"Except the Massachusetts Light, Heat, and Traction Company," interposed
Helen, quickly.
"That is true up to the present time," Smith assented; "but their wisdom in having done so is not sufficiently proved, and Mr. Charles Wilkinson, whom I met in your uncle's office, is in hopes of being able to change their ideas on that subject. But I have my doubts if he will succeed, from what is said of Mr. Hurd."
"I think Mr. Wilkinson spoke of having met you," the girl said carelessly; which was positive disingenuousness, for she remembered very well indeed. And here she sat, talking to the man whose suggestion, as Charles quoted it, had roused her interest in the business. Helen was not sufficiently Oriental to find anything predestined in this meeting, but it nevertheless seemed a little odd. Abruptly she spoke, to rid her of her own thoughts.
"Mr. Hurd believes in carrying his own risk—isn't that the expression?"
"Absolutely. No life-long fire insurance man could have phrased it more correctly."
"I'm afraid it was mere plagiarism. I think Mr. Wilkinson used it."
"Credit withdrawn," said Smith. "What were we talking about? Oh, yes—about underwriters. Now, the fire underwriter has to pass upon the danger of every risk whose insurance is offered to his company. The company, of course, makes its underwriting or trade profit—or hopes to do so—by receiving more money in payment of premiums than it has to disburse, after deducting expenses, in losses. It must therefore accept its business as scientifically as possible. It must know how much money to risk—that is, how large a policy to write—on every class of risk in the world. When a line on a foundry and machine shop comes in, let us say, from Silas Osgood and Company, the underwriter is supposed to know how much premium, or rate, the risk should pay, and how many dollars the company can safely hold."
"But I thought you said Uncle Silas sent you the risk. Doesn't he also determine the amount the company takes?"
"The amount for which the policy is issued; but he is merely the agent. He exercises his best judgment, but the home office underwriter is the court of last resort. Generally speaking, the agent secures the business and offers it to the company for its acceptance. If, when it comes, the underwriter feels that the rate of premium is not commensurate with the hazard, he writes the agent, 'Rate too low: please cancel.' And there is where his diplomacy comes in. The agent, who must now get back the policy from the assured, must not be offended, or his more desirable business will be placed in some rival and more liberal company. If, on the other hand, the rate of premium seems adequate, but the amount at risk is too great, the underwriter reinsures or cedes a part of his line to another company, paying it a proportionate part of the premium, and holds only what he thinks safe. And here is where his judgment is needed. The company has what it calls its idea of line—which means that it doesn't want to lose more than a certain amount, say five thousand dollars, in any ordinary fire. . . . I'm not boring you?"
"Oh, no," said Helen. "I'm following it all."