of unpromising material than you can +make a good artist.” + +Ross caught some of the enthusiasm and earnestness of Murray, and +unconsciously straightened up. + +“You have made me look at the subject from a new point of view,” he +said. “I confess I was rather ashamed of the soliciting part of the work +at first—felt a good deal like a cripple selling pencils to support a +sick wife.” + +“And very likely you acted like it,” remarked Murray, “in which case the +people you approached would so class you. It isn’t necessary to have the +‘iron nerve,’ so long identified with that branch of the work; it isn’t +even helpful, for it makes a man unpopular, and the most successful men +are the most popular ones. You’ve lost ground when you have reached a +point where any man you know is not glad to see you enter his office. At +the same time,”—musingly,—“nerve and persistence become forethought and +wisdom when time proves you were right. I have known of cases where a +man afterward thanked the solicitor who had once made life a burden to +him; but it is always better to change a man’s mind without his +knowledge.” + +“Rather difficult,” laughed Ross. + +“But it has been done,” said Murray. “As a matter of fact, you are +working to save men and women from their own selfishness or +heedlessness. If you think of that, you will be more convincing and will +raise your work to the dignity of a profession; if you think only of the +commissions, you will put yourself on the level of the shyster lawyer +whose interest centers wholly in the fees he is able to get rather than +in the cases he is to try. There are pot-boilers in every business and +every profession, but success is not for them: they can’t see beyond the +needs of the stomach, and the man who works only for his belly never +amounts to much. He will stoop to small things to gain a temporary +advantage, never seeing the future harm he is doing; he is the kind of +man who hopes to rise by pulling others down. Remember, my boy, that +insinuations as to the instability of a rival company invariably make a +man suspicious of all: when you have convinced him that the rival’s +proposition and methods are not based on sound financial and business +principles, you have more than half convinced him that yours aren’t, +either, and that very likely there is something radically wrong with the +whole blame system.” + +“I’m glad you spoke of that,” said Ross. “There have been cases where +insinuations have been made against our company, and I have been tempted +to fight back the same way. A man is at a disadvantage when he is put on +the defensive and is called upon to produce evidence of what ought to be +a self-evident proposition.” + +“Never do it, unless the question is put to you directly,” advised +Murray. “You must defend yourself when attacked, but, in every other +case, go on the assumption that your company is all right, and that +everybody knows it is all right. The late John J. Ingalls once said, +‘When you have to offer evidence that an egg is good, that egg is +doubtful, and a doubtful egg is always bad.’ It’s worth remembering. +Many a man is made doubtful of a good proposition by ill-advised efforts +to prove it is good.” + +“If that is invariably true,”—with a troubled scowl,—“I fear I have made +some mistakes.” + +“The man who thinks he makes no mistakes seldom makes anything else.” + +Ross brightened perceptibly at this. + +“You’ve made them yourself?” he asked. + +“Lots of them,” replied Murray, and then he added whimsically: “Once I +placed a risk that meant a two-hundred-dollar commission for me, and my +wife and I went right out and ordered two hundred dollars’ worth of +furniture and clothes. The risk was refused, and I never got the +commission.” + +Ross laughed. + +“I’m beginning to develop enthusiasm and pride in the business—I mean +profession.” + +“Oh, call it a business,” returned Murray, “but think of it as a +profession. It’s the way you regard it yourself that counts, and you +can’t go far astray in that if you stop to think what is required of a +good insurance man. Sterling integrity, for one thing, and tact and +judgment. A man who brings in a good ten-thousand-dollar risk is more +valuable than the man who brings in one hundred thousand dollars that is +turned down by the physicians or at the home office. And the first +requisite for advancement is absolute trustworthiness. There are +temptations, even for a solicitor—commission rebates to the insured that +are contrary to the ethics of the business—and there are greater +temptations higher up. You will learn, as in no other line, that a man +wants what he can’t get, even if he didn’t want it when he could get it, +and he will pay a high price for what he wants. Collusion in a local +office might give it to him, in spite of all precautions taken; such +collusion might be worth ten thousand dollars to a man who had no record +of refusal by other companies against him, and ten thousand dollars +could be split up very nicely between the local agent and the company’s +physician. So integrity, unswerving integrity, is rated exceptionally +high, and the least suspicion of trickery or underhand dealing may keep +a capable man on the lowest rung of the ladder for all time, even if it +doesn’t put him out of the business entirely. You are paid to protect +your company, so far as lies in your power, and to get business by all +honorable means; if you resort to dishonorable means, even in your +company’s interests, there is always the suspicion that you will use the +same methods against its interests whenever that may be to your personal +advantage.” + +Owen Ross pondered this deeply on his way home. It gave a new dignity to +his occupation. He had taken up insurance because it happened to be the +only available opening at a time when he was out of employment. He had +been a clerk for a big corporation that had recently combined two branch +offices, thus materially reducing its office force, and Ross had been +one of those to suffer. His father, a prosperous merchant, had expressed +himself, when consulted, in this way: + +“I will give you a place here whenever that is necessary to enable you +to live, but I prefer that you should complete your preliminary business +training under some one else. No boy can consider himself a success +until he has proved his independence, and no boy can be sure he has +proved that until he has made a secure place for himself outside the +family circle.” + +So Ross, being wise enough to see the reason and justice of this, +endeavored to show his independence by securing a position with Murray. +And, although fairly successful from the start, he was only just +beginning to take a real interest in his work. Murray liked him and +encouraged him: there was, he thought, the making of a good and +successful man in him, and he frequently went to considerable trouble to +explain the theory and practice of insurance. Then, too, he knew that +Ross had married just before he lost his other position, and that he was +living in a modest little flat on his own earnings, in spite of the fact +that he had a father who would be much more ready to assist him +financially than he was to take him into his own office at that +particular time. In fact, the elder Ross was quite willing that his son +and his son’s wife should live with him, holding only that the family +influence should not extend to his first business connections, but Owen +deemed the flat a necessary evidence of his independence. + +“I’ll get that sanctimonious optimist to-morrow,” he mused as he walked +along. “He can’t answer those arguments that Murray gave me. He is +content because the Lord will provide, but why may not I be the human +instrument through which the Lord makes provision? That sounds +presumptuous, but why not? Hasn’t He provided for others in just this +way? Hasn’t many a man, convinced against his will, protected the future +of those he loved barely in time?” He laughed quietly at a thought that +occurred to him. “If this man should be insured to-morrow and die the +next day,” he went on, “he would think the Lord had provided, but if he +has to pay the premiums for twenty years, he’ll think it all very human. +I’m beginning to understand him.” + +He was still smiling at this quaint conceit when he entered his flat and +was informed by his wife that Mrs. Becker had been there to see him. +Mrs. Becker was a woman who did washing and occasional cleaning for +them. + +“To see me!” he exclaimed. “Why, her dealings are all with you.” + +“It has something to do with insurance,” his wife explained. “She knows +you’re in that business, of course, and she is in deep distress. She was +crying when she was here this afternoon, but I couldn’t understand what +the trouble was. She said she’d come back this evening.” + +Ross puzzled over this a good deal during dinner, and even tried to get +some additional information by questioning his wife closely. Exactly +what did the woman say? Her words might be “all Greek” to his wife and +still be intelligible to him, if only she could repeat them. + +“But I can’t,” she insisted. “I was so sorry for her and so helpless +that I really didn’t hear it all, anyway. I only know that it had +something to do with an application or a premium or a policy, and her +husband is very sick and she needs money.” + +Ross began to speculate. The ignorant have strange ideas of insurance, +and very likely this woman thought she could insure a dying husband. His +backbone began to stiffen at once. Of course such a thing was actually, +as well as ethically, impossible, but it was going to be a very +difficult matter to explain it to her, and he anticipated a distressing +scene. His wife was interested in the woman, spoke frequently of her +hardships and her courage, and had helped her to such trifling extent as +they could afford. No doubt the woman had some wild notion that he, +being an insurance man, could do this for her and would do it as a +matter of charity. Ethical questions do not trouble such people. + +When she came, he was prepared for a request that was impossible in +honor and in fact, and he was ready to refuse it with such gentleness as +he deemed due to a weary and desperate woman who did not realize what +she was asking—the gentleness of sympathy coupled with the firmness of +principle. Ross was a young man, inclined to exaggerate the importance +and difficulties of problems that confronted him, and he was +disconcerted when he found he had made an error in the basis from which +he had reached his conclusion; the woman did not wish to insure a dying +husband, but to protect insurance he already carried. + +“Oh, good Mr. Ross,” she wailed, “you must fix it for me some way. If we +don’t pay to-morrow, we’ll lose everything. And we haven’t the money, +Mr. Ross, not enough to pay the doctor even, and it’s worrying Peter +more than the sickness. But you can fix it for us—of course you can fix +it for us,”—with appealing hopefulness. + +“Sit down, Mrs. Becker, and tell me about it,” he urged. “I don’t +understand.” + +She sank into a chair, and looked at him with anxious, tearful doubt and +hope. Worn out with work and watching, she was a prey to conflicting +emotions. Never doubting that he could help her, she feared he might +refuse. Her anxiety was pitiable, and it was some time before he could +get the details of the story from her. Finally, however, he learned that +in more prosperous days her husband had insured his life for five +thousand dollars, and, even in adversity, had succeeded in keeping up +the payments, until stricken by this last illness. The sum he had saved +up for the next premium—the one due the following day—had been used for +medicines and other necessaries, and now he was near death. The doctor +held out no hope; he might live a few days, but hardly more than that, +for he was slowly but surely sinking. Until the previous night, when +there came a turn for the worse, his recovery had been confidently +expected, and his wife had worried little about the premium; the +insurance company would be glad to take it when he was well. + +“But _he_ worried,” she said with unconscious pathos; “he worried and +asked about it until—he couldn’t any more. He’s too sick to know now. +But,”—hopefully,—“he’ll understand when I tell him it’s all right.” + +Ross was as much distressed as the woman, but he could give her little +comfort. He could protect the insurance only by paying the premium +himself, and he was not able to do that. Still, almost all policies +provided for the payment of something proportionate to the amount paid +in, even when the premiums were not kept up, so—He paused uncomfortably +at this point, for the woman’s attitude and expression had changed from +tearful anxiety to dull, sullen suspicion. She did not believe him; like +all insurance men, he was ready to seize any opportunity to defraud her; +she was helpless, and a rich company would take advantage of her +helplessness. + +“You can get the money, Owen,” his wife urged, almost in tears herself. + +[Illustration: “Perhaps I can arrange it,” he said at last. “In what +company is he insured?”] + +“I’ll pay it back to you—when he dies!” cried the woman, and Ross gave +her a quick glance. It seemed heartless, but he saw it was not. The +woman was tried beyond her endurance; she, with her two children, faced +a future that was absolutely devoid of hope; she was sick, wretched, +despairing, and the husband she had striven so hard to keep with her was +already beyond recall. She spoke of his approaching death merely as +something certain, that could not be prevented, and that force of +circumstances compelled her to consider. She had to think for herself +and children, plan for herself and children, even at this fearful time, +for there was no one to do it for her, no one to relieve her of any part +of the burden. The problem of the larder and the problem of burial would +confront her simultaneously; she had to face these cold, hard, brutal +facts, in spite of the grief and sorrow of the moment. + +All this Ross saw and appreciated, and he gave his attention to various +possible ways of raising the necessary money. + +“Perhaps I can arrange it,” he said at last. “In what company is he +insured?” + +It proved to be his own company. Instantly, his talk with Murray flashed +through his mind. “You are paid to protect your company, so far as lies +in your power,” Murray had said. Absolute loyalty to its interests was +imperative. Would it be honorable for him to enter into any arrangement +with this woman that would cost his company money? Had he any right to +do more than the company would do itself? What would be thought of an +employee in any other line of business who advanced money that was to be +used to the financial disadvantage of his employer, however proper it +might be in the case of some one else? + +“I can do nothing,” he announced shortly. + +“Oh, Owen!” cried his wife reproachfully. + +“It is impossible!” he insisted. “If it were a proper thing to do, +Murray would do it for her himself.” + +“Mr. Murray doesn’t understand the situation,” urged his wife. + +“Murray would understand my situation and his,” he returned. “We are +taking money from this company, we are its trusted agents, and we can +not do anything that would be to its disadvantage. It is a matter of +business integrity.” + +The woman did not weep now, but the look she gave him haunted him all +that night. And his wife’s entreaties and reproaches added to his +unhappiness. + +“Why, Jennie,” he explained, “I stand alone between the company and a +loss of over four thousand dollars. I know that this man is dying; I +know that, if I pay this premium, the company will have to pay out the +full amount of the insurance within a few days; I know that the premiums +paid to date amount to only about five hundred or six hundred dollars, +which, under the terms of the policy, the woman will not wholly lose. +For me, an employee, to conspire to get the rest of the money for her +would be like taking it from the cash drawer. I won’t do it; I can’t do +it after Murray’s talk to me to-day about business integrity!” + +“The company can afford it,” persisted Mrs. Ross, “and the woman needs +it so badly.” + +“There are lots of companies and individuals who could afford to let the +woman have five thousand dollars,” replied Ross. + +Still, Mrs. Ross could not understand. If he had been willing to pay the +premium to another company, why not to his own? + +“Resign and pay it!” she exclaimed suddenly, feeling that she had solved +the problem; but that was a greater sacrifice than he was prepared to +make. He was sincerely sorry for the woman; the case was on his mind all +the following morning; but Murray’s talk had made a deep impression. +This was one of the severe temptations of the business—the more severe +because there was no question of corruption, but only of sympathy, in +it. Such, he had read, were the temptations that led men of the best +intentions astray in many of the affairs of life. + +He was thinking of this when he called to see the “sanctimonious +optimist”; he was thinking of it when he advanced the arguments Murray +had given him; he was still thinking of it when the man said he was +almost convinced and would telephone him after talking with his wife. +Consequently, this success failed to elate him. + +“The law of humanity,” he told himself, “is higher and more sacred than +the law of business.” + +He had walked unconsciously in the direction of his father’s office, +and, still arguing with himself, he went in. + +“Father,” he said, “I want to borrow a hundred dollars.” The premium was +a little more than that, but he could supply the remainder. + +“For what?” asked the senior Ross. + +“There is something I may wish to do,” was the enigmatical reply. “I +will repay it as rapidly as possible.” + +“Commissions few and small?” laughed the senior Ross. “Well, a young man +never finds out exactly what he’s worth, while working for a relative or +a friend, so this experience ought to be valuable.” + +Still undecided, but with the money in his pocket, Ross left his +father’s office and went to his own. He wanted to pay that premium, but +it seemed to him a very serious matter, ethically and actually. The +woman faced a future of privation; he faced what seemed to him a crisis +in his business career. He revolted at the thought of being false to his +employer, but to let the woman suffer would be heartless. + +“A letter for you, Ross,” said one of the clerks, as he entered the +office. “Your wife left it.” + +He opened it with nervous haste, and a notice of a premium due dropped +out. + +“You must find some way to help this woman, Owen,” his wife wrote. “I +went to see her to-day, and the situation is pitiable. She has used up +every cent she had and is in debt. Her husband is conscious at +intervals, and he looks at you so wistfully, so anxiously, that it makes +your heart bleed. Oh! if I could only tell him that the insurance is all +right! It would give him peace for the little time that is left to him +on this earth. _Owen! resign, if necessary, but do what I ask!_” + +Ross crumpled the note in his hand and walked into Murray’s private +office. + +“Mr. Murray,” he said, “please accept my verbal resignation.” + +“What’s the matter?” asked Murray. + +“I have no time to explain now,” said Ross. “I want to be released from +my obligations to the company at once.” + +“You’re excited,” said Murray. “Sit down! Now, what’s the matter?” + +Ross hesitated a moment, and then blurted out the whole story. + +“You wish to pay this premium?” asked Murray. + +“I’m going to pay it!” said Ross defiantly. “It will stick the company +for more than four thousand dollars, but I’m going to pay it!” + +“And you wish to resign to do it honorably?” + +“Yes.” + +“Pay it!” said Murray. “But your resignation is not accepted. I wouldn’t +lose such a man as you for ten times four thousand dollars.” + +“It is all right?” asked Ross, bewildered. + +“Of course it’s all right,” asserted Murray. “As a matter of sympathy +and justice, it is not only right but highly commendable; as a matter of +financial profit to you, it would be despicable. Pay that premium, and I +tell you now that the company will never pay a death benefit with less +hesitation than it will pay this one. What is one risk more or less? We +do business on the general average, and any sum is well invested that +uncovers so conscientious an employee. Pay it, and come back to me.” + +Three minutes later, Ross, with the receipt in his pocket, was at the +telephone. + +“It’s all right,” he told his wife. “The premium is paid.” + +“Oh, Owen!” exclaimed Mrs. Ross, and her voice broke a little, “you +don’t know what comfort you have given a dying man! If you could only +see—” + +“Get a cab!” he broke in. “He doesn’t know it yet, and you must tell +him. Get a cab and drive like—” + +He stopped short, but his wife knew what he almost said, and she forgave +him without even a preliminary reproach. + +His eyes were bright and his heart was light when he went back to +Murray. Mrs. Becker’s situation was sad enough, but surely he had +lessened the gloom of it by removing one great source of anxiety. He +felt that he had done something worthy of a man, and it was a joy that +he could do this without transcending the rules of business integrity +and loyalty. + +“I want you,” said Murray, and there was something of admiration in his +tone; “I want you so much that I am going to put you in the way of +making more money. You have a great deal to learn about the insurance +business before you will cease making unnecessary problems for yourself, +but you have one quality that makes you valuable to me.” He paused and +smiled a little at the recollection of what had passed. “I would +suggest,” he went on, “that you bear this in mind: life insurance is not +for one life only or for one generation only, but for the centuries. +Otherwise, we could not do business on the present plan. We exist by +reducing the laws of chance to a science that makes us secure in the +long run, although, on the basis of a single year, there may be +considerable losses. And a good company will no more stoop to shabby +tricks than you will; nor will it seek to escape obligations through +technicalities or petty subterfuges. That’s why I told you to pay that +premium, and I respect you for doing it.” + +Murray picked up a memorandum on his desk. + +“By the way,” he added, glancing at it, “you must have made good use of +the arguments I gave you, for your sanctimonious optimist telephoned +that, if you would call this afternoon or to-morrow, he would arrange +with you for a ten-thousand-dollar policy.” + +Grateful as Murray’s praise was to his ears, the greeting from his wife +gave Ross the most joy. + +“He was conscious for a moment and understood,” she said, as she put her +arms around her husband’s neck, “and there was such an expression of +restful peace on his face that it made me happy, in spite of the shadow +of death hovering over. It made him a little better, the doctor said, +but nothing can save him. And I’m so proud of you, Owen!” + +“To tell the truth, dearest,” he replied tenderly, “I’m almost proud of +myself.” + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL TRAGEDY + + +Dave Murray stretched his legs comfortably under the table, blew rings +of smoke toward the ceiling, and waited for Stanley Wentworth to speak. + +Having his full share of worldly wisdom, Murray knew that there was a +reason for Wentworth’s most urgent invitation to lunch with him at his +club. While they had been friends for years and had lunched together on +many previous occasions, there was a formality about this invitation +that presaged something of importance. So, when they reached the cigars, +Murray smoked and waited. + +“You win, Dave,” Wentworth announced at last. + +“I knew I would—when you married,” returned Murray. “It was only a +question of time then.” + +“Especially after you got the ear of my wife,” said Wentworth. “You +worked that very nicely, Dave. Do you remember the story you told her +about the man who couldn’t give any time to life insurance during the +busy season and who was on his death-bed when the date he had set for +his examination arrived?” + +“It was true, too,” asserted Murray. “The man was a good risk when I +went after him, and there would have been ten thousand dollars for his +wife if he hadn’t procrastinated. There’s no money in the policy that a +man was just going to take out, Stanley.” + +“Well, you win, anyway,” said Wentworth. “We’ve been jollying each other +on this insurance business for six or eight years, and I’ve stood you +off pretty well, but I can’t stand against the little woman at home. I +was lost, Dave, the day I took you up to the house and introduced you to +her.” + +“I guess I played the cards pretty well,” laughed Murray. “I told you at +the beginning that I was going to insure you before I got through, and a +good insurance man doesn’t let a little matter like the personal +inclinations of his subject interfere with his plans. Why, I’ve been +known to put a man in a trance, have him examined, and abstract the +first premium from his pocket before he waked up. But you were the +hardest proposition I ever tackled. You ought to have taken out a policy +ten years ago.” + +“I couldn’t see any reason for it,” explained Wentworth. “I thought I +was a confirmed bachelor: had no family and never expected to have one. +That was at twenty-five, and at thirty I considered the matter +absolutely settled, but at thirty-five the little woman just quietly +reached out and took me into camp—and I’m glad of it. Never knew what +real life was before. Still, I hate like thunder to surrender to you +after our long, harmonious and entertaining fight, Dave; I wouldn’t do +it if you hadn’t taken advantage of my hospitality to load my wife up +with insurance ghost stories. If you want to be fair, you’ll pay her +half the commission.” + +“I’ll do it!” exclaimed Murray; “not in cash, of course, but I’ll make +her a present that will cover it—something nice for the house. You won’t +be jealous, will you?” + +“Jealous!” returned Wentworth with a hearty laugh. “Well, I guess not! +Why, I’ll help out by making the policy worth while: I’ll take out one +for twenty-five thousand. I tell you, Dave, I’m not going to run any +risk of leaving the little woman unprovided for, and I lost four +thousand in the last month.” + +The conversation had been jocular, with an undercurrent of seriousness +in it, but Wentworth became really serious with the last remark. Murray +saw that this loss had had more to do with the decision than any +arguments that had been advanced, and he, too, dropped his bantering +tone. + +“I never could see,” Wentworth went on, “why insurance was any better +than an investment in good stock—” + +“A little more certain,” suggested Murray, “so far as your wife is +concerned. No stock is safe while a man lives and continues in business. +It is too convenient as collateral and can be reached too easily in the +case of failure. You will take risks with stock that you will not take +with insurance, even when you can; you will sell stock to get ready cash +for a business venture that may prove disastrous, but it’s like robbing +your own widow to touch life insurance money. No man ever raised money +on his policy without feeling meaner than a yellow dog, for he is +gambling with the future of the one he loves, or at least should love. +He has taken money that he promised her; money that she will sadly need +in case of his unexpected death. That she consented to it does not ease +his conscience, if he is any sort of a man, for no woman ever freely +consents to jeopardizing any part of her husband’s life insurance money; +she is led to do it, against her better judgment, by love and faith, and +he knows that he has demanded of her what may prove to be a great +sacrifice. That is why insurance is a better investment than stocks for +the purpose you have in mind, Stanley; whatever your business needs, you +never can ask your wife to join you in hypothecating the policy without +feeling like a mean heartless sneak.” + +“I never looked at in that way,” returned Wentworth thoughtfully, “but +you’re right, Dave. The policy will have a sacredness that no stock can +possess. To touch it, to risk any part of it in business, would seem +like taking money out of the baby’s bank. Still,” he added whimsically, +“a game in which you have to die to win never did appeal to me very +strongly.” + +“A game in which you are sure to win when you die is better than a game +in which you are likely to lose twice,” retorted Murray, “or