“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?”