“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.”