one in +which you have to live to win, so long as life is something over which +you have no jurisdiction. With insurance you win when you lose, but with +stocks you may lose both ways and leave nothing but a reputation for +selfish improvidence. Of course, I am looking at it from the family, +rather than the personal, point of view.” + +“Surely,” acquiesced Wentworth. “I am thinking of the little woman and +the baby.” He settled back in his chair and smoked dreamily for a few +moments, his thoughts evidently wandering to the home that had given him +so much of happiness during the last eighteen months. And Murray was +silent, too. The affair was as much one of friendship as of business +with him. It had been largely a joke when he had first declared that he +would write a policy on Wentworth’s life, although he believed +implicitly that every man should have insurance and should get it when +he is young enough to secure a favorable rate. At that time Wentworth +had no one dependent upon him, but Murray had kept at him in a bantering +way, telling him that he would surely have need of insurance later and +that he had better prepare for it while the opportunity offered. Then, +when celibacy seemed to have become a permanent condition with him, he +had married, and thereafter, while still treating the subject lightly +and humorously, Murray had conducted a campaign that was really founded +on friendship. No one knows better than a man who has been long in the +insurance business of the tragedies resulting from procrastination and +neglect; no one can better appreciate how great a risk of such a tragedy +a friend may be running. So Murray, jolly but insinuating, was actuated +by something more than purely business interest when he made whimsical +references to his long campaign in the presence of Mrs. Wentworth and +incidentally, apparently only to tease her husband, described some of +the sad little dramas of life that had come to his notice. And he had +won at last. + +“Get the application ready,” said Wentworth, suddenly rousing himself, +“and let me know when your doctor wants to see me.” + +That evening Wentworth told his wife that he had arranged to take out a +twenty-five-thousand-dollar policy, and she put her arms around his neck +and looked up at him in an anxious, troubled way. + +“You don’t think I’m mercenary, do you, Stanley?” + +“Indeed, I don’t, little woman,” he replied, as he kissed her; “I think +you are only wise.” + +“It seems so sort of heartless,” she went on, “but you know I’m planning +only for the baby. There is something sure about life insurance, and +everything else is so uncertain. Some of the stories Mr. Murray told +were very sad.” + +“Oh, Murray was after business,” he said with a laugh. “He told me long +ago that he intended to insure me, and it’s been a sort of friendly duel +with us ever since. But he has convinced me that he is right in holding +that every married man should carry life insurance, and, aside from +that, I would cheerfully pay double premiums to relieve you of any cause +for worry. The insurance company is going to get the best of me, though: +I’ll live long enough to pay in more than it will have to pay out.” + +“Of course you will!” she exclaimed confidently. “You’re so big and +strong it seems foolish—except for the baby. That’s why we mustn’t take +any chances.” + +So cheerful and confident was Wentworth that he failed to notice the +solemnity of the physician who examined him the next day. The doctor +began with a joke, but he ended with a perplexed scowl. + +“You certainly look as strong as a horse,” he said. “But you’re not,” he +added under his breath. + +Then he made his report to Murray. + +“Heart trouble,” he explained. “The man may live twenty or thirty years +or he may die to-morrow. My personal opinion is that he will die within +two years.” + +Murray was startled and distressed. Wentworth was his close personal +friend, and to refuse his application after he had striven so hard to +get it seemed heartless and cruel, especially as the refusal would have +to be accompanied by an explanation that would be much like a +death-warrant. Of course, he was in no way responsible for the +conditions, but it would seem as if he were putting a limit on his +friend’s life. + +“Are you sure?” he asked. + +“Positive,” replied the physician. “It is an impossible risk.” + +“Did you tell him?” + +“No.” + +“And I am to dine with him and his wife to-night,” said Murray. “They +will be sure to ask about the policy.” + +Murray was tempted to send word that he could not come, but it was +rather late for that. Besides, the information would have to be given +some time, so what advantage could there be in procrastinating? But it +came to him as a shock. The news of actual death would hardly have +affected him more seriously, for it seemed like a calamity with which he +was personally identified and for which he was largely responsible. He +knew that he was not, but he could not banish the disquieting feeling +that he was. He closed his desk and walked slowly and thoughtfully to +Wentworth’s house, wishing, for once, that he had been less successful +in the “friendly duel.” + +It was a long walk; he could easily have put in another half-hour at the +office had he chosen to take the elevated; but he was in no humor for +business and he preferred to walk. It gave him additional time for +thought. He must decide when and how he would tell Wentworth, and it is +no easy task to tell a friend that his hold upon life is too slight to +make him a possible insurance risk. + +He would not do it to-night. It would be nothing short of brutal so to +spoil a pleasant evening. Wentworth would have the knowledge soon +enough, even with this respite, and he was entitled to as much of +joyousness and pleasure as could be given him. + +Murray was noticeably dispirited. He tried to be as jovial as usual, but +he found himself looking at his friend much as he would have looked at a +condemned man. There was sympathy and pity in his face. He wondered when +the hour of fate would arrive. Might it not be that very evening? A +moment of temporary excitement might be fatal; anything in the nature of +a shock might mean the end. Indeed, the very information he had to give +might be the one thing needed to snap the cord of life. If so, he would +feel that he had really killed his friend, and yet he had no choice in +the matter: he must refuse and he must explain why he refused. If it had +been his own personal risk, he would have taken it cheerfully, but even +had he so desired, he could not take it for the company in the face of +the doctor’s report. + +“What makes you so solemn?” asked Mrs. Wentworth. “You look as if you +had lost your best friend.” + +“I feel as if I had,” Murray replied thoughtlessly, and then he hastened +to explain that some business affairs disturbed and worried him. + +“But your victory over Stanley ought to make you cheerful,” she +insisted. “Think of finally winning after so long a fight!” + +“When shall I get the policy?” asked Wentworth. + +“Policies are written at the home office,” answered Murray evasively. + +“But the insurance becomes effective when the application is accepted +and the first premium paid, doesn’t it?” asked Wentworth. + +“Yes,” answered Murray. + +“Well, now that I am at last converted to insurance I am an enthusiast,” +laughed Wentworth. “We won’t waste any time at all. Get out your little +check-book, Helen, and give Murray a check for the first premium. I’ll +make it good to you to-morrow.” + +“I don’t believe I could accept it now,” said Murray hesitatingly. +“There are certain forms, you know—” + +“Oh, well, I’ll send you a check the first thing in the morning,” +interrupted Wentworth. “Perhaps it isn’t just the thing to turn a little +family dinner into a business conference.” + +“Better wait till you hear from me,” advised Murray, and his face showed +his distress. He wished to avoid anything unpleasant at this time, but +he was being driven into a corner. + +“Is—is anything wrong?” asked Mrs. Wentworth anxiously. + +“There is an extraordinary amount of red tape to the insurance +business,” explained Murray, and the fact that he was very ill at ease +did not escape the notice of Wentworth. The latter said nothing, but he +lost his jovial air and he watched Murray as closely as Murray had +previously watched him. It did not take him long to discover that Murray +was abstracted and uncomfortable; that he was a prey to painful thoughts +and kept track of the conversation only by a strong effort of will. + +Mrs. Wentworth, too, discovered that something was wrong, and when the +men retired to the library to smoke she went to her own room in a very +unhappy frame of mind. She was sure that Murray had some bad news for +her husband, but it did not occur to her that it concerned the insurance +policy; it probably related to some business venture, she thought, for +she knew that her husband had recently lost money and had still more +invested in a speculative enterprise. Well, he would get the news from +Murray, and she would get it from him. + +Murray did not remain long, and he went out very quietly. Usually the +two men laughed and joked at parting, but there was something subdued +about them this time. As they paused for a moment at the door, she heard +her husband say, “That’s all right, old man; it isn’t your fault.” Then, +instead of coming to her, he put on his hat and left the house almost +immediately after Murray had gone. + +It was late when he came back, but she was waiting for him, and his face +frightened her. He seemed to have aged twenty years in a few hours; he +was haggard and pale and there was something of fear in his eyes. + +“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look sick.” + +“A little tired,” he answered with an attempt at carelessness. “I’ll be +all right to-morrow.” + +“Mr. Murray was troubled, too,” she persisted. “What’s it all about?” + +“Oh, Murray has been unfortunate in a little business affair,” he +explained. + +“And you’re concerned in it, too,” she said. + +“Yes,” he admitted. “But it’s all right, so don’t worry.” + +More he refused to say, but later in the night, waking suddenly, she +heard him in the library, and, stealing down stairs, found him pacing +the floor in his dressing-gown and slippers. He meekly went back to bed +when she gently chid him, but he was restless and slept little. + +The next morning he held her in his arms several minutes before leaving +for the office, and he knelt for some time beside the baby’s crib. It +was such a leave-taking as might have been expected if he were going on +a long journey. And she knew that he was withholding something from her. + +At the office he shut himself up for nearly the whole morning. + +“It must be a mistake,” he kept muttering. “That doctor is a fool. I’ll +try another company.” + +In the afternoon he put in an application and suggested that, as a +matter of business convenience, he would like to be examined at once. +Two days later he was politely informed that the company, on the advice +of its physician, felt constrained to decline the risk. But the man who +is condemned to death does not give up hope: he appeals to a higher +court, holding to the last that an error of law or of fact will be +discovered. Wentworth appealed his case, but the verdict of the +specialist he consulted was the same: he might live many years, but he +might die at any moment. + +“I would advise you,” said the physician, “to give up active business +and to get your financial affairs in the best possible shape. If you are +to live, you must take unusual precautions to avoid excitement and +worry.” + +Avoid worry! What a mockery, when he was deprived of the opportunities +to make proper provision for the little woman and the baby! He was +well-to-do, but only so long as he continued to live and make money. +Some investments he had, but they were neither numerous nor large, and +not of a character that would be considered absolutely safe. He had +invested to make money rather than to save it in most instances, so the +amount that he had in really first-class securities was comparatively +trifling. + +“If I continue in business, how long can I expect to live, Doctor?” he +asked. + +“It is problematical,” was the reply. “Frankly, I don’t think I would +give you more than two or three years of active business life, with the +possibility of death at any moment during that time. Still, if you are +careful, you ought to last two years.” + +Wentworth shuddered. He had told the physician to speak frankly, but it +was horrible to have the limit of life set in this way. + +“Retire from business,” the doctor added, “go to some quiet place, and +you _may_ live as long as any other.” + +“But I can’t!” cried Wentworth. “I haven’t the money, and I must provide +for the little woman and the baby. My God! how helpless they would be +without me!” + +Wentworth went from the doctor’s office to the safe-deposit vaults where +he kept his securities. He was a desperate man now—a man who had +deliberately decided to sacrifice his life for those he loved. He would +continue in business another year—two years, if necessary and the Lord +permitted—and he would bend every energy to making provision for his +little family. It might—nay, probably would—kill him, but what matter? +To buy life at the expense of their future would be supremely selfish. +And he might succeed before the fatal summons came: he might get his +affairs in such shape in a year that he could retire with almost as good +a chance of life as he had now—if he could stand the strain so long. But +in his heart he felt he was pronouncing his own doom. He might put the +optimistic view of the situation in words, but he did not believe the +words. A great fear—a fear that was almost a certainty—gripped hard at +his heart. + +“_Hic jacet!_” he said to himself, as he went over the securities and +estimated the amount of available cash he could command. He had +speculated before and had been reasonably successful in most instances; +he must speculate again, for in no other way could he bring his +resources up to the point desired within the time limitations. The +moment he reached this point he would put everything in stocks or bonds +that would be absolutely safe. Indeed, he would do this as fast as he +got a little ahead of the game. + +Wentworth had speculated previously only with money that he could afford +to lose; but he was speculating now with his entire surplus. It had been +a divertisement before; it was a business now. He had to win—and he +lost. No one could be more careful than he, but his judgment was wrong. +When he had given the markets no particular attention he had taken an +occasional “flier” with success; when he made a study of conditions and +discussed the situation with friendly authorities he found himself +almost invariably in error. + +There was something pathetic and disquieting in the affection and +consideration he displayed for his wife and child during this time. He +endeavored to conceal his own distress, but morning after morning his +wife clung to him and looked anxiously into his face. He spoke +cheeringly, but he grew daily more haggard, and she knew he was +concealing something. Once she asked for news about the life insurance +policy. + +“Oh, that’s all settled,” he replied, but he did not tell her how it was +settled. + +Finally she went to see Murray. He had brought the news that had made +this great change in her husband, and he could tell her what was +worrying him. Murray had not called since that evening. While in no +sense responsible for it, he had been so closely identified with this +blow that had fallen on his friend that he felt his presence, for a time +at least, would be only an unpleasant reminder. + +“I must know this secret,” she told Murray with earnest directness of +speech. “It is killing Stanley. He is worried and anxious, and he is +working himself to death in an effort to straighten out some +complication.” + +“He mustn’t do that!” exclaimed Murray quickly. “Work and worry are the +two things for him to avoid.” + +“Why?” demanded Mrs. Wentworth. + +Murray hesitated. He knew why Wentworth had kept this from his wife, but +was it wise? The man was deliberately walking to his grave. Ought not +his wife to be informed in order that she might take the necessary steps +to save him? It would be a breach of confidence, but did not the +circumstances justify it? Wentworth was his friend, and he had a sincere +regard for Mrs. Wentworth. Surely he ought not to stand idly by and +witness a tragedy that he might prevent. + +[Illustration: “You—you didn’t insure him?” she said inquiringly] + +“Mrs. Wentworth,” he said at last, “the thing that is worrying Stanley +is the fact that we had to decline him as a risk.“ + +“You—you didn’t insure him?” she said inquiringly, as if she did not +quite comprehend. + +“No.” + +“He let me think you had.” + +“Because he did not wish to distress you, and I assure you, Mrs. +Wentworth, I would not tell you this myself, were it not for the fact +that Stanley is doing the most unwise thing possible.” + +“I am very glad you did tell me,” she said quietly. She was not an +emotional woman, but the pallor of her face and something of anxious +fright in her eyes told how deeply she felt. “What must I do?” + +“Get him out of business and away from excitement,” replied Murray +promptly. “In a quiet place, if he takes care of himself, he may live as +long as any of us.” + +When Wentworth reached home that evening, the little woman, always +affectionate, greeted him with unusual tenderness. She said nothing of +her visit to Murray, but later she brought up the subject of moving to +the country. + +“I’m dreadfully worried about you, Stanley,” she said. “You must take a +vacation.” + +“I can’t,” he replied. + +“But you must,” she insisted. “You’ve been working too hard lately.” + +“Next year,” he said, “I hope to get out of this city turmoil and take +you away to some quiet place, where we can live for each other and the +baby.” + +She went over and knelt beside him, as he leaned wearily back in his big +arm-chair. + +“Why not now?” she pleaded. + +“My God! I can’t, Helen!” he cried. “I want to, but I can’t! If you only +knew—” + +“I only know that you will break down, if you don’t take a rest,” she +interrupted hastily. It would only add to his distress to learn that she +knew his secret. “Don’t you suppose I can see how you are overtaxing +your strength? We must go away for a time, anyway.” + +“Little woman,” he said, putting an arm round her, “it’s a question of +finance, and you never could understand that very well. When I get +things in shape we will go, but not yet. I have some investments to +watch, and,”—wearily,—“things have gone rather against me lately. There +are lots of things to be done before I can take any extended vacation, +and it is even a more serious matter to retire permanently. My earning +capacity is about all we have to live on now.” + +“I thought you had money invested,” she remarked. + +“I had,” he replied, “but it was not enough, and in trying to make it +enough I made some wrong guesses on the market.” + +“Never mind,” she said cheerily. “We’ll make the best of what’s left. We +won’t need much if we get away from this fearful life. It isn’t money +that the baby and I want, it’s you; and we don’t want you to die for us, +but to live for us.” + +Wentworth gave his wife a quick glance, for this was hitting very close +to his secret; but he saw in her only the very natural anxiety of a +loving wife, who knew that her husband was overtaxing his strength. + +“You mean well,” he said, “but you don’t know.” + +Mrs. Wentworth was not a business woman, and she knew little of her +husband’s affairs, but she had a feeling that this question of life +insurance was all that stood in the way of the precautions that he ought +to take. He could get something for his interest in the business, if he +retired, but not enough to make proper provision for her. He could take +up some quiet pursuit and continue to make a little money as long as he +lived, but he could leave only the most trifling income. And, in his +efforts to improve matters, he had only made them worse. She understood +so much. + +There was an undercurrent of sadness, but still something beautiful, in +the life that followed this conversation. All the little sympathetic +attentions that love can suggest, each gave to the other, while each +worried in secret, seeking only to make life a little easier and more +cheerful for the other. + +But Mrs. Wentworth was becoming as desperate as her husband, and even +more unreasoning. Was not her husband’s life worth all the money of all +the insurance companies? And were they not condemning him to death by +their action? It was more than a risk that depended upon life; it was a +life that depended upon the risk. In a little time she convinced herself +that the insurance companies could save him and would not, failing +utterly to appreciate the fact that, even with the greatest precautions, +the chances were against him; that there was only a possibility that he +might live longer than a few years, the probability being quite the +reverse. + +Murray was shocked when she called to see him again. The change in her +husband was no greater than the change in her. Was not the man she loved +committing suicide before her eyes? And was he not doing this for love +of her and the baby? Would not such a condition of affairs make any +woman desperate and unreasoning? + +“Mr. Murray,” she said, “if you are as good a friend to my husband as he +has always been to you, you will save his life.” + +“I will do anything in my power, Mrs. Wentworth,” replied Murray. +“Nothing in life ever has so distressed me as this.” + +“Then give him the policy he wants.” + +“Impossible! Why, the doctor—” + +“You can fix it with the doctor; you know you can! Or you can get +another doctor to pass him! Oh, Mr. Murray! I am not asking for money; I +am asking for life—for his life! It’s suicide—murder! I want to get him +away! I must get him away! But I can’t while he fears for our future—the +baby’s and mine! He must provide for us, and he’s losing the little he +had! He can’t stand it a month longer! Give him the policy, Mr. Murray, +and I’ll swear to you never to present it for payment! It’s only for him +that I ask it! You can give him life—give your friend life! Won’t you do +it?” + +The tears were running down the little woman’s cheeks, and Murray could +not trust himself to speak for a moment. + +“Mrs. Wentworth,” he said at last, “every cent I have is at your +husband’s disposal, if he needs it, but what you ask is utterly +impossible. The risk would be refused at the home office, even if I +passed it, for the fact that he has been refused by two other companies +would be reported there.” + +In the case of another, Murray would have said more, but he knew that +Mrs. Wentworth was quite beside herself and did not really appreciate +that she was asking him to be dishonest with the company that employed +him. + +“He wouldn’t touch a cent of the money of such a friend!” she exclaimed +with sudden anger. “He’s not a beggar, and neither am I! All I seek for +him is the tranquility that means life; all I ask is the removal of the +anxiety that means death. And this little you will not do for a friend!” +She was beside herself with desperation. + +It was bitter, it was harsh, it was unjustifiable, but Murray had +forgiven her before she had ceased speaking. The depth of her feeling +and the excitement under which she was laboring were sufficient to +excuse her. But he felt as if he really were condemning his friend to +death. Yet what could he do? He would cheerfully give a thousand dollars +out of his own pocket to make things easier for the two suffering ones, +but it was not a matter of ready cash. Wentworth had enough of that. + +In the deepest distress Murray was pacing back and forth when the door +opened and Wentworth himself staggered in. Murray was at his side in a +moment and guided him to a chair. + +“What’s the matter, old man?” + +“Lost everything,” Wentworth gasped. “Tried to protect—margined to +limit—all gone!” + +“But your interest in the business?” + +“Sold it—to protect deal.” He seemed almost at the point of collapse, +but he rallied for a moment. “Insurance!” he cried. “I must have it! +Damn the company! You must put it through for me! You hear, Murray!” The +man was almost crazy, and he spoke fiercely. “You’ve got to do it—for +humanity’s sake! Can’t leave them penniless!” + +“We’ll talk about it to-morrow,” said Murray soothingly. + +“You lie, Murray!” the excited man cried. “You won’t do it at all; +you’ll see them starve first, you—you dog! I’ll kill you, if you don’t—” + +Wentworth had risen in frenzied fury, as he pictured the future of his +loved ones; he swayed for an instant, and Murray caught him as he fell. +He was dead before Murray could get him back into the chair. + + * * * * * + +Murray did all that anyone could do for the bereaved woman, and more +than any one else would have done, for the next day he sent her this +letter: + + Dear Mrs. Wentworth: After a conference with our physician we decided + that a small risk on Mr. Wentworth would be justified, and the matter + was closed up yesterday afternoon just previous to his death. As a + result of my close personal relations with him, I know that he left + his affairs in rather a complicated condition, so, as it will take a + little time to file the necessary proofs and get the money from the + company, I am taking the liberty of sending you my personal check for + the amount of the policy, one thousand dollars, and I hope that you + will not hesitate to call on me for any service that is in my power to + render. With the deepest sympathy, I am, + + Very sincerely yours, + David Murray. + +“A lie,” he muttered, referring to the insurance item; “a cold, +deliberate lie, but I feel better for telling it.” + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL SPECULATION + + +Just when the Interurban Traction Company thought the successful +culmination of its plans in sight it woke up to the fact that there had +been a miscalculation or an oversight somewhere. It had the absolute or +prospective control of all the principal lines embraced in its elaborate +scheme of connecting various towns and cities by trolley, which means +that it had bought a good deal of the necessary stock and had options on +most of the rest; but there was one insignificant little road that it +had left to the last. This road had been a losing venture from its +inception, and its stock was quoted far below par, with no buyers. As a +matter of business policy, the more successful roads should be secured +first, for the moment the secret was out their stocks would soar. They +represented the larger investments, and their stock-holders could hold +on, if they saw the advisability of it, without making any financial +sacrifice; they were in a position to “hold up” the new company in the +most approved modern style. But the Bington road was weak and +unprofitable, valuable only as a connecting link in the chain. + +“Of course,” said Colonel Babington, who was at the head of the new +venture, “we’re sure to be held up somewhere on the line, and these +people can hold us up for less than any of the others. They haven’t much +as a basis for a hold-up, and they can’t afford to go on losing money. +We can buy their road cheap the first thing, but the discovery of the +purchase will give our plans away and add a million dollars to the cost +of carrying them out. Any fool would know that we were not buying that +road for itself alone. Why, the mere rumor that negotiations were opened +would add fifty or a hundred per cent. to the value of the other stocks +we want. We can’t afford even to wink at that road until we get control +of the others.” + +So they went about their work very secretly, hoping so to conceal their +design that they would be able to get the last link at the bed-rock +price; but, when the time came, entirely unexpected difficulties were +encountered. The stock-holders might have been tractable enough, but the +stock-holders themselves had been fooled. + +“Why, there was a young fellow here last week,” they explained, “and he +got a sixty-day option on enough stock to control the road.” + +“Who was he?” asked the startled Colonel Babington. + +“His name is Horace Lake,” they told him. + +“I’ll have to look Horace up,” remarked the colonel thoughtfully. + +Meanwhile, Horace was congratulating himself on having done a good +stroke of business, and further amusing himself by figuring his possible +profit. + +“I’ve