“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.