"Jim, if you say that again I'll leave you to get out of the trouble yourself. You're my husband. Think of something."
"I can't--unless it's the insurance."
"The insurance," said Leah, thoughtfully; "twenty thousand pounds, isn't it, Jim?"
Her husband nodded. "Old Jarvey Peel, my godfather, had my life insured when I was a child, and arranged that his heirs should pay up the money every year to keep it in force. Then there's accumulations of sorts. I don't understand these stale things myself, Leah, but I know that there's over twenty thousand."
"Can't you raise money on it?"
"No; the old man arranged that I should lose it if I tried that game. Lord," said Jim, with disgust, "if I could have raised money I should have got rid of it, ages ago."
"But how does it benefit you?" asked his wife, curiously; "if the money is paid when you are dead, you won't have any fun. But I"--her eyes gleamed.
"Oh no, you don't," snapped Jim, not at all pleased at this hint; "you'd like to turn me into cash in that way, I know. But it so happens that the twenty thousand, and whatever additions may have come, will be paid to me when I'm sixty. Much fun in that, when I shan't have teeth to crack nuts."
"You're over thirty now, Jim."
"Thirty-five, and you're only five years younger; so when we get the cash at sixty there won't be any enjoyment left for either of us."