been looking for just such a chance as this,” he told Dave Murray, +the insurance man. + +“Have you got the money to carry it through?” asked the practical +Murray. + +“I had enough to put up a small forfeit to bind the option and convince +them that I mean business, and I don’t need any more,” returned Lake. + +“Once in a great while,” said Murray, “a man makes a good lot of money +on a bluff, but even then he usually has some backing. It takes money to +make money, as a general rule. You will find that most successful men, +even those who are noted for their nervy financiering, got the basis of +their fortunes by hard work and rigid economy. Wind may be helpful, but +it makes a poor foundation.” + +“This is one of the times when it is about all that is necessary,” +laughed Lake. “I got a little inside information about the Interurban +Traction Company’s plans in time to secure an option on one link in its +chain of roads, and it has simply got to do business with me before it +can make its line complete. For twenty thousand dollars, paid any time +within sixty days, I can control the blooming little line, and the +option to buy at that price is going to cost the traction company just +twenty-five thousand dollars, which will be clear profit for me.” + +“It sounds nice,” admitted Murray, “but, if I were in your place, I’d +feel a good deal better if I had the money to make good. If they don’t +buy, you lose your forfeit, which represents every cent you could scrape +up.” + +“They will buy,” asserted Lake confidently. + +“They may think it cheaper to parallel your line,” suggested Murray. + +“I’m not worrying,” returned Lake confidently. “I’m just waiting for +them to come and see me, and they’ll come.” + +Lake’s prophecy proved correct. They came—at least Colonel Babington +came, he being the active manager of the company’s affairs. But Colonel +Babington first took the precaution to learn all he could of Horace +Lake’s financial standing and resources. This convinced him that it was +what he termed a “hold-up,” but, even so, it was better to pay a +reasonable bonus than to have a fight. + +“We will give you,” said Colonel Babington, “a thousand dollars for your +option on the majority stock of the Bington road.” + +“The price,” replied Lake, “is twenty-five thousand dollars.” + +“My dear young man,” exclaimed the colonel, when he had recovered his +breath, “you ought to see a specialist in mental disorders. You are +clearly not right in your mind.” + +“The price,” repeated Lake, “is twenty-five thousand dollars now, and, +if I am put to any trouble or annoyance in the matter, the price will go +up.” + +“A bluff,” said the colonel, “is of use only when the opposing party +does not know it is a bluff. We happen to know it. You haven’t the money +to buy that road, and you can’t get it.” + +“You speak with extraordinary certainty,” returned Lake with dignified +sarcasm. + +“The road,” asserted the colonel, “is valuable only to us, and we can +parallel it, if necessary. No conservative capitalist is going to +advance you the money to buy it in the face of such a risk as that, so +we have only to wait until your option expires to get it from the men +who now own it, and I may add that we have taken a second option at a +slightly higher price. Therefore, your only chance to get out of the +deal with a profit is to let us acquire the road under the first option +at something less than the second option price. To avoid any unnecessary +delay, we might be willing to pay you a bonus of two thousand dollars.” + +“The price,” said Lake, “is now twenty-six thousand.” + +“Sixty days—less than fifty now, as a matter of fact—is not such a long +time,” remarked the colonel. “We will wait.” + +Lake told Murray later that he “had them in a corner,” but Murray was +inclined to be doubtful; fighting real money with wind, he said, was +always a risky undertaking, and the Interurban Traction Company had +plenty of real money. Lake, however, being in the “bluffing” line +himself, was inclined to think all others were doing business on the +same basis, and he confidently expected the colonel to return in a few +days. But the colonel came not. + +Then Lake made another trip to Bington, to look the ground over, and he +was disturbed to find that the colonel had been sounding the people on a +proposition to put a line through the town on another street. This was +only a tentative plan, to be adopted in case of failure to get the +existing line, but it showed that the company was not disposed to be +held up without a fight. Fortunately, the people did not take kindly to +the idea. The principal shops were on the line of the trolley now, and +the proprietors did not wish to have travel diverted to another street. + +Lake devoted several days to missionary work in Bington, pointing out +the great depreciation of property that would follow such a move, and he +finally left with a feeling that the company would have an extremely +difficult time getting the necessary legislation from the town +officials. Still, he was not entirely at ease, for officials are +sometimes “induced” to act contrary to the wishes of the people they are +supposed to represent. But he believed he had made the situation such +that Babington would come back to him. Surely, it would be cheaper to +deal with him than to buy an entire town board. + +Thirty of the sixty days slipped away, and Lake grew really anxious. The +Interurban Traction Company could not be a success without a connecting +link between the two main stretches of its line, and Lake had not +believed that it would dare to proceed with its plans until this was +assured. Consequently, he had expected all work to stop, pending +negotiations with him. But work did not stop. There were two or three +trifling gaps at other places, and the company was laying the rails to +bridge them, in addition to improving the road-beds of the lines it had +bought. It even began to build a half-mile of track to reach one +terminus of his little road. Clearly, there was no anticipation of +trouble in ultimately beating him. + +“It’s my lack of money,” he soliloquized. “I’ve got the basis of a good +thing, if I only had the money to make it good, but I haven’t, and they +know it. Murray was right.” + +His thoughts being thus turned to Murray, he went to see him, in the +faint hope that he might interest him in the plan. Murray had money to +invest. But Murray deemed the risk too great in this instance. + +“They can beat you,” said Murray. “They have unlimited resources, and +they’ll certainly get through Bington on another street, if you persist +in making your terms too stiff. Very likely, they would have given you +three thousand or possibly even five thousand for your option when they +first came to you, and they may do it now.” + +“I tell you, it’s a good thing,” insisted Lake. + +“If it’s really as good a thing as you think it is,” said Murray, “you +will have no difficulty in getting somebody with money to take it off +your hands at a good margin of profit to you, but I can’t see it.” + +In this emergency, Lake recalled a man of considerable wealth who had +known him as a boy and had taken an interest in him. It was humiliating +not to be able to put the scheme through himself, after all his planning +and confident talk, but it was better to turn it over to some one else +than to fail entirely. So he went to see Andrew Belden. + +“There is a remote chance of success,” declared Belden, “but I would not +care to risk twenty thousand on it.” + +“The company can’t get through Bington, except on that franchise,” +insisted Lake. + +“That may be so,” admitted Belden, “but I have learned not to be too +confident in forecasting the action of public officials and +corporations. The company could make a strong point by threatening to +cut out Bington entirely and carry its line to one side of it.” + +“That would make a loop in their road that would be costly in building +and in the delays it would occasion,” argued Lake. “They can’t make any +circuits, if they are to do the business.” + +“Nevertheless,” returned Belden, “their actions show that they are very +sure of their ground.” + +“Simply because I haven’t the ready cash,” said Lake bitterly. “Will you +loan it to me, Mr. Belden? If you won’t go into the deal yourself, will +you loan me the money to put it through? I’ll give you the stock as +security, and I think you know me well enough to know that I’ll repay +every cent of it as rapidly as possible.” + +“My dear Horace,” exclaimed Belden with frank friendliness, “I haven’t +the least doubt of your integrity, but I have very serious doubts of +your ability to repay any such sum, and it is more than I care to lose. +You never have had a thousand dollars at one time in your life, and I +may say, without intending to be unkind, that it isn’t likely you ever +will. As for the security, its value depends entirely on the success of +your plans: if you fail, it won’t be worth ten cents. Now, if you had +any real security, upon which I could realize in case anything happened +to you, I would cheerfully let you have the money for as long a time as +you wish. Although your plan does not appeal to me, I am sincerely +anxious to be of assistance to you as far as possible, but I can’t make +you a gift of twenty thousand dollars. Convince me that it will be +repaid ultimately—no matter in how long a time—and I will let you have +it.” + +Lake departed, discouraged. He had no security of any sort to offer, and +had only asked for the loan as a desperate last resort, without the +slightest expectation that he would get it. The company, he decided, had +beaten him, just because no one else was clear-headed enough to see the +opportunity, and he might as well get what little profit he could while +there was still time. With this object in view, he went to see the +colonel. + +“I have decided,” he said, “to let you have the road for a bonus of five +thousand dollars.” + +“That is very kind of you,” returned the colonel, “but we can get it +cheaper. You see,” he explained, with the disagreeable frankness of one +who thinks he holds the winning hand, “the minority stock-holders were a +little disgruntled when they learned of your deal—thought they had been +left out in the cold—and they were ready to make very favorable terms +with us. As we have a second option on the majority stock, at a somewhat +higher figure, we have only to wait until your option expires and then +take the little we need to give us control.” + +“I’ll let you have my option for the two thousand you offered a month +ago,” said Lake in desperation. + +“It’s not worth that to us now.” + +“One thousand dollars.” + +“Why, frankly, Mr. Lake,” said the colonel still pleasantly, “we men of +some experience and standing in the business world don’t like to have +half-baked financiers interfering with our plans, and we aim to +discourage them as effectually as possible whenever possible.” Then, +with a sudden change of tone: “We won’t give you a damn cent for your +option. You were too greedy.” + +“Of course, you men of money and high finance are not greedy at all,” +retorted Lake sarcastically. + +Lake was too depressed to see it at the moment, but later it began to +dawn on him that the colonel, usually astute, had made a grievous +mistake. In his anxiety to impress upon the young man the futility of +his avaricious schemes, in the face of such wise and resourceful +opposition, he had mentioned the fact that the minority stock had been +brought within their reach. Had they already bought it, or had they only +secured options on it? If already purchased, the purchase price would +prove a dead loss, unless they were able to get enough more to secure +control. To parallel the road would be to kill a company in which they +were financially interested, in addition to incurring the considerable +expense necessary for a new connecting link. + +Lake went to Bington that afternoon, and returned the following morning. +The game was his, if he could raise the money; they had bought most of +the minority stock outright, being unable to get options on it. He was +sure of victory now, if he could raise the money. He no longer wished to +turn the deal over to any one else on any terms: he wished to carry it +to the conclusion himself. But the money, the money! + +He tried Belden again, but Belden still considered the security utterly +inadequate for a loan of twenty thousand dollars. In truth, although +Belden considered the outlook a little more promising now, he doubted +the young man’s ability to handle such a deal, and it would take very +little to upset all calculations. The company’s investment was not +sufficient to prevent the abandonment of the road in some very possible +circumstances, although it was ample evidence of a present plan to use +it. Murray took the same view of the situation. + +“It begins to look like a good speculation,” said Murray, “but I haven’t +the money to invest in it, and I never was much of a speculator, anyway. +I have discovered that, as a general thing, when the possible profit +begins to climb very much over the legal rate of interest, the +probability of loss increases with it. However, if you want to take the +risk, that’s your affair, provided you have the money.” + +“But I haven’t,” complained Lake; “that’s the trouble.” + +“Too bad you’re not carrying enough insurance to be of some use,” +remarked Murray. + +“What good would that do?” asked Lake. + +“Why, then you’d only have to convince your wife that you have a safe +investment, and it’s always easier to convince your wife than it is to +convince some coldblooded capitalist. Insurance ranks high as security, +but of course the beneficiary has to consent to its use.” + +“I never had thought of insurance as a factor in financiering,” said +Lake. “I had regarded it more as a family matter.” + +“It plays an important part in the business world,” explained Murray, +“and it might even play a part in speculation. There is partnership +insurance, you know.” + +“I may have heard of it, but I never gave it any consideration.” + +“It’s not a speculation, but a business precaution,” said Murray. “The +partners are insured in favor of the firm. If one of them dies, it gives +the firm the ready cash to buy his interest from the widow, without +infringing on the business capital. Partnership insurance may sometimes +prevent a failure; it may prevent several. Many interests may depend +temporarily upon the operation of one man, and his sudden death might +spell ruin for a number of people, unless they were protected by +insurance. The policy is playing a more important part in the business +world every day. There are lots of strange things that can be done when +you fully understand it.” + +“But that doesn’t help me,” asserted Lake impatiently. + +“No,” returned Murray, “I don’t see how insurance could help you just +now, unless you were to die. A policy won’t be accepted as security for +a sum in excess of the premiums paid, for you might default.” + +“I’m not the kind of man who dies to win,” said Lake rather sharply. + +“Of course not,” replied Murray. “I was merely considering the financial +possibilities of policies.” All insurance questions being of absorbing +interest to Murray, he straightway forgot all about Lake’s predicament, +and busied his mind with his own speculations. “There is so much that +can be done with insurance,” he went on, “but I guess it’s just as well +the public doesn’t know it all. Do you remember the case of Rankin, the +banker who committed suicide?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, Rankin couldn’t have done anything with our company, because the +element of premeditation is assumed if death by suicide occurs within +two years from the time the policy is issued. After that the manner of +death cuts no figure, for the courts have held that an insurance company +takes a risk on the mind as well as the body of a policy-holder, and, +anyway, competition has cut out the old suicide restrictions. But there +are companies that issue policies incontestable after the date of issue. +Suppose Rankin, when he found his affairs in such shape that he no +longer dared to face the world, had gone to one or more of these +companies. A hundred thousand dollars—very likely less—would have +protected his bank and provided for his family. He had already decided +to kill himself, for his operations had been such that he could not hope +to escape the penitentiary when discovery came, but he was ostensibly +still a prosperous man. Many men of his standing insure themselves for +extraordinarily large sums, to protect legitimately their business +interests as well as their families. + +“Not so very long ago we issued a paid-up policy for fifty thousand +dollars on the life of one man, who died within three years, and we +thought nothing of it. He was taking a risk on his own life then, for he +thought he was going to live long enough to make a paid-up policy +cheaper than the aggregate of annual payments, whereas there would have +been a saving to his estate of a good many thousands of dollars if he +had followed the other plan. However, that has nothing to do with this +case; I mention it only to show that a man of Rankin’s apparent standing +could have got insurance to any amount without creating comment. And, +with an incontestable-after-date-of-issue policy, he could have +protected his business associates and his family by the very culmination +of his overwhelming disgrace. Why, a defaulter could use part of his +stolen money in this way to provide for his family when the moment of +discovery and death shall come, or a dishonest business man, facing +ruin, could use his creditors’ money to make such provision, for +insurance money is something sacred, that can not be reached like the +rest of an estate. Oh, there are great dramatic possibilities in this +business, Lake—tragedies and comedies and dramas of which the public +knows nothing.” + +“How does that help me?” demanded Lake gloomily, and the question +brought Murray back to the realities of the moment. + +“It doesn’t help you,” Murray replied, “but it’s an intensely +interesting subject to one who gives it a little time and thought.” + +Yet it did help Lake, although not at that moment. It was a new field, +and Lake liked to explore new fields. A novelty that taxed his ingenuity +appealed to him especially. True, he had enough to occupy his mind +without entering upon idle speculation, but, when every other avenue to +success seemed closed, his thoughts would revert to insurance. + +“If it holds out such opportunities for others, why not for me?” he +asked. “If others have entirely overlooked the possibilities, why may +not I be doing the same thing?” + +He met the colonel on the street occasionally, and the way the colonel +smiled at him was maddening. There could be no doubt that the colonel +considered the game won, but he was not a man to take chances: he had +Lake watched, and the latter’s every move was reported to him. Even when +Lake made another trip to Bington and endeavored to arrange a shrewd +deal with some of the majority stock-holders, the colonel promptly heard +of it. + +“Accept my notes in payment for the stock,” Lake urged on that occasion, +“and I’ll let you in on the profits of the deal. The traction company +has got to get this road, but you can’t hold it up for a big price, +because you were foolish enough to give it a second option. I can do it, +however. Let me have the stock, and you can divide up among yourselves +half of all I get in excess of the option price. My notes will be paid, +and you will have a bonus of twelve or fifteen thousand dollars.” + +But the stock-holders were conservative and cautious men, and the very +fact that Lake could not command the money that he needed made them +suspicious. As matters stood, they were sure of getting out of a losing +venture with a small profit—at least, so it seemed to them—and they +preferred that to the risk of losing everything in an effort to secure a +larger profit. Furthermore, they were now on the side of the colonel, +for his option was at a larger price. And the colonel was very +confident—so confident that work was being rushed on details that would +prove valueless without the Bington road. This was what made Lake +desperately angry; it was humiliating to be treated as a helpless +weakling. + +As valuable time passed, his mind reverted again to the insurance field. +His opportunity—the opportunity of a lifetime—was almost lost. The +colonel, wishing to lose no time, had arranged for a meeting with +certain of the majority stock-holders the day the first option expired. +The option expired at noon, and the colonel would be ready to take over +what stock he needed at one minute after the noon hour. This would not +be very much, in view of the minority stock he already held, but the +sanguine stock-holders did not know this: they expected him to take all +of it. + +“Some of them are going to find they’re tricked, just as I am,” Lake +grumbled. “If I could only convince Belden of the ultimate absolute +security of a loan! He wants to help me; he’s ready to be convinced; +but—” + +People passing saw this moody, depressed young man stop short in the +street and his eye light with sudden hope. + +“By thunder!” he exclaimed. “Of course, I can protect him against +unforeseen disaster, if he has confidence in my integrity!” + +He was almost jubilant when he entered Belden’s office. + +“Got the money?” asked Belden. + +“No; but I know how to get it,” replied Lake. “You believe in my +honesty, don’t you?” + +“Implicitly.” + +“You merely doubt my ability?” + +“Your financial ability,” explained Belden. “You will do what you agree +to do—if you can. I have no earthly doubt of your willingness, even +anxiety, to repay every obligation you may incur, but, added to other +risks, there is the possibility of accident.” + +“If I eliminate that?” + +“You may have the money.” + +“On long time?” + +“The time and the terms are immaterial.” + +“I’ll come for it later,” announced Lake, and he departed, leaving +Belden puzzled and curious. + +Once outside, Lake stopped to do a little mental figuring before taking +up the other details of his plan. + +“I advanced five hundred to bind the option,” he reflected. “That leaves +nineteen thousand five hundred necessary to put the deal through. Twenty +thousand from Belden will give me just the margin I need.” + +Murray was as much puzzled and surprised by the change in the man as +Belden had been, and Murray, like Belden, was anxious to help him in any +reasonably safe way. + +“Am I good for five hundred for thirty days, if I give you my positive +assurance that I know exactly how I am going to pay it in that time?” +asked Lake. + +“Why, yes,” replied Murray. “On short-time figuring you’re a pretty safe +man.” + +“Draw me a check for it, and I’ll give you my thirty-day note,” said +Lake, “and my verbal assurance that it’s a cinch.” + +Murray noted the confidence of Lake’s tone and manner, and drew the +check. + +“What are you going to do with it?” he asked. + +“Pay a life insurance premium,” laughed Lake. “Give me an application +blank and round up a medical examiner. I want a twenty-year endowment +policy for twenty thousand dollars, and I want it put through like a +limited express that’s trying to make up time.” + +“I suppose you know what you’re doing,” said Murray doubtfully. + +“You bet I do!” Lake spoke confidently. + +“Oh, very well,” remarked Murray. “I don’t see how I can refuse business +for the company, even if I stand to lose.” + +“You won’t lose,” declared Lake with joyous enthusiasm. “I’m going to +show you a new trick in the line of insurance financiering.” + +After that, Lake haunted Murray’s office, and grew daily more anxious. +He was a good risk, but certain formalities were necessary, and these +took time, although Murray did his utmost to shorten the routine. Lake’s +nervousness increased; he had Murray telegraph the home office; he grew +haggard, for he had not counted on this delay; but finally, in the +moment of almost utter despair, the policy was delivered to him. An hour +later he was in Belden’s office. + +“I want twenty thousand at four per cent., payable at the rate of one +thousand a year, with interest!” he cried. “I’ll pay it, to a certainty, +within sixty days, but I’m trying to make it look more reasonable, to +satisfy you. You believe I can pay one thousand a year, don’t you?” + +“If you live.” + +“If I don’t,” exclaimed Lake, “there is insurance for twenty thousand in +my wife’s favor, and duly assigned to you,” and he banged the policy +down on the desk in front of the astonished Belden. “You can trust me to +take care of the premiums, can’t you?” + +“Your integrity I never doubted,” replied Belden, “and that obligation +should be within your means.” + +“My rule of life shall be: the premiums first, the payments on the note +next,” declared Lake. “If I fall behind in the latter, the security will +still be good. I only ask that anything in excess of what may be due +you, in case of my death, shall go to my wife, and she, of course, +becomes the sole beneficiary the moment you are paid. But, for the love +of heaven, hurry!” + +Instead of hurrying, Belden leaned back in his chair and looked at the +young man with bewildered admiration. + +“Such ingenuity,” he said at last, “ought not to go unrewarded. As a +strict business proposition, your plan would hardly find favor with a +conservative banker, but, as a matter of friendship and confidence—” He +reached for his check-book. “Such a head as yours is worth a risk,” he +added a moment later. + +Lake reached the office of the Bington road at 11:30 on the day his +option expired. The colonel was already there, waiting. So were some of +the majority stock-holders. The colonel was confident and unusually +loquacious. + +“Now that the matter is practically settled,” he remarked with the +cheerful frankness of a man who has won, “I may admit that the young man +had us up a tree. He succeeded in putting the other route through +Bington practically beyond our reach, and forced us to take the risk of +doing business with the minority stock-holders at a possible dead loss. +But we knew he didn’t have the money, so we went ahead with our plans +and our work without delay. A little ready cash—” + +It was then that Lake entered and deposited a small satchel on the long +table. + +“I will take the stock under my option,” he announced briefly to such of +the majority stock-holders as were present. “I think I have got all I +need, with the exception of what is represented by you gentlemen. It has +been a pretty busy morning for me.” He emptied the stock certificates +already acquired and some bundles of bank-notes on the table. “Colonel,” +he said with a joyous and triumphant laugh, “you’d better sit up and +begin to take notice.” + +The colonel’s attitude and air of easy confidence already had changed, +and his look of amazement and dismay was almost laughable. + +“Quick, gentlemen,” cautioned Lake, with a glance at the clock. “I’ve +tendered the money in time, but I’ll feel a little more comfortable when +I have the rest of the needed stock.” + +Like one in a dream the colonel leaned over the table and watched the +transaction. + +“Do—do you want to sell some of that stock?” he asked at last. + +“No,” replied Lake; “I don’t want to sell some of it; I want to sell all +of it.” + +“We don’t need all of it,” said the colonel. + +“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” returned Lake magnanimously. “I’ll +sell you all or any part of it for fifty thousand dollars.” + +“On the basis of fifty thousand for your entire holdings?” asked the +colonel. + +“No; at the set price of fifty thousand for whatever you take.” + +“Too much,” said the colonel. + +“As you please,” said Lake carelessly. “The price of the control of the +Bington road goes up one thousand dollars a day. It’s dirt cheap at +fifty thousand now, but, of course, if you don’t need it, Colonel, the +bargain price doesn’t interest you.” + +The colonel did need it; in fact, the company, in its sublime +confidence, had put itself in a position where failure to get it meant a +considerable loss. + +“On second thought,” remarked Lake, “I’ll have to add a thousand to +compensate me for the indignity of being called a half-baked financier. +Do you remember that, Colonel?” + +“We’ll take it,” said the colonel resignedly. Then he added +reflectively: “You’ve made a pretty good thing out of this, Lake.” + +“Fair, fair,” replied Lake. “After I’ve repaid the twenty thousand five +hundred that I borrowed, I’ll have thirty thousand five hundred left, +not to mention an insurance