Flower Elliott
The Best Policy
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.