Chapter V: Part 5

"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.