policy for twenty thousand in favor of my +wife, with the first premium paid. You ought to study the insurance +question, Colonel. There are wonderful financial possibilities in it, +and some day, perhaps, you will wake up to the fact that insurance beat +you in this deal.” + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL FAVOR + + +On the same day two women called to see Dave Murray in regard to the +same matter, and that was the beginning of the trouble. + +The first was Mrs. Albert Vincent. The obituary columns of the morning +papers had given a few lines to the death of Albert Vincent, but Murray +had not expected to hear from his widow so promptly, and she was a +little too businesslike to meet his idea as to the proprieties of the +occasion. In fact, there was no indication of either outward mourning or +inward grief. + +“Perhaps you will recall,” she said, without the slightest trace of +emotion, “that I wrote to you some time ago to ask if the premiums on my +husband’s insurance had been fully paid.” + +“I recall it,” replied Murray. + +“And you answered that they had been paid.” + +“I recall that also,” said Murray. + +“Well, he died last night,” explained the widow, “and I would like to +know when I can get the insurance money.” + +Murray looked at her in amazement. He had had to deal with many people +whom necessity made importunate, but never before had he met such +cold-bloodedness as this woman displayed in tone and manner. Apparently, +it was no more to her than a business investment, upon which she was now +about to realize. + +“There are certain formalities necessary,” he said, “but there will be +little delay after proper proof of death has been filed. You will, of +course, have the attending physician—” + +“I don’t know who he is,” interrupted the woman. + +“You don’t know who he is!” repeated Murray in astonishment. + +“No. But I will find out and see him at once. It is important that there +shall be as little delay as possible.” + +Previous experiences made Murray quick at jumping to conclusions in such +cases, and he now thought he had the explanation of this unusually +prompt call. The woman was stylishly dressed, but that was no proof that +she had the ready cash essential at such a time. + +“I think I understand,” said Murray delicately. “You can not meet the +expenses incident to—” + +“I have nothing to do with any expenses,” the woman again interrupted +coldly. “_She_ looked after him in life, and she can look after him +now.” + +“She!” exclaimed Murray. “Who?” + +“The nurse,” replied the woman scornfully. “But she can’t have the +insurance—not a cent of it. And that’s what she has been after.” + +“Let me understand this,” said Murray thoughtfully. “You and your +husband have not been living together?” + +“Not for five years.” + +“And this other woman?” + +“She was an old flame, and she went to him when he became ill.” + +“Did he send for you?” + +“No. He knew better than to do that. But the insurance is in my name, +and I’m going to have it—all of it. That’s my right, isn’t it?” + +“Yes,” replied Murray slowly; “I’m sorry to say that is your absolute +right.” The supreme selfishness and heartlessness of the woman were +revolting to Murray. “The policy names you as beneficiary, and when it +is presented, with proof of death, the money will have to be paid to +you.” + +“How am I to get the policy?” asked the woman. “He had it put away +somewhere.” + +“That is a matter upon which I can not undertake to advise you,” replied +Murray. + +“Anyhow,” declared the woman defiantly, for Murray’s words and +expression showed his disapprobation, “I want to serve notice on you +that not one cent of the money is to be paid to any one else. It would +be just like that nurse to try to get it.” + +“You shall have every cent to which you are entitled,” replied Murray +with frigid courtesy, “but nothing is to be gained by further +discussion.” + +“I suppose,” exclaimed the woman with sharp resentfulness, “that your +sympathies are with that shameless nurse.” + +“I don’t know,” returned Murray quietly. “I’m not at all sure that your +husband was not the one who was most entitled to sympathy.” + +It was unlike Murray to speak thus brutally, but the woman irritated +him. Many were the examples of selfishness that had come to his notice, +but this seemed to him a little worse than any of the others. That she +had been living apart from her husband might be due to no fault of hers, +but she impressed him as being a vain, vindictive, mercenary woman, with +no thought above the rather gaudy clothes she wore—just the kind to +demand everything and give nothing. Certainly her actions showed that +she lacked all the finer sensibilities that one naturally associates +with true women. No matter what might lie back of it all, common decency +should have prevented her from making such a display of her own small +soul at such a time. At least, so Murray thought. + +“She is the kind of woman who marries a man’s bank account,” he mused, +“and considers the inability to supply her with all the money she wants +as the first evidence of incompatibility of temper. Some women think +they want a husband when they really only want an accommodating banker.” + +Murray was still musing in this strain when the second woman called. +Unlike the first, this woman gave some evidence of grief and mourning: +her eyes showed that she had been weeping, and her attire, although not +the regulation mourning, was as near to it as a scanty wardrobe would +permit on short notice. But she was self-possessed, and spoke with +patient resignation. + +“Necessity,” she explained, “has compelled me to come to see you at this +time about Albert Vincent’s life insurance policy.” + +“Oh!” exclaimed Murray thoughtlessly, “you are the nurse!” + +“Yes,” she replied quietly, after one startled look, “I am the nurse. I +infer that Mrs. Vincent has been here.” + +“She has just left,” said Murray. + +“Her attentions,” said the nurse bitterly, “have been confined to an +effort to get prompt news of her husband’s death.” + +Murray knew instinctively that a little drama of life was opening before +him, but his duty was clear. + +“Nevertheless,” he said, “the policy is in her name.” + +“In her name!” cried the nurse. “Why, he told me—” Then she stopped +short. She would not betray his perfidy, even if he had been false to +her. + +“What did he tell you?” asked Murray kindly. + +“No matter,” answered the nurse. “I—I only wanted enough to defray +the—the necessary expenses. That’s why I came. There isn’t a cent—not a +cent. Even the little money I had has been used, and there are debts—But +she’ll pay, of course.” + +Murray was deeply distressed. Mrs. Albert Vincent was so bitter—possibly +with justification, although he did not like to believe it—that she +would do nothing; her feeling was simply one of deep resentment that +even death could not allay. But he hesitated to say so. + +“Let me understand this matter a little better,” he said at last. “I am +sincerely anxious to be of any assistance possible, but the +circumstances are unusual.” + +The nurse fought a brief battle with herself in silence. To bare the +details of the story was like uncovering her heart to the world, but she +saw the sympathy in Murray’s eyes, and she was personally helpless in a +most trying emergency. She sorely needed a guiding hand. + +“Albert and I were engaged to be married,” she said at last, with simple +frankness. “We had some trifling quarrel, and then this woman came +between us. He was not rich, but he had some property and excellent +prospects, and—well, they were married. It was an elopement—a matter of +momentary pique, he told me afterward. God knows I never tried to +interfere with their married life, and she had no reason to be jealous +of me. I did not even see either of them, except at rare intervals, for +a long time, but she could not forget or forgive the fact that we had +been a great deal to each other. And she was selfish and extravagant. I +am merely repeating the judgment of her own friends in this, for I do +not wish to be unjust to her, even now. After I had forsaken society and +become a trained nurse I heard something of their troubles: they were +living beyond his income, and his income did not increase according to +expectations. Perhaps the worry of such conditions made him less capable +of improving his opportunities. At any rate, her extravagance created a +great deal of comment, and he has told me since that they quarreled +frequently over financial matters. Then I heard that they had separated +and that he had given her nearly all of the little he had left. I was +not trying to keep track of them or pry into their affairs, but there +were mutual friends, and I could not help hearing what was common +gossip. But I studiously avoided any chance of meeting either of +them—until I heard that he was sick and alone. Then I went to him and +cared for him. It was not proper, you will say? Perhaps not. It put me +in a false position and invited scandal? Perhaps it did. But I went, and +I would go again; I was there to soothe his last moments; I was with him +when all others had forsaken him, and there is nothing in this life that +I would not sacrifice for the glory of that memory!” + +The light of self-sacrificing love shone in her eyes as she made this +final declaration, and Murray did not trust himself to speak for a +moment or two. The story had been told so quietly, so simply, that the +sudden emphasis at the conclusion was almost irresistible in the +sublimity of its self-denying love. The great contrast between the two +women made it all the stronger. + +“I shall consider it my personal privilege,” replied Murray, “to see +that everything possible is done.” + +“Thank you,” said the nurse. + +“But there are still some points that will have to be cleared up,” +continued Murray. “What made you think the policy was in your name?” + +“He told me he would have it changed, so that I could pay all the bills +in case of his death,” said the nurse. + +“Possibly,” remarked Murray, “he thought he could, but to permit a +change in the beneficiary without the consent of the original +beneficiary would be a blow at the very structure of life insurance. It +would put a true and devoted wife at the absolute mercy of an +unscrupulous or thoughtless husband: he could change the policy without +her knowledge; he could sell it for the cash-surrender value; he could +transfer it to a loan-shark to meet his personal or business needs—in +fact, it would be no more than so much stock that could be reached by +any creditor, and the trusting wife might find herself penniless. In +this particular case the inability to make such a change may work +injustice, but the ability to make it would work far greater injustice +in practically all other instances. Mr. Vincent may have thought he +could do this, and it is the very exceptional case when I most heartily +wish it had been possible, but he doubtless made inquiries and found +that it was not. When the beneficiary can be deprived of her interest +without her knowledge and consent the value of insurance will be gone.” + +“Then that is what he learned,” she remarked, as if a question had been +answered. “He was dreadfully worried before he became too ill to give +much thought to business matters,” she added by way of explanation. “I +thought it was because I was using my own little hoard to pay expenses, +and, on the doctor’s advice, I went with him twice in a cab to see about +some things that were worrying him, although even then he had no +business to leave his bed. It was the lesser of two evils, the doctor +said, for his mental distress was affecting his physical condition +seriously. He said he never could rest until he had provided for those +who had been good to him in adversity. But he didn’t mean me!” she +exclaimed quickly. “He meant the doctor and some others who had been +generous in the matter of credit. He knew why I—” She paused a moment, +and then added: “But he wanted the others paid, and there was no one +else he could trust.” + +“I quite understand,” said Murray encouragingly. + +“He made me stay in the cab both times,” she went on, “and the second +time—when he had me sign his wife’s name—he seemed—” + +“Had you sign his wife’s name!” exclaimed Murray. “To what?” + +“I don’t know,” she answered. “It was a formality, he said, to +straighten out some tangle, so I did it. I would have done anything to +ease his mind and get him back to bed.” + +Murray gave a low whistle. He was beginning to understand the situation. + +“Pardon me, Miss—” he said. + +“Miss Bronson—Amy Bronson,” she explained. + +Murray had heard of Miss Bronson some years before. She had suddenly +given up society to become a trained nurse, and there had been vague +rumors of an unhappy love affair. Later, her father’s death had left her +dependent upon her own resources, and society had commented on what a +fortunate thing it was that she had already chosen an occupation and +fitted herself for it. He never had known her, and only a bare +suggestion of the story had come to his notice, but it was sufficient to +make him more than ever her champion now. + +“Miss Bronson,” he said, “I fear there are greater complications here +than I had supposed. Did Mr. Vincent get any money on either of those +trips?” + +“Yes. On the second he told me that he closed up an old deal, and he was +more contented after that. After the first he was so dreadfully +disturbed, that I never dared ask him any questions.” + +“Do you know where the insurance policy is?” + +“No. I searched for it before coming here, but could find no trace of +it.” + +Murray was as considerate as the circumstances would permit, but he had +become suddenly business-like. Aside from the question of sympathy, the +matter was now one to interest him deeply. He had been groping blindly +before, but with light came the possibility of action. + +“You are alone?” he asked. + +“Entirely so.” + +“If you will go back,” said Murray, reaching for his desk telephone, +“Mrs. Murray will be there as soon as a cab can carry her. I would go +myself, but I think I can be of better service to you for the moment by +remaining here.” + +As soon as she had gone and he had telephoned to his wife, Murray made +some inquiries of the clerks in the outer office and learned of a sick +man who had asked about the possibility of changing the beneficiary of a +policy. The visit had been made some time before, but the man was so +evidently ill and in such deep distress that the circumstances had been +impressed on the mind of the clerk who had answered his questions. + +“That accounts for one trip,” mused Murray. “Now for the loan-shark that +he saw on the other. We’ll hear from him pretty soon, and then there +will be some lively times.” + +Murray had had experience with the ways of loan-sharks before, and he +was confident that he now had the whole story. Vincent was out of money +and desperate; he knew that Miss Bronson had been using her own money, +and that not one cent of it would his wife pay back; he had tried to +have the beneficiary of the policy changed, and had failed. Then, +determined to get something out of the policy, he had gone to a +loan-shark. The unscrupulous money-lender, getting an exorbitant rate of +interest, could afford to be less particular about the wife’s signature. +He would run the risk of forgery, confident that the policy would be +redeemed to prevent a scandal, no matter what happened. Indeed, in some +cases a loan-shark would a little rather have a forgery than the genuine +signature, for it gives him an additional hold on the interested parties +and lessens the likelihood of a resort to law over the question of +usurious interest. + +“The scoundrel will come,” said Murray, and the scoundrel came by +invitation. A formal notification that he held an assignment of the +policy arrived first, and that gave his name and address and enabled +Murray to telephone him. A loan-shark does not lose much time in matters +of this sort. Neither did Murray in this case, for his invitation to +call was prompt and imperative, even to setting the exact time for the +call. And a message was sent to Mrs. Albert Vincent, also. + +“What’s your interest in that policy?” asked Murray. + +“A thousand dollars,” replied the money-lender. + +“A thousand dollars!” ejaculated the startled Murray. “What the devil +did he do with the money?” + +“That is something that does not concern me,” said the money-lender +carelessly. + +The confidence and carelessness of the reply recalled Murray to a +consciousness of the situation. He had a sharp and hard game to play +with a clever and unscrupulous man. + +“How much did you loan him?” he demanded. + +“The note is for a thousand dollars,” was the prompt reply. + +“How much did you loan him, Shylock?” repeated Murray, and the +money-lender was startled out of his complacent confidence. + +“I didn’t come here to be insulted!” he exclaimed. “I hold the policy +and the assignment of it as security. If you can’t talk business, as man +to man, I’ll quit and leave the matter to a lawyer.” + +“If you put one foot outside of that door,” retorted Murray, “we’ll +fight this matter to a finish, Shylock, and we’ll get some points on +your business methods. Come back and sit down.” + +The money-lender had made a pretense of leaving, but he paused and met +the cold, hard look of Murray. Then he came back. + +“Of course, we take risks,” he said apologetically. + +“Mighty few,” commented Murray uncompromisingly. + +“If a man has security that is good at the bank he won’t come to us,” +persisted the money-lender. “We have to protect ourselves for the +additional risk.” + +“By getting a man to put himself in the shadow of the penitentiary,” +said Murray. “I know all about you people, Shylock. How much did you +loan?” + +The money-lender was angered almost to the point of defiance—but not +quite. Loan-sharks do not easily reach that point: the very nature of +their business makes it inadvisable, except when some poor devil is in +their power. + +“Oh, of course, if it’s a personal matter with you,” he said, “I might +scale it a little. The note is for a thousand dollars, with various +incidental charges that make it now a thousand and eighty dollars. I +might knock off a hundred from that.” + +“How much did you loan him, Shylock?” repeated Murray. + +“Nine hundred dollars,” answered the money-lender in desperation. + +“Shylock,” said Murray with cold deliberation, “I know you people. If I +didn’t, I might ask to see the canceled check, but that would prove +nothing. You give a check for the full amount, but the man has to put up +a cash bonus when he gets it. How much did you loan him?” + +“I’ll stand on the note,” declared the money-lender angrily. “I know my +rights, and I can be as ugly as you. The note is signed by himself and +his wife, and you’ll have a hard time going back of it.” + +Murray touched a bell and a boy answered. + +“Ask Mrs. Vincent to step in here,” said Murray. + +The money-lender was plainly disconcerted, but he was not unaccustomed +to hard battles, so he nerved himself to bluff the thing through, it +being too late to do anything else. + +“Mrs. Vincent,” said Murray, when the woman appeared, “I have found the +insurance policy.” + +“Where is it?” she asked eagerly. + +“Mr. Shylock,”—with a motion toward the money-lender,—“holds it.” + +“Give it to me, Mr. Shylock,” demanded Mrs. Vincent, who was not a woman +to grasp the bitter insult of the name, and her innocent repetition of +it added to the anger of the man. Still, the habit of never letting his +personal feelings interfere with business was strong within him. + +“I must be paid first,” he said. + +“Paid!” she cried. “What is there to pay? The insurance money is mine!” + +“I hold a note,” insisted the money-lender. + +“What’s that to me?” she retorted. “Do you think I’m going to pay his +debts? I didn’t contract them; I wasn’t with him; he left me years ago! +Let _her_ look out for the debts! Give me the policy or I’ll have you +arrested!” + +The woman was wildly and covetously excited: she would not rest easy +until the actual possession of the money assured her that there was no +possibility of a slip. The money-lender, too, was anxious. Murray alone +seemed to be taking the matter quietly, for these two were now playing +the game for him, although the details required his close attention. A +very slight miscalculation might carry it beyond his control. + +“It’s assigned to me,” said the money-lender with a pretense of +confidence. “I have your signature.” + +“It’s a lie!” she cried. + +“Oh, no,” interrupted Murray quietly; “it’s a forgery.” + +“That woman!” exclaimed Mrs. Vincent. “She stole my name as well as my +husband!” + +“That man,” corrected Murray. “He did it for the woman who did so much +for him. He would have given her all, if he could.” + +Murray had reason to know that it was the nurse, but he lied cheerfully +in what he considered a good cause. They were getting to the critical +and dangerous point in the game he was playing: the widow would be +merciless to the nurse. + +“It’s a forgery, anyway!” declared Mrs. Vincent. “I won’t pay a cent!” + +“I’ll sue,” said the money-lender threateningly. + +“Well, sue!” she cried. “What do I care? You can’t get anything on a +forgery. I guess I know that much.” + +“It will make a scandal,” said the money-lender insinuatingly. + +“Let it,” she retorted angrily. + +They were again making points for Murray, each showing the weakness of +the other’s position, so Murray merely watched and waited. + +“If there is another woman in the case,” persisted the money-lender, who +had been quick to grasp the significance of the previous remarks, “the +shame and disgrace—” + +“What do I care?” she interrupted. “The disgrace is for her.” + +“And for him,” said the money-lender. “I can make him out a forger.” + +“It won’t give you the money,” she argued. + +“It will make you the widow of a criminal,” he threatened. “How would +you like the disgrace of that? And the other things! If I have to go to +court the whole scandal will be revealed and the very name you bear will +be a shame! The widow of a forger! A woman who could not hold her +husband! An object of pitying contempt, so small that she would not pay +an honest debt to protect the name that is hers!” In his anxiety not to +lose, the money-lender became almost eloquent in picturing possible +conditions. No other sentiment or emotion could have given him this +power. And he saw that the effect was not lost upon the woman, for no +one knew better than she the harm the exploitation of the whole +miserable story would do. Even a blameless woman can not entirely escape +the obloquy that attaches to the name she bears, and there had been +enough already to make it difficult for Mrs. Vincent to retain a +position on the fringe of society. “Of course,” he went on, “if you’d +rather stand this than pay, there is nothing for me to do but leave and +put the matter in the hands of a lawyer.” + +“Wait a minute, Shylock,” interrupted Murray. “Mrs. Vincent is going to +pay—something.” + +“Pay money that he got for _her_!” she exclaimed with sudden +resentfulness. “She’s the forger, anyway; I know it!” + +“Did you ever see her, Shylock?” asked Murray. + +“He came alone,” replied the money-lender, “with the assignment of +policy ready, and he swore to it.” + +“That settles that,” said Murray with apparent conviction. “It would be +a thankless task to try to prove that any one else forged the signature, +and neither one of you is in a position to seek any court notoriety. +Now, Shylock, after deducting the bonus and all trumped-up charges, how +much did you loan?” + +“Nine hundred dollars,” said the money-lender desperately. + +“Try again, Shylock,” urged Murray. “You never loaned any such sum under +any such circumstances.” + +“If you don’t stop insulting me,” exclaimed the money-lender angrily, +“I’ll quit right now and take my chances with the law.” + +“You haven’t any chances with the law, Shylock,” retorted Murray. “You +can make a scandal, but you can’t get a damn cent. That’s why you’re +going to be reasonable. How much did you loan? You’d better be honest +with me, for it’s your only chance.” + +“I’ll take eight hundred dollars, with the interest charges.” + +“You’ll take an even seven hundred dollars,” said Murray. + +“But the interest!” cried the money-lender. “Don’t I get any interest?” + +“Aha!” exclaimed Murray. “I guessed it right, didn’t I? That’s just what +you loaned. You see, others have hypothecated policies with you people, +and I’ve learned something of the business. There are more peculiar +deals tried with insurance policies than with any other form of +security. But you don’t get any interest, Shylock: you get your +principal back, and you’re lucky to get that.” + +“It’s robbery!” complained the money-lender. + +“It’s generosity,” said Murray. “You ought to lose it all.” + +“I won’t pay it!” declared Mrs. Vincent, and Murray turned sharply to +her. + +“Mrs. Vincent,” he said, “you will pay this sum to Shylock out of the +policy, and you will pay all the bills, including the cost of the +funeral, which I advanced. You will not do this as a matter of +generosity, or even of justice, but from purely selfish motives. If you, +being able to prevent it, permitted this scandal to come to light, you +would be eternally disgraced: doors would be closed to you everywhere. +God knows it is bad enough as it is, but this would make it infinitely +worse. Even where no real blame attaches to her, there is always +criticism and contempt for the woman who lets another take her husband +from her, and a repudiation of the expenses of his last illness or any +other bills, when you are getting the insurance, would condemn you +absolutely in the eyes of all people who knew the circumstances. For +this reason, you are going to do what I say, and you are going to make +the necessary arrangements now. For similar selfish reasons, Shylock is +going to do what I say, and he is going to make the necessary +arrangements now. If either of you balk at the terms, I’ll drop the +whole matter and let you fight it out, to your mutual trouble and loss.” + +Neither dared take the risk, for each feared that, without Murray, the +other would gain the advantage. Neither was in a position to defy the +other, and Murray had forced concessions from each that the other could +not. He was clearly master of the situation. + +“Do you accept the terms?” he demanded. “If not, get out!” + +“It’s brutal, outrageous!” declared the woman. + +“A swindle!” exclaimed the man. + +“That will do, Shylock,” cautioned Murray. “There is nothing to be said +except ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and only thirty seconds in which to say that. I’ve +reached the limit of my patience.” + +He took out his watch and began to count the seconds. + + * * * * * + +When they were gone Murray sent for Amy Bronson, the nurse. + +“I was just coming to see you,” she explained when she arrived. “I +finally found a note hidden away among Albert’s effects. It contained +five one hundred-dollar bills and the scribbled line, ‘I have tried to +do more for you, but can not.’” + +“I didn’t see how he could have spent all the money,” mused Murray. + +“Now I can pay the bills,” she said. + +“No,” said Murray. “A memorandum of all that he owed is to be sent to +me. Mrs. Vincent will pay everything.” + +“Mrs. Vincent!” cried the nurse. “Impossible! I couldn’t have so +misjudged her.” + +“I don’t think you misjudged her,” returned Murray, +“but,”—whimsically,—“I’m a wonder at argument. You ought to hear me +argue. Mrs. Vincent decided to take my view of the matter with the +insurance.” + +“But the five hundred dollars!” said Miss Bronson. + +“Keep it,” said Murray. “He intended it for you, and it is little +enough. I’m only sorry that the ten-thousand-dollar policy is not for +you, also, but it is one of the incidental hardships that arise from an +ordinarily wise provision of the law.” + +The nurse’s lip quivered and the tears came to her eyes. + +“I was an entire stranger to you, Mr. Murray,” she said, “but you have +been very good to me when I most needed a friend. I—I don’t know how I +can—” + +“I have been amply repaid for all I have done,” said Murray. + +“How?” she asked in surprise. + +“I have had the royal satisfaction,” he answered, “of compelling an +unscrupulous man and a selfish woman to do a fairly creditable thing; I +have had the joy of showing my contempt for them in my very method of +doing this.” + +She did not quite understand, her gratitude making her blind to all else +at the moment. + +“And also,” added Murray to himself, when she had