“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!”