“H’m! Not difficult to find a man agreeable who is a count and a millionaire. Singular there should be so much attraction in a title in this democratic country.”
“Frauenstein maintains that we are not a democratic country,” said Kendrick; “that there never has been a democratic government in the world’s history, because never one where all citizens have the ballot.”
“Haven’t they in this country? I should like to know,” said Mr. Burnham.
“Why, women have not, and they constitute more than half of the adult citizens. I tell you, Burnham, you can’t argue that question with the count. He’s armed at all points.”
“I’ve no desire to; but I don’t feel like waiting much longer for him to get through his opera squalling and dawdling with the women.”
Now it was a part of Kendrick’s plan to broach the insurance scheme, not in a set business way, but to spring it suddenly upon the count in a general conversation when the ladies were present. He knew that many men, ladies’ men especially, would be more vulnerable under such circumstances—less apt to manifest any closeness where money was concerned. The opportunity was soon found.
With the collation, or after it, coffee was brought in—a thing never dreamed of at night, except when the count was present; then, indeed, it was available at almost any hour, for he was, like most Europeans, very fond of it. The solid men joined the group of three or four around a table, where the count was sipping his café noir.
“Wouldn’t you like some cognac in your coffee, Frauenstein?” asked Mr. Kendrick; and a glance at the waiter caused an elegant decanter to appear. The count measured out two tea-spoonfuls. Kendrick and the other gentlemen drank a tiny glass clear, and while Frauenstein was talking to Mrs. Burnham and Mrs. Kendrick about the beauties and merits generally of Oakdale, the solid men added valuable information about the increase of population and the enterprise of the town. This led up to the subject neatly, and Kendrick introduced the insurance scheme, and hoped the count would examine it. “We ought to start,” he said, “with a capital of half a million—say a hundred shares, at five thousand dollars each. The truth is, everything is ripe for a heavy insurance business and the capital can easily be doubled in a short time. The heaviest buyer would be the president, of course.”
“That should be you, count,” said Burnham, rolling the tiny stem of his glass, and looking boldly at a point between the count’s eyes. The golden bait was not snapped at. On the contrary, Frauenstein threw cold water on the project. He said he did not believe in private insurance companies. The government should insure all its citizens. “Now this scheme,” he said, “will benefit a few at the expense of the many. Make it a mutual affair between all the house-owners in your town, and I will ‘go in,’ as you say.”
“How?” asked Kendrick, not liking to discourage any advance on the part of the count, whom he had just pronounced sound on questions of finance. “Give us your plan.”