gone, “the great +satisfaction of saving a devoted woman from the consequences of at least +one of her acts of devotion. Forgery is a serious matter, regardless of +the circumstances.” + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL ERROR + + +“It’s mighty awkward,” said Owen Ross, the insurance solicitor. + +“It is,” admitted Dave Murray. + +“I’ve been after him for over six months,” persisted Ross, “and now, +after urging him persistently to take out a policy, I have got to tell +him that we won’t give him one. That would be hard enough if he had +sought us out, and it’s ten times as hard when we have sought him. Why, +it looks as if we were playing a heartless practical joke on him.” + +“But it can’t be helped,” said Murray. “It’s one of the disagreeable +features of the business. We convince a man that it’s to his interest to +carry life insurance, and then we tell him he can’t have any. Naturally, +from his prejudiced viewpoint, we seem to be contemptibly insincere and +deceitful.” + +“Of course, we are in no sense shortening his life,” remarked Ross, “but +it seems like pronouncing a sentence of death, just the same. He is sure +to make an awful row about it.” + +“One man,” said Murray reminiscently, “fell dead in this office when his +application was refused. The shock killed him, but there was no way to +avoid giving him the shock. However, that was an exceptional case: I +never knew of another to succumb, although it must be admitted that the +news that one is destined not to live long is distressing and +depressing.” + +“What’s the reason for refusing Tucker?” asked Ross. + +“There are several reasons,” replied Murray. “The physician reports +heart murmur, which indicates some latent trouble that is almost certain +to develop into a serious affection.” + +“May not the physician be wrong?” + +“He is paid to be right, but, of course, we are all liable to make +mistakes, and it can’t be denied that heart murmur is deceptive. I’ve +known men to be the subject of unfavorable reports at one hour of the +day and most favorable ones at another. The occupation immediately +preceding the examination may develop symptoms that are normally absent. +However, I would not feel justified in accepting this application, even +if the report were favorable.” + +“Why not?” demanded Ross. + +“The amount of insurance he wishes to carry would make him worth more +dead than alive, which is a condition of affairs that an insurance +company dislikes.” Murray became reminiscent again. “I recall one such +risk,” he went on. “The man found the premiums a greater burden than he +could carry, so he died.” + +“Suicide!” exclaimed Ross. + +“Oh, no,” replied Murray, with a peculiar smile; “merely a mistake. But, +if you will put yourself in that man’s place, you will see how the +mistake could happen. He was carrying twenty-five thousand dollars of +insurance, and he wasn’t worth twenty-five cents at the time, owing to +some recent reverses. He was ill, but was not considered dangerously +ill. Still, he was depressed, believing apparently that he would not +recover and knowing that he had not the money for the next premium. If +he died before a certain date there would be twenty-five thousand +dollars for his wife and children; if he died after that date there +would be comparatively little. Now, in imagination, just assume the +problem that confronted that man on a certain night: twenty-four hours +of life for him meant a future of privation for his wife, if he did not +recover and prosper, while immediate death for him meant comfort for +those he loved. Picture yourself contemplating that prospect while lying +weak and discouraged in the sick-room, with various bottles—one labeled +‘Poison’—within reach. A poison may have medicinal value when properly +used, you know, but what more natural than that you should make a +mistake in the gloom of the night while the tired nurse is dozing? It is +so easy to get the wrong bottle—to take the poison instead of the +tonic—and it solves a most distressing problem. A drop of the poison is +beneficial; a teaspoonful is death; and the tonic is to be taken in +large doses.” Murray paused a moment to let the terrible nature of the +situation impress itself on Ross. Then he added quietly: “We paid the +insurance, although the timeliness of the accident did not escape +comment. The same mistake twenty-four hours later would not have had the +same financial result. Now, do you understand why I would not care to +put fifty thousand dollars on the life of Tucker, even if he were +physically satisfactory? Unexpected reverses may make any man worth more +dead than alive, but we seldom contribute knowingly to such a condition +of affairs. It isn’t prudent. While the average man is not disposed to +shorten his life to beat an insurance company, it isn’t wise to put the +temptation in his way unless you are very sure of your man.” + +“Well, we needn’t explain that to Tucker,” said Ross. + +“No,” returned Murray. “We can put the whole thing on the basis of the +physician’s report.” + +“I wish you would break the news to him,” urged Ross. “You can do it +with better grace, for you were not instrumental in getting him to put +in his application. He’ll be up here to-day.” + +“Oh, very well,” returned Murray. “I’ll see him when he comes.” + +Though the task was far from pleasant, Murray had been long enough in +the business to take matters philosophically. One must accustom oneself +to the disagreeable features of any occupation, for there is none that +is entirely pleasurable. + +Tucker, however, did not make this interview disagreeable in the way +that was expected: instead of becoming discouraged and depressed, he +became indignant. + +“What’s that?” he cried. “You don’t consider me a good risk?” + +“I am sorry to say,” returned Murray, “that our physician does not +report favorably on you.” + +“Oh, he doesn’t!” exclaimed Tucker. “Well, that’s a good joke on the +doctor, isn’t it?” + +“What!” + +“You’d better discharge him and get a man with some sense.” + +“I thought,” said Murray dubiously, “that it might seem rather hard on +you.” + +“Hard on me!” ejaculated Tucker. “Hard on the company, you mean! You’re +letting a little two-by-four doctor steer you away from a good thing. +Why, say! I’m good for as long a life as an elephant!” + +“I’m sure I hope so.” + +“It’s robbery—plain robbery—for that doctor to take a fee from you for +making such a report on me. I’ll show him up!” + +“How?” asked Murray curiously. + +“By living!” declared Tucker. “It’s going to give me infinite pleasure +to report to you from time to time and show you one of the healthiest +men that ever was turned down by an insurance company. He can’t scare me +into a decline—not any! And, say! he looks to me like a young man.” + +“He is.” + +“A young man in fine physical condition.” + +“He is.” + +“Well, I’ll go to his funeral, and I’ll be in prime condition when he’s +put away! You tell him that, will you? I’ll be walking when he has to be +carried.” + +Now, this was rather annoying to Murray. It was preferable to the +despair that overwhelmed some men in similar circumstances, but it +seemed to him that Tucker was overdoing it. + +“Anyhow,” said Murray resentfully, “we would not care to put fifty +thousand dollars on your life, for it’s more than a man in your position +ought to carry. You’ll never be worth as much alive as you would be +dead, with that insurance.” + +“Oh, I won’t!” retorted Tucker sarcastically. “Well, now, instead of +making the girl I am to marry a present of a policy on my life, I’ll +just make her a present of your whole blamed company in a few years. You +watch what I do with the money you might have had!” + +“You are about to marry?” asked Murray with interest. “It’s a serious +matter, in view of the physician’s report.” + +“Marriage is always a serious matter,” asserted Tucker. “I don’t have to +have a doctor tell me that. But he can’t scare me out with flubdub about +heart murmur, for I know the heart was murmuring, and the prospective +Mrs. Tucker does, too. She’ll interpret that murmur for him any time he +wants a little enlightenment.” + +Murray laughed when Tucker had gone. The man’s indignation had been +momentarily irritating, but there was something amusing about it, too. + +“He’s going to live to a green old age, just to spite the company,” +mused Murray. “It’s a matter of no great personal interest to him, but +he’d like to make the company feel bad. If a man could order his life as +he can his business affairs, there would be mighty little chance for +us.” + +Meanwhile, Tucker was hastening to the home of Miss Frances Greer. + +“I’ve come to release you,” he announced cheerfully. + +“But I don’t want to be released,” she returned. + +“Of course not,” he said. “I didn’t suppose you would. But you might +just as well know that you’re getting a poor risk.” + +“What do you mean?” she asked. + +“Why, I wanted to put fifty thousand dollars on my life, as a precaution +for the future, and the fool of an insurance doctor turned me down.” + +“What do I care about the doctor!” she exclaimed. + +“Not a thing, of course.” + +“Or insurance!” + +“Still less.” + +“And,” she said happily, “you’re a good enough risk for me.” + +Then they went into executive session and decided that insurance doctors +didn’t know anything, anyway. But they did not forget Dave Murray, and +they did not let Dave Murray forget them: he heard from them indirectly +in the most annoying ways. His wife informed him less than a week later +that she had met Miss Greer at a reception. + +“A most extraordinary girl!” his wife remarked. “I can’t understand her +at all. She asked me in a most ingenuous way if I ever had noticed any +indications of heart murmur about you. + +“‘Never,’ said I. + +“‘Not even in the engagement days when he was making love?’ she +insisted. + +“‘Not even then,’ I answered, bewildered. + +“‘He couldn’t have been much of a lover,’ she remarked.” + +Murray laughed and explained the situation to his wife. But Murray would +have been better pleased if the two women had not met, for he had no +desire to have this case perpetually present in the more intimate +associations of life. However, he had to make the best of it, even when +he was invited to the wedding, to which his wife insisted that he should +go. She had discovered that the bride was related to an intimate friend +of her own girlhood days, and the bride further showed flattering +gratification in this discovery. She was especially gracious to Murray. + +“I want to ask you a question,” she told him. + +Thereupon Murray made heroic efforts to escape before she could find a +suitable opportunity, but she beckoned him back whenever he got near the +door. + +“Mama,” she said finally, for this happened during the wedding +reception, and her mother stood near her, “I wish you would take charge +of Mr. Murray and see that he doesn’t run away. I have something very +important to say to him before Ralph and I leave.” + +Thus the unhappy Murray was held until the bride and groom were ready to +depart, when the bride finally succeeded in getting him alone for a +minute. + +“I wanted to ask you, as a particular favor to me,” she said +appealingly, “to let Ralph live a little while—that is, if your doctor +won’t make too big a row about it.” + +Then she laughed merrily. There could be no doubt at all that Mrs. Ralph +Tucker refused absolutely to worry about the health of Mr. Ralph Tucker; +she had simply put the doctor down as an ignoramus. And Mr. Ralph +Tucker’s appearance certainly was not that of a man in poor physical +condition. However, Murray knew how deceptive appearances may be, and, +while no physician is infallible, it is necessary to rely on their +judgment. Nor was it a joking matter, in his opinion. He was glad that +the young people could look at the future without misgivings, but a +really serious matter ought not to be treated so lightly. + +It was about a week later that a note came to Murray from Mrs. Tucker. + +“So grateful to you for sparing Ralph so long,” it read. + +Murray crumpled it up and, with some rather warm remarks, threw it in +the waste-basket. + +“Why did I relieve Ross of his disagreeable task?” he grumbled. + +Then he began to count the days that would precede their return from the +bridal trip, for he was sure they would call on him. There could be no +doubt that Mrs. Tucker had deliberately planned to make things as +uncomfortable for him as possible, and there was every reason to believe +that Tucker himself was aiding and abetting her. + +“It isn’t fair,” he muttered, “to make it appear that this is a personal +matter with me. The Lord knows I haven’t anything to do with his lease +of life.” + +This was just after he had received a telegram to the effect that “the +patient is doing as well as can be expected,” and Ross, who happened in +the office at the time, noticed that his chief looked at him +reproachfully. + +“What’s the matter?” asked Ross. + +“Hereafter,” returned Murray morosely, “my solicitors have got to carry +their own burdens. If Tucker and his wife put me in an insane asylum, +the administrator of my estate will surely sue you for big damages. I +never thought I was getting a life sentence when I let you unload on +me.” + +The physician also noticed a growing coolness and was moved to ask what +was wrong. + +“Didn’t you make a mistake in the Tucker case?” Murray inquired by way +of reply. “I don’t wish Tucker any harm, but I’m doomed to an early +death if he isn’t.” + +“I don’t see what his life has to do with yours,” retorted the doctor. + +“That’s because you don’t know Mrs. Tucker,” replied Murray. + +“He was an impossible risk,” asserted the doctor. “The indications of +serious trouble may entirely disappear, under favorable conditions of +life, but they were there when I made the examination. Ours is not yet +an exact science, and the human system frequently fools us. You recall +the Denton case, don’t you?” + +“Yes.” + +“At twenty the doctors, including his family physician, gave him not +more than two or three years to live, and at twenty-five he was +considered a good risk for any insurance company. He is nearly +thirty-five now, has one policy in this company, and we would be glad to +let him have another.” + +“Oh, you’re all right, Doctor, of course,” returned Murray. “We must be +careful to err on the safe side, if we err at all, in this business. But +I wish the Tuckers would transfer their attentions to you. I’ll be +tempted to jump out of the window when I see them coming in the door.” + +The Tuckers, however, were not to be escaped. After an interval of about +three weeks they sent him another telegram, which read: “If we retire to +a ranch, will you lengthen the lease of life a little?” Then they came +back and called on him. + +“So kind of you to let us have this trip,” said Mrs. Tucker with every +evidence of deep gratitude. “Poor Ralph appreciates it.” + +Poor Ralph was looking as big and strong and happy as it was possible +for a man to look, and Murray was correspondingly uncomfortable. + +“The premiums on fifty thousand dollars would have been pretty heavy,” +remarked Tucker with a cheerful grin. + +“Yes,” admitted Murray weakly. + +“I had a tidy little sum put aside to care for them,” Tucker explained. +“We thought it would interest your company to know that we put that +money into a small ranch out west, so it is entirely out of reach now. +You don’t mind my choosing a restful place for my early demise, do you?” + +“Now, see here!” cried Murray, but Mrs. Tucker interrupted him. + +“Oh, he wouldn’t be so cruel as that!” she exclaimed. “Show him what the +doctor said, Ralph.” + +Tucker spread a sheet of paper on the desk before Murray, and the latter +read: “This is to certify that I have made a careful examination of +Ralph Tucker, and I believe him to be in excellent physical condition. I +attach slight importance to the indications of incipient heart trouble, +which, with reasonable care and proper treatment, should disappear +entirely.” This was signed by a noted specialist. + +“And the next,” said Mrs. Tucker. + +Thereupon Tucker laid this before Murray: “The heart murmur noted I +believe to be due to temporary causes and not to any permanent +affection. On the occasion of one examination there were no indications +of it at all.” This also was signed by a well-known physician. + +“Poor Ralph!” sighed Mrs. Tucker, and Murray felt that the burden of +this case was greater than he could bear. + +“They don’t agree entirely,” he asserted aggressively. + +“No,” admitted Tucker, “but I understand that’s not unusual in such +cases.” + +“And they don’t agree with your doctor at all,” added Mrs. Tucker. “But, +of course, your doctor is right. Poor Ralph!” + +“Please don’t do that,” pleaded Murray. + +“Poor Ralph!” sighed Mrs. Tucker again. “The doctors don’t think he’ll +live more than a lifetime.” + +“Put in another application and take another examination,” urged Murray +in despair. “The doctor may have been misled by some trifling temporary +trouble.” + +“What would be the use?” asked Tucker. “I’ve already invested the +premium money in a small ranch.” + +“It’s too bad,” remarked Mrs. Tucker lugubriously. “That money would +have done the company so much good.” + +“This has ceased to be a joke!” declared Murray earnestly. + +“A joke!” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker. “Has it ever been a joke with you?” + +“No, it hasn’t,” said Murray. + +“I didn’t think you could be so heartless,” asserted Mrs. Tucker. “One +has only to look at poor Ralph—” + +“Don’t, don’t!” cried Murray. “On what terms will you quit this?” + +“Oh, if you want to get down to business,” put in Tucker, “I’d like to +begin delivering this company to Frances. You know I said I was going to +do it. I don’t care for policies, but I might take some stock.” + +“You said you had no money.” + +“No premium money,” corrected Tucker. “I invested that in the ranch, but +I was notified this morning of a legacy from a bachelor uncle that will +give me some ready cash.” + +“The stock of this company gets on the market very seldom,” explained +Murray. “I have a little myself, but I don’t care to part with it.” + +“Oh, very well,” replied Tucker in careless tones; “it’s quite +immaterial to us for the moment. In fact, I’d be in no hurry about it at +all if I only had a longer time to live.” + +“Poor Ralph!” sighed Mrs. Tucker, as they departed. + +When they had gone, Murray rang for his office-boy. + +“You tell Mr. Ross,” he said to the boy, “to keep out of my way for a +few days. I’m not in a mental condition to stand the sight of the man +who loaded this trouble on me.” + +For the next three days Murray saw as little of his office as he +possibly could, fearing another call from Mr. and Mrs. Tucker. Then he +learned that they had left again for the West, and he breathed more +freely. But, shortly thereafter, a stock-broker called upon him. + +“I am commissioned,” said the broker, “to buy some stock in your +company, and I thought possibly you might know of some that is for +sale.” + +“I do not,” replied Murray. “As you know, it is not a speculative stock, +but is held, for the most part, by conservative investors. A little gets +on the market occasionally, when some estate is being settled or some +holder becomes financially embarrassed, but that is about your only +chance.” + +“So my client informed me,” said the broker, “but he also informed me +that he was sure he could get some himself, and he wished me to use +every effort to add to his prospective holdings.” + +“Mr. Tucker, your client, tried to buy some from me before he left for +the West,” said Murray, for he had no doubt as to the identity of the +man who wanted the stock. + +“Indeed!” returned the broker. “I didn’t know that. He explained his +anxiety for prompt action by the rather extraordinary statement that he +wished to get the stock before somebody foreclosed on his life!” + +“By thunder!” cried Murray, “somebody _will_ foreclose on his life, and +take the Limited west to do it, if he keeps this thing up!” + +In some amazement, the broker apologized and retired, and Murray began +to wonder what would happen to him if Mrs. Tucker ever did get enough of +the stock to make her influence felt. Of course, there was little chance +of that, but even a small stock-holder could be annoying when so +disposed. He began to dream about the Tucker case, and an incidental +mention of it in the office would make the atmosphere unpleasant for the +day. Every clerk and solicitor understood that it was a dangerous topic. +Once the name “Tucker” was mentioned in the ordinary course of business, +and Murray had things at a fever heat before it could be explained to +him that it was another Tucker. Then came a letter from the West, with a +Tucker return card on the envelop. A council of war was held before it +was delivered to Murray, and even then a time was chosen when he was +absent to lay it on his desk. It was very brief—just an announcement +that “the patient” had rallied splendidly after the fatigue of the +journey and exhibited “really wonderful vitality for a sick man.” No one +cared to go near Murray all the rest of that day. + +Soon after the first of the following month another missive arrived—a +mere formal affidavit, headed “Certificate of Life,” and solemnly +averring that “Ralph Tucker’s heart has not ceased to murmur along in +the land of the living.” This was followed a month later by a +certificate from a physician to the effect that “a restful ranch life is +especially conducive to longevity, and Mr. Tucker’s health continues to +show all the improvement that can be expected in a man who had nothing +the matter with him in the first place.” + +These facetious reports continued to arrive at monthly intervals for a +period of nearly a year. Usually they were brief, but occasionally the +doctor, who seemed to enter into the spirit of the affair, would go into +such details as weight, endurance, appetite, lifting power, respiration +and—heart murmur. “The heart,” he wrote at one time, “seems to be too +well satisfied to murmur now, and the patient was able to sit up and eat +a large steak to-day, after which a little gentle exercise—about twenty +miles on horseback—seemed to do him some good.” + +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 it would 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 side of 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 +him the 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. + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL FAILURE + + +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. Make the 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 the biggest 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?” + +“_Zwei_ t’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 even common 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 kind are 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 also +want 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 safe _investment_—that promised only a ten cent profit on five +dollars; and if it were a _speculation_, 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 world was +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, they were 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 pays _zwei_ t’ousand dollars,” he explained. + +Mrs. Schlimmer was not enthusiastic. + +“When?” she asked. + +[Illustration: “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 by _zwei_ t’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 little less 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 course of 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 too far, 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 mono_pol_ists 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. + +“_Zwei_ t’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. + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL SCHEME + + +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 them by 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 been tricked. +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 can _talk_ you 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 impress upon 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, contemplating such 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 that turned 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, of the 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 he could +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 had found 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-night dances 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 devil do 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 crack under 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 Monday morning, 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 regular work. +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 policy unassailable, +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 thing himself, 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 their _coup_ by 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.” + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL COURTSHIP + + +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 assured +reasonable 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 girls who 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 +might have 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 give her 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. + +“By thunder! I never thought of that!” he cried. + +“That’s the trouble with lots of men,” remarked the friend dryly. +“Marriage is considered a dual arrangement when it should be a +triple—man, woman and life insurance. That’s the only really safe +combination. The thoughtful lover will see that the life insurance agent +and the minister are interviewed about the same time.” + +“Where did you learn all that?” asked the astonished Harry. + +“Oh, it’s not original with me,” was the reply. “I heard Dave Murray +talk about insurance once. He’s an enthusiast. He claims that the best +possible wedding gift is a paid-up life insurance policy, and I guess +he’s right. It would be a mighty appropriate gift from the groom’s +father to the bride—a blame sight better than a check or a diamond +necklace. A paid-up policy for five thousand would look just as big as a +five-thousand-dollar check, and it wouldn’t cost nearly as much—unless +the old man plans to sneak back the check before it can be cashed. And +what a lot of good it might do at a time when the need may be the +greatest! If the bride is the one to be considered in selecting a +wedding gift, as I understand to be the case, what better than this?” + +“I guess Dave Murray is the man for me,” said Harry in admiration of the +originality of this idea. + +“Of course he is,” asserted the friend. “And if you want to make the +argument stronger for your wavering girl, get an accident insurance +policy, with a sick benefit clause, also, and then take out a little old +age insurance. There ought to be no trouble about giving her all the +assurance necessary to allay her fears.” + +Harry was a good risk, and he had no difficulty in getting a policy. He +saw Murray personally, but, as he did not explain his purpose or +situation, their conference was brief: Murray merely asked if he thought +a thousand-dollar policy was all he could afford. + +“Because,” said Murray, “when you go after a good thing it’s wise to +take all you can of it. There ought to be enough so that something can +be found after your estate is settled.” + +“I’d make it five hundred if I could,” said Harry. + +“Most of the good companies,” said Murray, “wisely protect a man from +his own economical folly by refusing to issue a policy for less than a +thousand.” + +“It’s an experiment. A fellow doesn’t want to put too much money into an +experiment.” + +Murray, the resourceful Murray, was bewildered. Life insurance an +experiment! Surely he could not mean that. + +“Well,” he said, “your widow will be pretty sure to think the experiment +a success.” + +“I haven’t got a widow,” asserted Harry. + +“Of course not; but you may have.” + +“How can I have a widow when I am dead?” asked Harry. “How can I have +anything when I am dead?” + +“You can’t tell by the looks of an electric wire how highly it is +charged,” mused Murray. “I guess I touched this one too recklessly.” +Then to Harry: “But there may be _a_ widow.” + +“There may,” returned Harry. + +“Well, she’ll be sorry you didn’t experiment on a larger scale, because +it really isn’t an experiment at all. There’s only one thing surer than +insurance.” + +“What’s that?” asked