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.”
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