Harry with interest. + +“Death; and, with the popular gold bonds or any limited payment policy, +you have a chance to beat death by some years. But suit yourself.” + +So Harry took the physical examination and got the policy, payable to +his estate. Then he promptly assigned it to Alice. + +“There’s one thousand dollars sure, if anything should happen to me,” he +said. “That beats any old elusive two thousand that Tom Nelson may +have.” + +“You’re a dear, good, faithful boy, Harry,” she said impulsively, and +she gave him a kiss. + +That was happiness enough for that day and the next, but on the third he +began to get down to earth again and deemed the time propitious. + +“You’ll marry me?” he suggested. + +“Perhaps,” was her reply. + +“Perhaps!” he cried. “It’s always perhaps.” + +“Perhaps it won’t be always perhaps,” she returned. + +In truth, she had wavered so long that she found it difficult to make up +her mind. Besides, Tom was prospering, Tom was devoted, and Tom was a +nice fellow. True, he was twenty-six while she was only eighteen, and +Harry, at twenty, was nearer her own age, but—well, aside from any +question of the future, it was rather nice to have two men so devotedly +attentive. Then, too, Tom spent his money more freely, and she derived +the benefit in present pleasures. There was no hurry; the future was now +brighter, whichever she chose, and, things being so nearly equal, there +was even less reason for haste. Alice, in addition to her dread of +poverty, was a natural flirt: she enjoyed the power she exerted over +these two men. But she said nothing to Tom of Harry’s latest move; +perhaps she thought it would be unfair, or perhaps she was a trifle +truer to Harry than to Tom. + +Harry, in his “simple” way, misinterpreted this irresolution. He was too +devoted to criticize; he had begun to understand her dread and to think +that she was quite right in taking such a very worldly view of the +situation. Why should she not, so far as possible, endeavor to make her +future secure? It was for him to convince her of his thoughtfulness and +his ability to provide for her. Thereupon he got an accident insurance +policy. + +“You’re awfully thoughtful, Harry,” she said. “I like you.” + +“I don’t want you to worry,” said Harry, flattered and pleased. + +“I’m not worrying,” she told him. + +“But I am,” he retorted ruefully. + +“Men,” she asserted, “are _so_ impatient.” + +Harry could not quite agree to this—he thought he had been wonderfully +patient. In his straightforward way he began to ponder the matter +deeply. It had seemed to him he was doing a wonderfully clever thing +that ought to settle the matter definitely. Had he made a mistake? If +so, what was necessary to rectify it? Incidentally, he heard that some +of Tom Nelson’s little speculations had turned out favorably, and Tom +was still quite as devoted as ever and seemed to be received with as +much favor. Then to Harry came an idea—a really brilliant idea, he +thought. + +“Perhaps,” he told himself, “I ought not to have assigned that policy to +her; perhaps I ought to have kept it in my control so that a wedding +would be necessary to give her the benefit of it. As it is now, she has +the policy, no matter whom she marries. I don’t think she would—” + +Without finishing the sentence, Harry knitted his brow and shook his +head. It was not a pleasant thought—he told himself it was an unjust +thought—but, as he had gone in to win, he might as well take every +precaution. If the conditions were a little different, it might put an +end to her flirtatious mood and compel a more serious consideration of +his suit; it might have a tendency to emphasize his point and “wake her +up,” as he expressed it. Possibly, it was just the argument needed. + +With this in mind, he again called upon Murray. + +“I’m in a little trouble,” he explained. “I ought to have had that +policy made out to my wife.” + +“It makes no difference, unless the estate is involved in some way,” +explained Murray. “She’ll get it through—” + +“It makes a big difference,” interrupted Harry. “You see, I’ve got to +get the wife.” + +“What!” ejaculated Murray. “Say that again, please.” + +“Why, if I had an insurance policy in favor of my wife, it would make it +easier to get the wife, wouldn’t it?” + +“Thunder!” exclaimed Murray. “I thought I was pretty well up on +insurance financiering, but this beats me. Are you hanging an insurance +policy up as a sort of prize package?” + +“That’s it, that’s it!” cried Harry, pleased to find the situation so +quickly comprehended. “The other fellow is worth more, but insurance +looks bigger than anything else I can buy for the money, and I want to +show her how much safer she will be with me than with him.” + +“You’re all right,” laughed Murray, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to marry +first. We can’t very well make a policy payable to a person who doesn’t +exist, and you have no wife now. When you have one, bring the policy +back if you’re not satisfied to have it payable to the estate, and—” + +“But she’s got it.” + +“Who?” + +“The girl. I assigned it to her, so she doesn’t have to marry me to get +the benefit. That wasn’t good business.” + +Murray leaned back in his chair and looked at the youth with amusement +and curiosity. + +“No,” he said at last, “that may have been good sentiment, but it wasn’t +good business. And,” he added jokingly, “I don’t know that this +transaction is quite legal.” + +“Why not?” asked Harry anxiously. + +“Well, we’re not allowed to give prizes, and, if a girl goes with the +policy, it looks a good deal like a prize-package affair. I’m not sure +that that wouldn’t be considered worse than giving rebates on premiums.” + +“You’ve got the wrong idea,” argued Harry with solemn earnestness. “The +girl doesn’t go with the policy, but the policy goes with me. At least, +that’s what I intended.” + +“Better try it again with another policy,” suggested Murray. “Make it +payable to your estate, and then hang on to it until you get the girl. +Let me give you a word of advice, too, although it’s not exactly to my +interest.” + +“Well?” + +“Well, the policy that you gave to her doesn’t amount to much if you +stop paying premiums on it. You might suggest that to her.” + +“By George! I never thought of that!” exclaimed the youth. “I guess I +haven’t much of a financial head.” + +“Oh, you’re all right,” returned Murray. “You’re the first fellow I ever +knew who made a matrimonial bureau of an insurance office. I’ve got +something to learn about this business yet.” + +With his second policy in his pocket, Harry reverted quite casually to +the subject of insurance, although he had first taken the precaution to +have a lot of insurance literature sent to Alice. From this she learned +that nothing could quite equal it in making the future secure. + +“I have decided,” said Harry in an offhand way, “that the best +investment for a young man who has any one dependent upon him is life +insurance. I have just taken out another policy for a thousand dollars.” + +“How thoughtful of you!” exclaimed Alice. + +“It’s on the twenty-year endowment plan,” explained Harry. “At the end +of twenty years the whole sum may be drawn down or it may be left to +accumulate. As provision for the future, I guess that makes any two or +three thousand in the bank look like thirty cents.” + +“You’re awfully good to me,” said Alice, for this apparent evidence of +unselfish devotion, in addition to what had preceded it, really made her +reproach herself for her capriciousness. But it was such jolly fun to +keep two men anxious! + +“The insurance,” Harry went on, “is payable to my estate.” + +“What does that mean, Harry?” she asked. + +“It means,” replied Harry, “that a girl has got to marry me to get a +chance at it.” + +“I always did like you, Harry.” + +“Yes?” + +“But you’re so impatient.” + +Harry was beginning to develop a little strategical ingenuity. + +“There is no need,” he said, “to make a secret of this. I’m not ashamed +to have all the girls know that I am making proper provision for the one +who becomes my wife.” + +“Harry Renway,” exclaimed Alice, “if you make our private affairs a +subject of public gossip I’ll never speak to you again as long as I +live.” + +Thereupon Harry demonstrated that he was not as “simple” as he was +supposed to be, for he promptly returned the kiss that she had given him +on a previous occasion. There could be no misinterpreting “our” private +affairs. + +“When?” he asked. + +“Oh, pretty soon,” she replied, for the flirtatious instinct was still +in evidence. Besides, under the circumstances, too much haste might be +in poor taste. However, their friends were told of the engagement, and +that was something. Tom Nelson was angry and disgusted. + +“The fool!” he exclaimed. “A live man wants to have the use of his +money, and he has tied himself up with insurance. That isn’t my way.” + +“But he got the girl,” some one suggested. + +“Not yet,” retorted Tom, “and you never can tell.” + +In truth, it seemed as if Tom’s insinuation was almost prophetic, for +Alice procrastinated and postponed in a most tormenting way, and Harry +took it all in good part for two or three months. There was no +particular reason for this delay, as the preliminaries of such a wedding +as they would have could be arranged very quickly, and in time it tried +the patience even of Harry. + +“The semi-annual premium on that first policy is due the day after +to-morrow,” he remarked one evening. + +“Well?” she returned inquiringly. + +“If the premium isn’t paid the policy lapses,” he went on. + +“But you’ll pay it?” + +“For my wife I will.” + +She gave him a quick look and knew that he was not going to be swayed +this time by her little cajoleries. + +“But, Harry,” she protested, “that’s so—so soon.” + +“I have the license in my pocket,” he said; “there’s a church within two +blocks, and I saw a light in the pastor’s study as I came by. I guess +we’ve waited long enough. Let’s go out for a little stroll.” + + * * * * * + +It was six months later that Harry again met Dave Murray, but Murray +remembered him. + +“Did you get the prize with your policy?” asked Murray. + +“Sure,” replied Harry. + +“Was it a good prize?” + +“Bully!” said Harry. “A little hard to handle just at first, but you can +do almost anything with insurance.” + +“You certainly have made good use of it,” laughed Murray. + +“You bet I have,” answered Harry with some pride. “Why, say! an +insurance policy is the greatest thing in the world for family +discipline.” + +“For what!” exclaimed Murray. + +“Family discipline. The first time we had a little rumpus she had me +going seven ways for Sunday until I thought of the insurance policies. +‘Well,’ said I, ‘if I’m not the head of the house there’s no reason why +I should be paying insurance premiums, and I’ll default on the next one. +The head of the house looks after things of that sort,’ I told her, and +that settled it. I’m the head of the house, and, if I don’t play it too +strong, I’ve got the thing to maintain discipline.” + +“Don’t you want another policy?” laughed Murray. + +“Well,” returned Harry thoughtfully, “if I could get the same kind of +prize with another, and if it wasn’t against the law, I rather think I +might be tempted to do it. Anyhow, there can’t anybody tell me there’s +nothing in insurance, for I know better.” + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL SACRIFICE + + +“I guess it’s all up with us,” said Sidney Kalin despairingly. + +“It looks that way,” admitted his brother, Albert Kalin. + +The father, Jonas Kalin, sat at his desk with his head half-buried in +his hands. + +“There is no chance for an extension, of course,” he said wearily. + +“I should say not,” returned Sidney. “Telmer bought up the mortgage for +just one purpose, and his only hope of success lies in foreclosing. He +wants to get his hands on the invention.” + +“Will he take an interest in the business?” asked Jonas. + +“Why should he, when he can get the only thing he wants without?” +returned Sidney. + +“What does Dempsey say?” persisted the senior Kalin. + +“It’s out of his line,” answered Albert, to whom the question was +addressed. “If five thousand would straighten the thing out, he might +risk it, but he wouldn’t put up a cent more than that, and he’d want a +twenty-five per cent. interest in the business for that sum.” + +“And, if we can save it, the thing is worth a fortune,” groaned Jonas. +“We’ve got a start already, and there’s almost no limit to the +possibilities. It ought to be worth fifty thousand a year inside of +three years. He doesn’t want much.” + +“Well, he’s out of the question, anyway,” said Sidney. “We’ve got to +have twenty-five thousand, and we’ve got to have it mighty soon.” + +“My life insurance is more than that,” mused Jonas. + +“What good does that do?” retorted Sidney rather sharply. “Even if you +wanted to surrender it, the cash surrender value is less than ten +thousand at the present time.” + +“That would help,” argued Jonas. + +“Nothing will help that doesn’t put the full sum needed within our +reach,” asserted Albert. “We’re about due to begin life over again with +a little less than nothing.” + +“I’ll think it over,” said Jonas, rising and wearily reaching for his +hat. “I’ve always weathered the storms before. Perhaps I’ll find a way +to weather this one.” + +Jonas Kalin once had been accounted a successful real estate man, but he +had lost a good deal of money in speculation, and the time and thought +he gave to speculation had had an injurious effect upon his business. +One of the sons had been for a time in the employ of a manufacturer of +fountain pens. Later the elder Kalin had started both boys, as an +independent firm, in that line of business, their pen differing +sufficiently from others to avoid any infringement of patents on +patented features. They had made no great amount of money, indeed barely +a living income, but they had kept out of debt until Sidney invented a +machine for finishing the shell or case of the pen. + +His experiments had been rather costly, and the machine had been costly +to construct, but he had convinced his father that it was a good thing, +and Jonas had given up his dwindling real estate business and put what +money he had left into his sons’ firm, becoming a partner in the +enterprise. Even then it had been found necessary to borrow twenty-five +thousand dollars in order to establish the business on the new and +larger basis, giving a mortgage on the entire plant, which included the +new machine, and this mortgage had passed into the hands of a more +prosperous business rival at a time when the value of the invention was +just becoming apparent. This invention largely reduced the cost of +production, but the exploiting so far done, although expensive and +reasonably successful, had not enabled the Kalins to accumulate anything +to meet their obligation. Indeed, believing they would have no +difficulty in securing an extension, they had not worried about this +until they found themselves in the power of a rival. + +The machine had not been patented, for reasons that most successful +inventors will readily understand. While a patent is supposed to protect +the inventor, it does not do so in many instances; on the contrary, it +frequently gives a rival just the information he needs to duplicate the +device with technical variations that will at least make the question of +infringement a difficult one to decide. The inventor of limited means, +opposed by a company with almost unlimited capital, is at a serious +disadvantage when he gets into the courts, and there are cases where the +value of an invention has been largely destroyed by having the market +flooded with the article before the legal rights can be definitely +determined. There is hardly a single patented device of great value that +has not been the basis of long and costly litigation, involving either +the unauthorized use or manufacture of the device as it is or the use or +manufacture of a device suggested by the original and differing from it +only enough to give technical plausibility to the plea that it is not an +infringement. Even the great Edison is reported to have said that he has +made practically no money on his patents, but has had to enter the +manufacturing business to get any material benefit from his inventions. + +“When you patent an invention,” the Kalins had been informed by a man of +experience in such matters, “you are furnishing ammunition to the enemy. +You are giving him your secret, and he will put some smart men at work +to discover some method of using it himself. Edison is still busy with +inventions, but you don’t see his name in the patent reports any more. +He has become too wise for that. Secrecy is the best protection, +provided you have something that can be kept secret.” + +All this Jonas Kalin reviewed as he walked slowly and with bowed head +toward his club. They had kept their invention secret, they had +advertised extensively, and now, just as they were beginning to get +returns on their investment, the dream was shattered. They had tried to +interest various capitalists, but capitalists could not see the future +as they saw it. Capital is exceptionally conservative when there is a +question of investing in inventions that it does not understand, for +inventors are proverbially optimistic and not infrequently cost capital +a good deal of money. + +“Thirty thousand dollars of life insurance!” muttered Jonas, as he +settled himself in a corner of the reading-room. “If we could have the +use of that money for a year we would be all right.” + +Jonas was a widower, but his wife had been living when he had taken out +this insurance. Now it would go to the sons eventually, if they survived +him, but, meanwhile, they would lose a fortune. Since the death of his +wife, Jonas had given his every thought to the boys and their future. He +reproached himself for the speculations that had deprived him of the +power of helping them as he had planned in earlier days; he felt that +somehow he had defrauded them. So deeply did he feel this that from the +day he gave up his real estate business he never had put one dollar into +a speculation of any kind, except so far as his investment in their +business was a speculation. + +“If we could make that go,” he mused, as he crouched miserably in the +big chair, “I should be content. I owe it to the boys to see them fairly +started. I was in a position to do it once and I lost the money +foolishly—their money, by rights, for I had put it aside for them. And +here am I, almost useless—a business wreck—too old to begin again as an +employee and lacking the capital to be an employer or to do business of +any sort for myself. Instead of helping my boys, I am to be a burden to +them—until I die. I am of value only in the grave.” He shuddered and +seemed to sink still lower in the chair. “It is my duty to do what I can +for them,” he added. “I am useless, but life is before them—a +continuation of my life. I must be a success through my sons.” + +Benson, a friend, stopped near him. + +“What’s the matter, Kalin?” asked Benson. “You look blue.” + +Kalin looked up at Benson in a dazed way, and for a moment seemed to be +unable to grasp the fact that he had been addressed. + +“Benson,” he said at last, his eyes wandering dreamily about the room, +“is a man ever justified in committing suicide?” + +Benson was startled, but he replied promptly and emphatically, “Never.” + +“Suppose,” Kalin went on, “that your life intervened between those you +love and happiness; suppose that your life meant misery and failure for +them, while your death meant success and—and comfort.” + +Benson drew up a chair and placed his hand on Kalin’s arm as if to +emphasize his words. + +“_The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away_,” he quoted earnestly. +“Life is God’s gift and should be treasured as such. You may not return +it until He calls, unless you would doubt His wisdom.” + +Kalin nodded his head thoughtfully. + +“Men have gone to certain death for those they love and been glorified +for so doing,” he argued. + +“A man may _give_ his own life to save the life of another and be a +hero,” returned Benson, “but he may not _take_ his own life for any +cause and be aught but a coward.” + +“What matters it whether he takes it or gives it, so long as the purpose +is the same?” asked Kalin. + +Benson gripped the arm on which his hand lay and shook Kalin. + +“Wake up!” he commanded sharply. “What’s the matter with you to-day?” + +Kalin roused himself, as if from a dream, and laughed in a forced, +dreary way. + +“Nothing is the matter with me,” he replied. “I must have been reading +something that gave my thoughts a morbid turn. Still, your reasoning +seems to be that of a man who never has been tested. Your view has been +my view, but I can see how a man’s views may change when he is +confronted by the actual conditions concerning which he has previously +only theorized. I don’t think you’re right.” + +“It’s a disagreeable subject, even for abstract consideration,” asserted +Benson. “Let’s drop it.” + +“All right,” said Kalin. “I’m going in to lunch.” + +In the dining-room he got into an obscure corner and the waiter had to +joggle his elbow to rouse him from the reverie into which he immediately +fell. Then, after barely tasting the lunch he ordered, he went to the +office of the club and asked that all charges against him be footed up. + +“There’s nothing against me at all now?” he said inquiringly as he paid +the bill. + +“Nothing at all, sir,” replied the clerk. + +“I’d hate to leave any club debts,” he remarked, as if talking aloud to +himself. + +At his office he found his sons still gloomily discussing the situation. + +“I think,” he said, “that I have found a way to save the business.” + +“How?” they asked eagerly. + +“The details are not quite clear in my mind yet,” he replied. “I would +like to give them a little more thought before explaining the matter. +But, if I succeed in pulling you through, you boys must be mighty +careful in the future. A concern doesn’t get out of this kind of hole +twice, and I’m going to turn it all over to you.” + +“Why?” asked Albert in surprise. + +“I ruined one business,” was the reply. “One is enough. Be cautious. Go +slow. You’ve got a good thing—a fortune—if you handle your finances +properly and don’t try to spread out too fast.” + +He shook hands with both the boys, to their great bewilderment. + +“Where are you going?” asked Sidney. “One would think you were starting +on a long journey.” + +“I’m taking leave of the business,” he answered, with a laugh that had +something of pathos in it. “I’m going to shut myself up for a day or so +until I get my little scheme elaborated, and then you shall have the +benefit of it, but I am out of active business.” + +Sidney and Albert were silent for some time after he had left. Jonas +Kalin always had been a rather eccentric man, and they were accustomed +to letting his whims and peculiarities of word and action pass without +comment, but there was something in this parting that made them feel +uncomfortable. + +“I don’t like it,” remarked Sidney. “I wonder if the worry and +disappointment have been too much for him.” + +“It is a hard blow to him—not for himself, but for us,” returned Albert. +“However, we’ll see him this evening.” + +Mrs. Albert Kalin was the housekeeper for the three men. Sidney, being a +bachelor, had always lived with his father, but Albert had married and +moved away from the parental roof. Then, when his mother died, Jonas had +called him back and practically turned the house over to him and his +wife, reserving only one large room for himself. In this he had his own +little library, and to this he frequently retired for long evenings of +solitude, for, while not a recluse, he was a man who really needed no +other companionship than his own thoughts and often seemed to avoid the +society of others. + +He was not at home, however, when his sons arrived for dinner. Mrs. +Albert Kalin said he had brought home two or three bundles early in the +afternoon, had gone directly to his room, where he remained for about an +hour, and had then appeared with a valise. + +“I never saw him look so haggard and distressed,” she explained. “He +kissed me most affectionately and said he had some business to attend to +and would not be home to-night.” + +Late that evening Sidney Kalin went to his father’s club, where he saw +Benson and learned enough to send him to police headquarters. There was +no publicity, but a search for the missing man was begun at once. The +circumstances were, to say the least, disquieting. + +At the moment this search was begun Jonas Kalin was crossing Lake +Michigan on one of the large steamers, and his actions were such as to +attract the attention of some of the other passengers. It was a Friday +night boat and was crowded with excursionists bound for a Saturday and +Sunday outing in Michigan. Jonas had a state-room, but he merely put his +valise in it, and then paced the deck, occasionally stopping to lean +over the rail and look down at the water. Once or twice he sought a +secluded corner and sat for a time buried in thought, but he moved away +the moment others stopped near him. About eleven o’clock, as he passed +through the main cabin, he saw a woman putting a little boy to bed on a +sofa, and he offered her his state-room. + +“I’m very grateful to you, sir,” she replied, “but we couldn’t think of +taking it. You’ll need it yourself.” + +“I shall not sleep to-night,” he said. “It will be vacant unless you +take it. Shove the valise into a corner somewhere and I’ll get it in the +morning.” + +He dropped the state-room key on a chair and disappeared through a door +leading to the deck before she could make further protest, but his face +haunted her all that night. In the morning, after some search, she found +him huddled up on a camp-stool against the rail of the forward deck, and +she thanked him again. + +“You don’t look well,” she ventured. “Can I do anything for you?” + +“It’s not a question of what any one can do for me,” he answered, “but +of what I can do for others.” + +“I don’t understand you, sir,” she said. + +“It’s a good thing you don’t,” he returned, and, fearing that she had to +deal with a crazy man, she left him. + +After landing, he went directly to a hotel, engaged a room, and shut +himself up in it until afternoon. Then he went to the dock and wandered +nervously back and forth, looking out over the water and occasionally +down into it. The dock men watched him curiously, and one of them +loosened a life-preserver that hung near, but he went back to the hotel +without giving them an opportunity to use it. + +He kept close to his room at the hotel, and was so unobtrusive that the +clerks and the other guests hardly realized he was there, and, being +registered under an assumed name, not one of them recognized him as the +Jonas Kalin who was described in the Sunday papers as being missing. +For, the secret search Friday night and Saturday failing to reveal any +trace of him, his sons had decided to try the effect of publicity. + +It was not until he had surrendered his room Sunday night that his +identity was established. On the table was found a letter, sealed, +addressed to Sidney Kalin. + +“Kalin!” cried the clerk, when the letter was brought to him. “Good +Lord! that’s the man who disappeared. And there’s a reward for +information. I remember, too, he had all the Sunday papers sent to his +room, and then kept out of the way until the moment he left.” + +The clerk looked at the letter, uncertain as to what he ought to do. +Finally, he decided to get the Chicago police department on the +long-distance telephone. + +“Jonas Kalin has been here for two days under an assumed name,” he +reported, “but his identity was discovered only after he had taken the +night boat back to Chicago. He left a letter. It is sealed and addressed +to Sidney Kalin.” + +“We’ll notify Kalin and meet the boat,” was the prompt reply. “Hold the +letter until you hear from Kalin.” + +A little later Kalin called up the hotel and instructed that the letter +be mailed to him at once. As Jonas was already on his way back, nothing +would be gained by having its contents transmitted by telephone. He was +beyond reach until the boat arrived. + +It was an anxious little crowd that waited at the wharf for the arrival +of the boat. There were Albert and Sidney Kalin, two detectives and some +newspaper men. The news of Jonas Kalin’s sojourn across the lake was +already in the morning papers, having come by telegraph, and there was +natural curiosity to learn the reason for this strange procedure. In +addition, there was an undefined and unexpressed feeling that there +might be a tragedy back of it. In any event, there was a mystery. + +The boat reached its dock before five o’clock, but the state-room +passengers had the privilege of sleeping until seven, so only the +excursionists who had been obliged to sit up all night left the boat at +once. There were many of these, however—a weary and disheveled lot of +individuals, groups and couples straggling along to the dock. They were +talking of something that had happened during the night, or was supposed +to have happened. Something or some one certainly had gone over the +rail, for the splash was distinctly heard, and an excitable passenger +had raised the cry of “Man overboard!” The boat had been stopped, but +investigation had failed to discover an actual witness to any such +accident, although two people were sure they had seen something in the +water just after the splash. The captain, however, insisted that it was +all the result of some nervous person’s imagination. + +To Albert and Sidney Kalin these rumors brought sinking hearts and a +great dread. It took them a little time to locate the state-room that +had been occupied by their father, but a description of him, coupled +with the name he had used at the hotel, enabled them to do it. + +His valise alone was found. + +Several people remembered the haggard man who had tramped the deck so +restlessly. He seemed to be in great mental distress, anxious only to +keep away from all companionship, and no one could recall having seen +him after the cry of “Man overboard!” Even the captain had finally to +admit that it was probable he had lost a passenger, although, of course, +no blame whatever attached to him or to any of the boat’s crew. + +Then came the letter that had been forwarded from the hotel. It was +pathetically brief and to the point, as follows: + + “My Dear Sons: The insurance money will pull you through. It is all + that I can give you. Your success is dearer to me than anything else + in the world. Your affectionate father, + + Jonas Kalin. + +Of course, Dave Murray read the story in the papers—all but the letter. +That was brought to him later by Albert Kalin. + +“We wish to give you all the facts, without reservation,” Albert +explained. “Father did this for us to save the firm, to save an almost +priceless invention.” The young man choked a little. “We have hoped +against hope that his letter might prove to be capable of some other +interpretation, or that he may have changed his mind after writing it, +and we have left no stone unturned—” + +“Neither have we,” said Murray quietly. “Perhaps we know more than you.” + +“Have you got trace of him?” asked Albert quickly, and his face showed a +dawn of hope that could not be misunderstood: he actually believed his +father dead and would welcome any evidence to the contrary. It was not +the expression of a man who was principally interested in the payment of +the insurance money, although he was naturally presenting his and his +brother’s claim. + +“I am sorry to say we have not,” replied Murray, “but neither have we +any proof of death.” + +Albert plainly showed his disappointment at Murray’s first statement, +and it was a moment or two before he replied to the second. + +“I do not know your rules or aims,” he said, “but it is possible—indeed +almost probable, under the circumstances—that there never will be any +absolute proof of death. It—it happened in mid-lake, you know.” + +“Our aim,” returned Murray, “is to pay every claim that we are convinced +is just, without resorting to any quibbling or technical evasions, but +we have to be careful. In saying this, I am merely stating a general +proposition, without particular reference to this affair. Indeed, I +concede that the presumption of death is unusually strong in this case. +I shall be glad to have any facts bearing on it that you can give me.” + +Albert fully reviewed the circumstances as he knew them, to all of which +Murray listened attentively. + +“I shall make a complete report to the home office,” said Murray at the +conclusion of the recital. “Of course, after the lapse of a certain +period there is a legal presumption of death, anyhow, but it is possible +that the circumstantial evidence may be deemed strong enough to warrant +an earlier settlement. Knowing the ostensible motive, I appreciate the +value of time to you, and I assure you the company has no desire to +delay matters longer than is necessary to assure itself of the justice +of the claim.” + +After Albert had departed, Murray went over the case carefully, and the +evidence seemed quite convincing. In the first place, there could be no +question as to a very strong motive. There was the certainty of ruin, +which the death of Jonas alone could avert, and, after a lapse of two +years from the date of the policy, suicide did not invalidate it. +Therefore, by his own sacrifice, he could purchase a bright future for +his sons. Then there could be no doubt that he had been depressed and +worried for some time, and latterly unquestionably had brooded on the +subject of self-destruction. In a talk with one man he had spoken of it +as “self-elimination,” but he had spoken more bluntly to Benson at the +club. There could be no doubt now that he contemplated such action at +that time, and that he had reference to it when he told his sons he had +discovered a way to raise the necessary money. Everything indicated that +his troubles had made him temporarily insane. + +Then there was the evidence of the woman to whom he had resigned his +state-room on the boat, and of various other passengers who had noted +his restlessness and his misery. One woman even asserted that she had +said to a companion at the time that there was a man who contemplated +some desperate act. It seemed probable that he had planned to jump +overboard that first night, but had been deterred, either by lack of a +favorable opportunity or because his courage failed him. His actions at +the hotel, and especially at the dock, were wholly consistent with this +theory, and the blunt note he left was further evidence of mental +derangement. Although his purpose in no way affected his policy, a man +in his right mind would hardly have stated it so frankly; indeed, a sane +man probably would have tried to give the appearance of accident to his +death. Finally, he had boarded the return boat and was missing when the +boat reached Chicago, although his strange actions had directed +particular attention to him during the early part of the trip. + +After a brief delay the company paid the policy. The circumstantial +evidence could hardly be more convincing, and the body of a man who +drowned himself in mid-lake might never be recovered. + + * * * * * + +It was several years later that Albert Kalin called upon Murray and +introduced himself a second time. + +“We have just heard from father,” he said. + +“What!” cried Murray. + +“He died in South America,” explained Albert; “died there miserably—not +because of any poverty, but because he was an exile and felt that he was +a swindler. He left a letter which was forwarded to us. His life, he +said, had been one long torture since that night on the boat, and he had +a thousand times regretted that he did not actually throw himself into +the lake. I fear,” added Albert sadly, “that he really did commit +suicide finally. He made one dying request. I would like to read it to +you.” + +Albert took a letter from his pocket and read this paragraph: + +“My life as an exiled swindler has been hell, but I have seen the +Chicago papers and I know that I saved the firm and the invention and +that you have prospered. That has been my only consolation. It would +have been some relief if I could have communicated with you, but I would +not make you a party to my crime. Now, at last, I ask you to do +something for the old man: Refund to the insurance company every cent +you received, less the premiums I actually paid. Refund it all, if +necessary, but make my record clear. That was the only dishonest act of +a long business career, and God only knows how I have suffered for it. +You have prospered, you can do this, and I know you will. It is that +alone that gives me consolation as my period of punishment at last draws +to a close.” + +“How did he do it?” asked Murray, before Albert could speak. + +“He purchased and took with him a second-hand suit of clothes and a +wig,” explained Albert. “He cut off his whiskers and mustache, so that +he appeared as a man who had neglected to shave for a week—a pretty good +disguise in itself, for father was always neat and clean. The clothes he +had worn went overboard with a weight attached, which accounts for the +splash, and he himself raised the cry of ‘Man overboard!’ After that he +kept out of the light, and he had little difficulty in slipping ashore +while we were hunting his state-room. His mental distress was real, for +he was leaving all he held dear and condemning himself to exile.” + +“Well,” commented Murray, “I guess the circumstances would have fooled +any one, for his whole previous life made him about the last man who +would be suspected of anything of that sort.” + +“And now,” said Albert, “my brother and I are prepared to make a cash +settlement with you on any basis that you deem satisfactory.” + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL DISCOVERY + + +The applicant for insurance was nervous and ill at ease, but that alone +was not sufficient to make Dave Murray suspicious. A man taking out his +first policy is very often nervous—he dreads the physical examination in +many instances. He may think he is all right, but he fears the +possibility of some serious latent trouble. If there is anything +radically and incurably wrong with the average man, he prefers not to +know it. He may not say so, but he does. He goes before the medical +examiner with the fear that he may learn something disagreeable. + +“I’m fairly contented now,” he says to himself, if he happens to be +practical enough to put his thoughts into words, “but life will be a +haunting hell to me if I learn that I am not a good risk. That will mean +at least the probability of an early death. It will not change +conditions, but it will seem to bring death nearer.” + +These thoughts do not come to the very young man, but they do come to +the man who has passed, or is passing, the optimism of youth. In the +words of Dave Murray, “One of the great annoyances of the life insurance +business is that the very young man is too well and strong to want to be +insured, and the man of middle age is afraid of learning that he is not +as well and strong as he thinks he is. We have to fight optimism first +and cowardice later. Theoretically, the ‘risk’ ought to be caught young, +but, practically, it is easier to catch him when he has begun to +appreciate the responsibilities of life. The optimism is more difficult +to overcome than the cowardice.” + +Nevertheless, the man who has neglected to take out insurance when he +could get the best rate is likely to be nervous when he applies for it +later, however hard he may try to conceal the fact. And Elmer Harkness +was nervous. He was a year short of forty, apparently in the best +physical condition, but he was unusually nervous. He hesitated over his +answers to the most ordinary questions, he corrected himself once or +twice, and he betrayed a strong desire to get through with the ordeal in +the quickest possible time. When, at last, he was able to leave, the +physician having completed his examination, he gave a very audible sigh +of relief. + +“There’s something about this I don’t like,” commented Murray a little +later. + +“What?” asked the doctor. + +“That’s the trouble,” returned Murray. “I can’t say exactly what it is, +but I have a feeling that something is wrong. We’ve had nervous men here +before. Remember the fellow who was brought up by his wife and who would +have ducked and run if he could have got the chance? He was nervous +enough, but not in the same way. He was afraid he would find he was +going to die next week, but this fellow was shifty. How does he stand +physically, doctor?” + +“Fine,” answered the doctor. “You couldn’t ask a better risk.” + +“Well, he doesn’t get the policy until I’ve made a pretty thorough +investigation, in addition to the usual investigation from +headquarters,” announced Murray. + +It took a good deal really to disturb Murray, but this case disturbed +him before he got through with it. His first discovery was that Elmer +Harkness had been refused insurance by another company some years +previous. This information came from the home office, which had secured +it through the “clearing-house.” + +“The risk was refused,” said the report, “on the advice of the company’s +physician.” + +“Must be another Harkness,” said the doctor, when Murray told him about +it. “This man was in splendid physical condition.” + +“The Elmer Harkness refused,” said Murray, consulting the papers before +him, “was born at Madison, Indiana, January twentieth, 1866, and that is +the place and date of birth given by the man who applied to us. You +don’t suppose there were twins, do you?” + +“Might look it up,” suggested the doctor. + +“Of course, I’ll look it up,” returned Murray. “It’s mighty funny that a +man who was refused on physical grounds five years ago should be a +superb risk now.” + +“There’s one satisfaction,” remarked the doctor. “With the safeguards +thrown around the business in these modern days, a man can’t very well +beat us.” + +“There’s no game that can’t be beaten,” asserted Murray emphatically. +“There is no burglar-proof safe. With improvements in safes there has +come a corresponding improvement in cracksmen’s methods. No man is so +much superior to all other men that he can devise a thing so perfect +that some other can not find the flaw that makes it temporarily +worthless. The burglar-proof safes have to be watched to keep burglars +away from them. The insurance system is as good as we now know how to +make it, but it has to be watched to keep swindlers from punching holes +in it. When we further improve the system they will further improve +their methods, and we’ll have to keep on watching. The business concern +that thinks it has an infallible system to protect itself from loss is +then in the greatest danger.” + +“Do you think this case a swindle?” asked the doctor. + +“It’s better to get facts before reaching conclusions,” replied Murray. +“It may be only an extraordinary coincidence. The man who was refused +insurance was not then living where the man who applied to us is now +living. That’s worth considering.” + +But investigation only made the case the more puzzling. From Madison, +Indiana, a report was received that Elmer Harkness was born there on the +date given, and that nothing was known of any second Elmer Harkness. The +father of the Elmer born at Madison had been Abner Harkness, who was now +dead. The name of the father of the man who had applied to Murray was +given as Abner, and that also was the name of the father of the man +whose application had been previously refused. Elmer, after the death of +his parents, had left Madison, and nothing had been heard of him since, +although he was supposed to be in Chicago. + +“Strange!” commented Murray. “This Madison Harkness is our Harkness, +beyond question, and he also corresponds, except physically, to the +Harkness who was refused.” + +So far as was known at Madison, Harkness was physically sound and well. +He certainly had been considered a strong, healthy man. + +“That,” said Murray, “answers the description of the man who was here, +but it really means nothing, as far as the other refusal is concerned. +Heart trouble was the cause of that refusal, and there hardly would have +been any indication of that to the casual observer. This Madison +Harkness may well have been the man who was refused or the man who +applied to us, but he can hardly be both—unless you have made a mistake, +Doctor.” + +“I’ll examine him again,” said the doctor. + +So he sent for Harkness again, on the plea that he had mislaid the +record of the previous examination, and this time he gave particular +attention to the heart. + +“Normal and strong,” he reported. “No trouble there. It’s possible he +had some slight temporary affection when he was examined for the other +company. The heart is sometimes most deceptive, and there are +occasionally apparent evidences of a serious malady where none really +exists. In some cases I’ve discovered symptoms of heart trouble at one +examination and found them absolutely lacking a little later. This man +is all right.” + +Nevertheless, Murray questioned Harkness closely. + +“Are you sure,” he asked, the question having been previously answered +when the application was made, “that you never were refused by any other +company?” + +“I never applied for insurance before,” replied Harkness, but there was +the same shifty look in his eyes. + +“Did you ever know another Harkness at Madison, Indiana?” + +Harkness looked frightened, but he answered promptly in the negative. + +“Where have you been since you left Madison?” + +Harkness told briefly of his movements. + +“Did you ever live at 1176 Wabash Avenue?” + +“No.” + +The case became even more mystifying. There was a record of only one +Elmer Harkness at Madison, but it was evident that two had applied for +insurance, for the Harkness who had been refused had given his address +as 1176 Wabash Avenue. + +“I am tempted,” said Murray later, “to make a strong adverse report. At +the same time I don’t want to do an injustice and refuse a man who is +rightfully entitled to insurance. My refusal, coupled with the +mystifying record, would make it practically impossible to get insurance +anywhere at any time, and he may be all right.” + +“If there’s a fraud in it anywhere,” remarked the doctor, “there are +some clever and experienced people behind it.” + +“Quite the contrary,” returned Murray. “The experienced people are the +people we catch, because they do things the way one naturally expects. +As a general thing, you will find that the police are fooled, not by the +professional criminal, but by the novice who is ignorant of the ways of +the crook, and the same rule applies to insurance swindles. If there is +anything wrong here our difficulty lies in the fact that this fellow and +those behind him are not experienced and are not going at the thing the +way an experienced swindler would.” + +An attempt to identify the Harkness who had applied for insurance as the +Harkness who had lived at 1176 Wabash Avenue failed utterly, owing to +the fact that the woman who had formerly conducted a boarding-house at +that number had moved and it was impossible to find her. It was a simple +matter, however, to verify other statements made by Harkness. He was now +living at 2313 Wesson Street, and was employed by a large wholesale +grocery firm. His employer spoke highly of him, but knew nothing of his +personal affairs. He might or might not be married. The employer had +been under the impression that he was a bachelor, but could not recall +that Harkness ever had said so. This confusion was partly explained at +the Wesson Street boarding-house, for Harkness had recently told the +landlady that he expected his wife to join him soon. He explained that +she had been visiting relatives during the six months he had been at +this house, but that they were planning to take a small flat. They had +previously had a flat, the address of which he gave, and the agent for +the building remembered that Elmer Harkness had been among his tenants +for two years. He knew very little about them, except that Harkness had +paid his rent promptly and had been a model tenant. + +“And there you are!” grumbled Murray. “He’s all right, and I wouldn’t +hesitate a minute, except for this other Harkness who hailed from the +same place, lived in Wabash Avenue, and was refused insurance. Who was +he? How can there be two Elmers from a town that produced only one?” + +“Possibly it is the same Elmer,” suggested the doctor. “Possibly he was +refused owing to some temporary trouble that deceived the first +physician. Possibly he did live at the Wabash Avenue place, but thought +his chance of getting insurance would be better if he denied that he +ever had been refused, and, having once told that story, he has had to +stick to it. Of course, he had no means of knowing our facilities for +getting information.” + +“I don’t see,” returned Murray, “that our facilities have succeeded in +doing more than confuse us in this case. However, I’ll submit the whole +matter to the home office.” + +After taking some time for consideration, the home office decided that +there was no reason for refusing the risk. + +“If you are sure this man is physically all right,” was the reply +received, “and that he is the man he represents himself to be, there +would seem to be no reason for refusing the risk. There may have been +some attempt at fraud, with which he had nothing to do, in the other +case, and none in this. In any event, if the man who applied to you is a +good risk physically, and a man of good reputation, as your report +indicates, we are willing to give him the policy.” + +In these circumstances there was no reason for refusal. Harkness was a +man of good reputation. Because of the other apparently mythical +Harkness, he had been investigated more thoroughly than was usually +deemed necessary, and his references had proved to be good. The +inquiries had been made cautiously and circumspectly, to avoid giving +offense, and the replies had been generally satisfactory. Nevertheless, +Murray had another talk with him before delivering the policy. + +Harkness told whom and when he married, and the truthfulness of this +statement was capable of easy verification. His wife, he said, had been +away for some time, but was now returning. + +“We shall take a small flat again,” he explained. “I have already +selected one in Englewood—on Sixty-fourth Street. A fellow can get more +for his money out there than he can nearer the city.” + +Then Harkness got his policy, and a little later he notified the company +that he had moved to the Sixty-fourth Street flat. Murray puzzled his +head a little over the mysterious Harkness, and once took the trouble to +learn that the Harkness he had insured was still employed by the +wholesale grocery firm. Then other matters claimed his attention, and +the Harkness case was forgotten. There seemed to be no doubt that it was +a good risk, even if there was a mystery back of it somewhere. + +It was six months later that he was notified of the sudden death at the +Sixty-fourth Street flat of Elmer Harkness, who had a policy in his +company. Instantly the details of the case, and his misgivings at the +time, returned to him. Yet the proof of death, signed by a reputable and +well-known physician, was flawless. A latent heart trouble had developed +suddenly, and Harkness had died within forty-eight hours after he was +stricken. The physician who had attended him never had been called for +Harkness before, but he had been at the flat a number of times to +prescribe for the trifling ailments of Mrs. Harkness, and he had become +well acquainted with the husband. They had moved into the neighborhood +about six months before. + +“It all fits in with what we know of the case,” commented Murray, +“except the heart trouble. That sounds like the mysterious Harkness. +Could you have possibly made any mistake in your examination, Doctor?” + +“Certainly I could,” admitted the company’s physician ruefully. “None of +us is infallible, but I’ll swear there were no indications of any heart +trouble when I examined him. Still, the heart is a mighty deceptive +organ. There may be trouble without any indications of it and there may +be indications without any trouble. I once knew of a man whose heart +seemed to skip a beat once in so often, but the best of medical talent +was unable to discover the cause of it, and the man lived to a good old +age. I don’t claim infallibility, but I never examined a man who seemed +freer from any indications of heart trouble.” + +“I wonder,” said Murray thoughtfully, “if Harkness’ employer has heard +of his death.” + +An insurance company is merciless in following up evidence of attempted +fraud, but, lacking such evidence, it is wise to conduct investigations +with extreme delicacy. A reputation for unnecessary intrusion or +harshness, for a lack of sympathy with the bereaved, for any action that +implies a suspicion of dishonesty when the proof is lacking, may do a +great deal of harm. Every reputable company is anxious to pay all honest +claims with as little inconvenience to the beneficiaries as is +compatible with safety. Such investigation as may be necessary in some +exceptional case is conducted as unobtrusively as possible. + +In this instance, the ordinary proof of death would have been accepted +without question were it not for the mystery of the “heart trouble” that +was supposed not to exist. This, combined with the report on the other +Harkness, was annoying, and, to satisfy himself, Murray sent a man to +the wholesale house where Harkness had been employed. The result was +reassuring, so far as any question of fraud was concerned. The other +clerks were then taking up a subscription to send some flowers to the +funeral, and his illness and death had been reported promptly to the +head of the department in which Harkness had worked. Furthermore, he was +registered as living at the Sixty-fourth Street flat, to which place he +had moved from 2313 Wesson Street. + +“It seems to be all right,” remarked Murray. “This is the man we insured +on the strength of your report, Doctor, and I guess the only thing we +can do is to charge you up with an error of judgment. Fortunately, it’s +only a three-thousand-dollar policy.” + +“I don’t understand it,” said the doctor gloomily. “I wish we could +demand an autopsy.” + +“Hardly justifiable, in view of the circumstances,” returned Murray. “We +have the affidavit of a first-class physician, and we know that it’s the +same man, so the autopsy would be only to satisfy your curiosity. My own +curiosity deals with the Wabash Avenue man who was refused. I wish we +could locate him, although I don’t see that it would have any bearing on +this case. He seems to have disappeared utterly. Perhaps he’s dead.” + +Before dismissing the matter from his mind, Murray reviewed the facts +carefully. There had been an application to another company from a man +living at 1176 Wabash Avenue, which had been refused because of heart +trouble, but the city directory for that year gave no Harkness at that +address. It did give an Elmer Harkness at another address, however, +which coincided with the story told by the Harkness he had insured. + +“Somebody,” mused Murray, “must have been trying to beat the other +company. That’s the best I can make out of it, although I can’t see why +he should have assumed this Elmer’s name and antecedents. It’s a most +extraordinary case.” + +The latest city directory gave Elmer Harkness as living at 2313 Wesson +Street, which certainly was his address at the time the directory was +issued. So much Murray had looked up before. Now, further to satisfy +himself, he went through all the directories for the interval between +the two years, and he was rewarded by finding the name of Elmer Harkness +twice in one of them. Both were clerks, the addresses of the employers +not being given, and the residence of one of them was put down as the +address of the Harkness who had secured insurance. + +“Then there are, or at least there were, two,” thought Murray, “but only +one came from Madison. And what has become of the missing Harkness? Why +is he in only one directory? The fact that there were two helps to clear +up the record of the one I insured, so far as that Wabash Avenue address +is concerned, but how did both happen to give the same place and date of +birth? And did both have heart trouble?” + +Murray straightened up suddenly and sent for the clerk who had made the +previous inquiries for him. + +“Harry,” he said, “I want you to go to the funeral of Elmer Harkness +to-morrow. Go early, and get a look at him, if possible. If not, get a +description of him from some of the neighbors.” + +Murray reproached himself for not having searched all the directories +before, although it would have made little difference. The fact that +another Harkness had lived in Chicago would have had no bearing on the +case, so long as the record of the one who applied for insurance was +clear. In fact, it would have explained everything, except the +coincidence of the alleged birth records. Still, it would have given a +new line of investigation, which might have cleared up the mystery. + +Harry reported promptly the next day, and almost his first words aroused +Murray. + +“I couldn’t get a glimpse of the late lamented,” he said flippantly, +“for the casket was closed, but I learned that he had hair slightly +tinged with gray and—” + +“Gray!” exclaimed Murray. “Does a man get gray hair in six months? The +man we insured hadn’t a gray hair in his head.” + +“He was rather stout—” + +“Our man was not.” + +“I couldn’t learn much else—” + +“You’ve learned enough.” + +“—except that when he was stricken his wife’s first thought seemed to be +to get a message to some mysterious man, who responded in person, had a +short talk with the wife, and then disappeared. A neighbor who had come +in was somewhat impressed by this, because she called him ‘Elmer,’ which +was her husband’s name.” + +“What!” cried Murray, startled out of his usual imperturbability by the +evidence thus unexpectedly accumulating. Then, more calmly, “Harry, you +didn’t get the address to which she sent, did you?” + +“The messenger,” said Harry, proud of his success, “was a neighbor’s +boy. I found him. Here is the address.” + +Murray took the slip of paper, looked at the address, and then sent for +the company’s physician. + +“We’ll make identification sure,” he said, “for we both know the man, +and we’ll take an officer and a warrant along with us.” + +Elmer Harkness was sitting on his trunk, waiting for an expressman, when +the party appeared at the door of his room in a little out-of-the-way +boarding-house. + +“I thought you were dead,” said Murray. + +“I wish I was,” said Harkness. He had almost fainted at the first sight +of Murray, but had recovered himself quickly, and, having once decided +that the case was hopeless, he resigned himself to the inevitable and +spoke with a frank carelessness that had been entirely lacking when he +was playing a part and trying to stick to the details of a prepared +story. + +“Any weapons?” asked the policeman, making a quick search. + +“No weapons,” replied Harkness. “I’m not that kind.” + +“I don’t see,” said Murray, “why you waited here to be arrested.” + +“Why, I had a little interest in that insurance,” explained Harkness, +“and I rather wanted to get it before leaving. However, waiting here was +a little trying to the nerves, even if everything did seem to be going +all right, and I was just about to slip up to Milwaukee until the case +was settled. I ought to have gone the day Elmer was stricken.” + +“What Elmer?” demanded Murray. + +“Elmer Harkness, my cousin,” the other replied promptly. + +“And who are you?” + +“I’m Elmer Harkness, his cousin,” he returned with equal promptness. + +“Which of you was born at Madison, Indiana?” pursued Murray. + +“He was,” replied Harkness, and added, “I was born at Matteson, +Illinois.” + +“There’s a nice pair of names for a tangle,” commented Murray as the +possibilities of the situation began to dawn on him. “No wonder my +inquiries failed to untangle it. Would you mind telling me how you +happened to try this thing?” + +“No trouble at all,” returned Harkness. “It was my cousin’s scheme. He +had tried to get insurance when he was living on Wabash Avenue and had +failed. He had a heart trouble that was likely to culminate fatally +almost any time. Still, I don’t think it occurred to him to try to beat +an insurance company until we happened to be thrown together about a +year ago. We were cousins, although we never had met before, and the +similarity of names seemed to make a great impression on him. He had +just returned to Chicago after a year or more in St. Louis, and he +already had had one heart attack, with a warning from his doctor that +the next would almost certainly be fatal. He was also told that the next +was not likely to be long delayed. Now, I suppose you’ll think I’m +lying, but I did not take kindly to his scheme, and the money alone +would not have tempted me to go into it. I was sorry for his wife. He +had been able to make only a bare living; he could leave her absolutely +nothing. She never had had to support herself and there seemed to be +mighty little chance that she could do it. I finally agreed to go into +it for her sake. It looked easy and I was glad to make the try on her +account.” + +“But you wouldn’t refuse a little something for yourself on the side, so +to speak,” suggested Murray sarcastically. + +“No, I wouldn’t,” Harkness frankly admitted. “To carry out the plan it +would be necessary for me to give up my job, change my name and make a +fresh start somewhere else. The job was not such an all-fired good one, +but it might be some time before I got another as good, and I would need +something for expenses while I was losing myself. I was to get five +hundred of the three thousand dollars insurance. The rest was to go to +the widow.” + +“That wouldn’t last her very long,” remarked Murray. + +“It would help a little,” said Harkness, “and we thought we would stand +a better chance if we didn’t ask for too big a sum.” + +“An insurance company,” said Murray, “has to be as particular with a +small risk as with a large one, and it will follow up a suspicious case +as closely in one instance as in the other. It’s a matter of principle.” + +“I think I understand that now,” remarked Harkness regretfully. + +“But I am curious to know,” persisted Murray, “how in the world you +arranged such a mystifying record.” + +“It was easy,” replied Harkness. “I gave you my cousin’s place and date +of birth, his parents, his marriage and his life up to the time he left +Madison. Then I gave you my record up to the finish, with the exception +of one year, when he was in the Chicago directory. We put that year in +so you could get trace of the wife in case you made any investigation. I +have no wife, and it was rather important, of course, that there should +be a record of a wife somewhere.” + +“It was a wise provision,” admitted Murray. “We got trace of the wife at +that flat.” + +“It was after leaving there,” Harkness continued, “that my cousin went +to St. Louis. When he returned we met and a little later fixed up the +job. As soon as I got the policy I rented the Sixty-fourth Street flat, +and my cousin and his wife moved in. That’s all, I think, except that +you ought to be a little easy on me, I think, for giving you such an +entertaining story.” + +Murray turned to the doctor with a pardonable air of triumph. + +“Was I right, Doctor,” he asked, “in saying that it takes the novice to +devise the really confusing scheme?” + +“You were right,” said the doctor. + + + + +AN INCIDENTAL GRIEVANCE + + +Jane Moffat, widow, was sore distressed. + +“Without Tom,” she said, “I don’t know what I’ll do. Tom was a good man, +but unlucky. There was better providers than Tom, but he was better than +none.” + +This apparent reflection on her late husband did not mean that Mrs. +Moffat confined herself to the financial point of view, for she had been +a true and devoted wife, but her present need was great and her present +resources were nothing. Furthermore, Tom Moffat certainly had been +either unlucky or incapable. Mrs. Moffat, out of her affection for him, +chose to attribute their misfortunes to ill luck; another, less +considerate, might have said that Tom lacked ability and stability; no +one, however, could have said that he was neglectful or indifferent—he +did the best he could, and his family always had all he could provide. +Nevertheless, Tom Moffat had drifted from one thing to another, and his +wife and two children had drifted with him. He had worked at many +things, and in many places, and there had been times when he lacked work +entirely. So he left Mrs. Moffat practically nothing when he died. + +“The neighbors was good,” continued Mrs. Moffat, “an’ I’ve got some +sewing to do. I was pretty good at that in my younger days, but the +children don’t give me time to earn much, even if the pay was what it +should be. I had to sell some furniture already, an’ I don’t know what +I’ll do. We’ve been going from bad to worse.” + +“Didn’t he have no insurance?” asked the sympathetic Mrs. Crimmins, +whose husband was a member of one of the fraternal organizations. + +“Not when he died,” answered Mrs. Moffat. “Didn’t I say he was unlucky? +He had insurance when it didn’t mean anything but paying out money, but +there ain’t any when the time comes for getting it back.” + +“They can’t take your money an’ not give you nothing for it,” declared +Mrs. Crimmins. + +“Sure they can!” said Mrs. Moffat. + +“I say they can’t,” insisted Mrs. Crimmins. “There can’t nobody do that, +if you got the sense to fight. There was a lawyer once told my man so.” + +“Well, Tom paid the money, an’ it ain’t come back to me, has it?” +demanded Mrs. Moffat, as if that settled the question. + +“You ain’t tried to get it, that’s why!” retorted Mrs. Crimmins. “You go +see a lawyer. He’ll make ’em pay, an’ he won’t charge you a cent if he +don’t get the money. Some might, but I’ll tell you one that won’t.” + +Mrs. Moffat was not in a position to overlook even a slight chance to +get any money, especially if it cost nothing to make the attempt. She +knew less about insurance than Mrs. Crimmins, and Mrs. Crimmins had only +wild, weird, second-hand notions. Still, Mrs. Crimmins talked +confidently, and Mrs. Moffat finally took the address of the lawyer +recommended to her. This, of course, was a mistake—it would have been +better to go direct to the insurance company. But the impression +prevails in some quarters that insurance companies are ready to take +advantage of any technicality to escape the payment of claims, and that +a lawyer’s services are necessary to compel them to pay anything that +can possibly be questioned. Some lawyers, for their own purposes, +encourage this idea. Isaac Hinse, to whom Mrs. Moffat went, was one of +this class. + +“You did well to come to me,” he said pompously, as soon as she had +stated her errand. “What chance has a woman, with no knowledge of the +law, against a great corporation that has big lawyers engaged for the +sole purpose of bulldozing or fooling the ignorant? Fortunately, I know +how to deal with them. Now, where is this policy?” + +“Tore up,” answered Mrs. Moffat. + +“What!” cried Hinse. + +“Tom tore it up when he couldn’t pay any more on it. I ain’t looking for +the whole thousand dollars, but only to get back what he paid in. Mrs. +Crimmins said I could do that.” + +Hinse leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. + +“Well,” he said at last, “that makes more trouble, of course. An +insurance company can’t escape its obligations because the policy has +been destroyed, but it makes it more difficult to prove the claim. Do +you know what kind of policy it was?” + +“How should I?” returned Mrs. Moffat. “I’m no lawyer nor no insurance +man. I come to you to learn my rights.” + +“Quite right, quite right,” conceded Hinse; “but I must know something +of the circumstances. When was this policy taken out?” + +“Fifteen or sixteen years ago,” answered Mrs. Moffat. “We was doing +pretty well then. Tom’s aunt left him a bit of money, an’ Tom was +workin’ steady an’ I got some money a little later. But Tom was always +unlucky. He didn’t seem to hold on well, an’ we kept movin’ an’ movin’ +an’ gettin’ harder up—” + +“And he finally let the policy lapse,” suggested Hinse. + +“Lapse!” exclaimed Mrs. Moffat, as if she had made an important +discovery unexpectedly. “That’s it; that’s what he said when he tore it +up an’ threw it in the fire. I only knew he didn’t think it was good, +but Mrs. Crimmins says they got to pay back what he paid them.” + +“That depends on the policy and circumstances,” said Hinse in his most +impressive way—and Hinse prided himself upon being impressive. “How long +did he pay premiums?” + +“Eight or ten years.” + +“Ha!” exclaimed Hinse. “There is a chance, but it is a desperate +chance—so desperate that I really can’t afford to take this on my usual +contingent fee.” + +“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Moffat. + +“I mean,” explained Hinse, “that I’ll get the money for you if any one +can, but I’ll have to charge five dollars in advance.” + +Mrs. Moffat hesitated. + +“I got it,” she said, “but it’s rent money.” + +“There’s more than rent in this,” declared Hinse, “but why should I take +all the risk? It is a hard case and will take a great deal of my time, +but I know these people, and I think I can work it out of them. You +happened to come to just the right man.” + +Mrs. Moffat was sitting on the opposite side of the desk from Hinse, +which she deemed fortunate at this critical moment. + +“There ain’t any safe place to leave money at home,” she explained +apologetically, “an’ a woman don’t have safe pockets like a man.” + +She made a dive down behind the desk, there was a sound of moving +skirts, and she straightened up with three bills in her hand—a five and +two ones. She handed the five to Hinse, who promptly tucked it away in +his vest pocket. + +“I don’t know what I’ll do about the rent,” she sighed. + +“Think of the insurance,” suggested Hinse, “and remember that you’ve got +the best man cheap. I’ll see these insurance people to-day.” + +Hinse was a large pompous man, who wore a long rusty frock coat, because +he thought that kind of coat properly impressed his police-court +clients. His speeches also were for his clients, rather than for the +judge—he wanted to show them he was not afraid of the court. He talked +loud and aggressively. His whole life being what is popularly termed a +“bluff,” it naturally followed that he considered bluffing the main +element of success. + +That is where he made his mistake when he went to see Dave Murray about +Mrs. Moffat’s claim. Murray was not in particularly good humor that day. +A friend had been arguing to him that corporations are notoriously +ungrateful for services rendered, and another friend had endeavored to +demonstrate that life insurance companies had a way of forcing a man to +the limit of his endurance, of squeezing all the life and energy out of +him in a few years, and then dropping him. + +The worst of it was that some of the cases cited Murray knew to be true: +men were “forced” and then left to seek other avenues of employment when +insurance had got the best that was in them. He had argued that it was +the universal business rule of “the survival of the fittest”; that the +man who had the ability to get near the top need have no fear, and that +men who could stand the pace prospered wherever they might be in the +great system. But an unexpected and rather harsh criticism from +headquarters had given him a more pessimistic view of the situation: it +could not be denied that comparatively few men grew old in the service. +Then there was a gloomy outlook for a promotion he had expected, to add +to his annoyance, and—well, Murray, the energetic and enthusiastic +Murray, was momentarily dissatisfied. He was in no humor to be “bluffed” +by a pompous shyster lawyer. + +“I am representing Mrs. Jane Moffat,” announced Hinse. + +“What about her?” asked Murray shortly. + +“She has a claim against your company.” + +“Policy?” + +“Yes.” + +“Let’s see it.” + +“There will be time enough for that,” said Hinse in his most impressive +tones, “when we have settled what is to be paid on it.” Hinse was so +constituted morally that he could not possibly be frank and +straightforward. “It is a policy for a thousand dollars on the life of +her late husband, Thomas Moffat. He failed to pay some of the last +premiums, but there is a value to it.” + +“Is there?” + +“There is. Will you look it up and see how the matter stands, or shall I +take legal proceedings to force a settlement?” + +“Better sue,” said Murray. “Good day.” + +“You will regret this interview,” announced Hinse. + +“I regret it already,” returned Murray. Then, his professional instinct +overcoming his dislike of the man, he added: “If premiums have not been +paid, the policy may have lapsed, or it may be non-forfeitable. I must +see the policy and know the details. I never heard of Thomas Moffat that +I recall. Give me the facts.” + +“Ah,” said Hinse, settling himself comfortably in a chair, “I thought +you would see the wisdom of being reasonable.” + +“Reasonable!” exploded Murray. “Damn it! I’m having trouble enough being +patient. Who was he, where did he live, and when did he die?” + +There was something in the way this was said that led Hinse to change +his tactics, and he partly explained the situation in a confidential +way. Premiums had been paid on the policy for at least eight years, he +said, but the widow had supposed that everything was forfeited when her +husband failed to pay the later premiums: she knew nothing about cash +surrender values or non-forfeitable clauses. + +“She’ll do what I say,” he said significantly in conclusion. “She’ll +compromise for any figure that I say is right.” + +He waited for Murray to reach for this bait, but Murray was merely +fighting an impulse to throw the man out of the office. + +“Oh, she will!” said Murray at last. “Well, you’ll talk more frankly +than you have, if you want to do business with me. Where’s the proof of +death and the proof of identity? Where’s the policy?” + +Hinse ignored the last question. He wished to find out certain things +about that policy himself before he admitted that it had been destroyed, +and he thought he was handling the matter with consummate skill. + +“There will be no trouble about the proof of death,” he said. “In fact, +I have that with me. But Moffat and his family moved many times during +the years that have elapsed since he stopped paying premiums, living in +two or three different cities, and they were not always known to their +neighbors.” + +“I thought so,” remarked Murray sarcastically. “Somebody died, and you +want me to take it on faith that he was the Thomas Moffat who once was +insured in this company. Although I haven’t looked it up, I have no +doubt that a Thomas Moffat did take out a policy, for I don’t believe +even you would have the nerve to come to me without at least that much +foundation for your claim. Perhaps it was the same Thomas Moffat who +died; perhaps it was a man who was merely given that name in the +certificate of death. Perhaps he left a widow; perhaps you are +representing that widow, but perhaps you are representing a woman who +merely claims to be that widow. She has moved so often that she can’t +produce any satisfactory evidence of her identity. Doesn’t it strike you +that you are telling a rather fishy story? Doesn’t it occur to you that +you ought to have ingenuity enough to concoct something more plausible?” + +“This insult, sir—” Hinse shifted again to his pompous manner, but +Murray interrupted him. + +“Insult!” exclaimed Murray. “That wasn’t an insult, but I’ll give you +one. I think you’re a tricky scoundrel. You have virtually offered to +sell out your alleged client. I think you’re a swindler. I don’t believe +you have or can produce any such policy.” + +“The loss of a policy, sir—” + +“I knew it!” broke in Murray. “Policy lost, of course! In other words, +your client hasn’t a policy and never did have one. She’s an impostor! +You or she learned that there had been such a man and such a policy, and +you thought there was a chance to get some money. You must think +insurance companies are easy.” + +“I shall take this matter to court!” declared Hinse. + +“Do!” advised Murray. “Take it anywhere, so long as you take it out of +this office.” + +“You shall hear from me again!” said Hinse at the door. + +“I’d rather hear from you than see you,” retorted Murray. “You annoy +me.” + +Nevertheless, when Hinse had departed, Murray had the matter looked up, +and found that such a policy actually had been issued, that it was +non-forfeitable after three years, and that about four hundred dollars +was due on it as a result of the premiums that had been paid. Murray was +eminently a just man—he wished to take unfair advantage of no one. There +might be merit in the claim advanced, and some woman, entitled to the +money, might be in great want. Still, it was not his business to seek +for ways of disbursing the company’s funds. He reported the matter to +the home office, and was advised to give it no further attention unless +suit actually was brought. Then it should be fought. Insurance companies +do not like lawsuits, but they like still less to pay out money when +there is doubt as to the justice of a claim. When one of them goes into +court, however, it fights bitterly. Hinse knew this, and he had not the +slightest intention of bringing suit. + +If Mrs. Moffat had had any more money, so that there would have been a +chance to exact further fees, he might have sued for the mere sake of +getting the fees, but she could not even advance court costs. So Murray +waited in vain for the threatened suit, but the possibility of it kept +the case in his mind. The claim probably was fraudulent, but, if not, +the woman unquestionably was poor and unfortunate: the very fact that +she had taken the case to such a shyster as Hinse was proof of that. +Somehow, the well-to-do people do not get into the hands of shysters. +Murray believed it was a fraud, but he always came back to the +possibility of being mistaken in this. And injustice—the injustice of +passivity as well as of activity—was abhorrent to him. + +The day Murray ran across a newspaper item to the effect that a Mrs. +Thomas Moffat had been evicted for the non-payment of rent, he disobeyed +the instructions from the home office and looked her up. In theory it +was all right to wait for a beneficiary to bring in the necessary +proofs; in practice it was horrible to think of taking advantage of the +ignorance or helplessness of a woman in trouble. + +Murray found Mrs. Moffat and her two children in a little back room near +the somewhat larger apartment from which she had just been evicted. She +was trying to sew and care for the children at the same time. It was +evident, however, that she had long since overtaxed her strength and was +near the point of physical collapse. + +“The neighbors has been good to me,” she explained, “but they got their +own troubles an’ they can’t do much.” + +Murray had primed himself with such facts as to Thomas Moffat as the +books of the company and the old insurance application gave, and, after +explaining his errand, he asked when and where Thomas Moffat was born. +The weary woman, too long inured to disappointment to be really hopeful +now, brought out a little old Bible and showed him the entries relating +to birth and marriage. They corresponded with the dates he had. Murray +took up the little Bible reverently, and he then and there decided that +this woman was the widow of the Thomas Moffat who had been insured in +his company. Even her maiden name, as given in the Bible, corresponded +with the name he had taken from the books. Nevertheless, he questioned +her closely on all the other details that he could verify. She gave the +address at which they were living when the policy was taken out, and +also told of the various changes of residence during the time that the +premiums were being paid. + +“He kep’ the big paper with the seals on it for ‘most three years after +he quit paying,” she said. “Then he tore it up an’ burned it. He said it +wasn’t no more use, for he’d lost it all when he quit paying. It seemed +mighty hard, but I thought he knew.” + +“There isn’t even a scrap of it left?” queried Murray. + +“No, sir. He burned the scraps. I saw him do it.” + +“That’s unfortunate,” said Murray. “If there was barely enough to +identify the policy it would help. It would be annoying to have it turn +up after we had settled the matter, for the custom is to surrender the +policy to the company when the payment is made.” + +“You needn’t to worry over that,” Mrs. Moffat assured him anxiously. “It +was burned to the very last piece. I saw it myself.” + +“I don’t doubt it,” returned Murray. “Have you your marriage +certificate?” + +“Have I!” exclaimed Mrs. Moffat in surprise. “You didn’t never know an +honest married woman who would lose that, did you? A man don’t think +much of it, but a woman does. It’s the proof she’s respectable.” + +Mrs. Moffat produced the certificate, but Murray merely glanced at the +names. + +“I think you may rely on getting the money, Mrs. Moffat,” he said. “It +isn’t much, but—” + +“I got a chance to start a little school store if I had a bit of money,” +she interrupted eagerly. “I don’t need only two hundred or two hundred +and fifty, an’ it’s better than sewing.” + +“I am so confident that this is all right,” said Murray, ignoring the +interruption, “that I am going to advance you a little money now. I +imagine you need it.” + +“Indeed I do!” exclaimed the grateful and now hopeful woman. “The lawyer +got most of the rent money.” + +“Damn the lawyer!” ejaculated Murray. “If he hears that you’ve got +anything he’ll probably put in another claim, but you’re not to pay him +a cent. Do you understand that? Send him to me. I’ll settle with him.” + +“Yes, sir,” returned Mrs. Moffat meekly. “He helped me—” + +“Helped you! He did more to hurt you than any other ten men could have +done. He ought to be made to pay damages.” + +Then Murray laughed at his own heat and gave Mrs. Moffat a twenty-dollar +bill. + +“When we get the matter settled,” he said, “you can repay this.” + +“Indeed I will!” + +Murray noted that there were tears in her eyes, and, disliking a scene +of any description, he picked up his hat and hastily withdrew. + +The matter, however, was not settled as easily as he expected. He stated +frankly what he had done, and the officials at headquarters seemed to +think he had taken unnecessary pains to make trouble. It was not that +they objected to paying any just claim against the company, but they +held that he had put life into a slumbering claim that was at least open +to suspicion. Such evidence as she produced might have fallen into the +hands of an impostor, and there was a considerable interval during which +the connection between the real beneficiary and the present claimant was +lost, the only explanation being that they had made frequent changes of +residence and had been among strangers. In brief, the company did not +consider the claims satisfactorily established and criticized the whole +affair as being irregular. + +Murray was disappointed and annoyed. He was entirely satisfied in his +own mind, and he resented the criticism. Nevertheless, he sought for +further evidence, and Mrs. Moffat was finally able to supply it in the +shape of a receipt for the last premium paid. This, it seemed, had not +been destroyed with the policy. Mrs. Moffat had discovered it among some +old papers. This Murray also reported. + +“We are not satisfied with the evidence produced,” was the reply that +came back. + +“I am satisfied,” was Murray’s answer, as he recalled the woman’s tears +of gratitude, “and I have settled the claim and paid the money. Is my +action to be upheld or is my resignation desired?” + +There was a long interval of silence on the part of the officials at +headquarters. This Murray understood to be an evidence of their +displeasure. Having thus made their displeasure very apparent, the +report was finally returned with the single word, “Approved,” written +across it. + +“Nevertheless,” mused Murray, “I fear I am not long for this business—at +least with this company. Either I am becoming both headstrong and +sensitive or else my superiors are becoming inconsiderate and +dissatisfied.” + +That evening he took a long street-car ride, at the end of which he +entered a little store opposite one of the big public schools. He wanted +to see the result of his work. + +When he reappeared, a little woman followed him to the door, and there +was a quaver in her voice as she said, “You’ve been so good to us, Mr. +Murray, and we’re so happy.” + +“Well,” returned Murray with a smile, “I’m happy myself. And,” he added, +as he was returning home, “it’s worth all that it ever can cost me.” + + + + + Popular Copyright Books + AT MODERATE PRICES + + Any of the following titles can be bought of your + bookseller at 50 cents per volume. + + The Shepherd of the Hills. By Harold Bell Wright. + Jane Cable. By George Barr McCutcheon. + Abner Daniel. By Will N. Harben. + The Far Horizon. By Lucas Malet. + The Halo. By Bettina von Hutten. + Jerry Junior. By Jean Webster. + The Powers and Maxine. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + The Balance of Power. By Arthur Goodrich. + Adventures of Captain Kettle. By Cutcliffe Hyne. + Adventures of Gerard. By A. Conan Doyle. + Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. 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