Walter Sherwood's Probation

“It will be better for you to start outside. I will send you to Elm Bank, about fifteen miles distant. Once there, I shall leave you to your own discretion. I will pay your fare there and back, and trust to your doing something to repay me for the outlay.”

“Very well, sir.”

Walter took the necessary directions, and after dinner took a train out to the suburban town which I have called Elm Bank, though this is not the real name. He congratulated himself on so soon obtaining employment, though it remained to be seen how he would succeed. However, Walter was sanguine, not as yet having put himself in a position to meet the rebuffs which are sure to lie in wait for agents of any kind. He thought over his prospects with pleased anticipations. He felt that the position was much higher than that of a boy in an office. It was one usually filled by men of maturity and business experience. Besides, if successful, the rewards would be ample. The thought of the agent who made a hundred and twenty-five dollars in a single week occurred to him and encouraged him. He would have been content with a salary of ten dollars a week, but here was a business which might lead to a great deal more.

He seated himself next to a girl of sixteen, with a pleasant face and frank, cordial manner.

Presently the girl tried to raise the window—she occupied the seat next to it—but it resisted her efforts.

“Will you allow me to try?” asked Walter, politely.

“Thank you. You are very kind.”

Walter leaned over and succeeded in raising it.

“Thank you,” said the young lady. “I am only going to Elm Bank, but I like the fresh air, even for a short distance.”

Here was a surprise for Walter.

“Are you going to Elm Bank?” he said. “So am I.”

CHAPTER XIII

A YOUNG INSURANCE AGENT

“You don’t live in Elm Bank?” said the young girl, inquiringly.

“No,” answered Walter, swelling with pardonable pride. “I am going there on business.”

“Have you ever been there before?” asked his fair companion.

“No.”

“You look young to be in business.”

“I haven’t been in business long,” returned Walter, wondering if he looked so very young. Then he added, with a sudden impulse, “I am an insurance agent.”

“Are you? I—I thought—”

“What did you think?” asked Walter, a little curious.

“I would rather not say it.”

“I wish you would.”

“You will promise not to be offended?”

“Yes.”

“I have been told that insurance agents are very cheeky.”

Walter laughed.

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I haven’t been in the business long enough yet. Do you know if any insurance agents have visited Elm Bank lately?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Perhaps you would like to have your life insured?” said Walter, with a humorous look.

“Can you insure me fifty cents’ worth?”

“I am afraid not.”

“Then I must put it off, for that is all the money I have.”

Conversation drifted into other channels, and was kept up till the cars slowed down and the conductor, putting his head in at the door, called out, “Elm Bank.”

Walter and his companion rose and, leaving the car, stepped out on the platform. Walter asked leave to carry a small bundle belonging to the young lady.

“Could you recommend any one who is likely to want his life insured?” he asked.

His companion pointed to a small house some quarter of a mile distant, but plainly visible on account of its high location.

“That house belongs to a German named Louis Fishbach,” she said. “He has a little money, and earns good wages in a shoe shop. He has a wife and four young children. Perhaps he will be willing to insure.”

“Thank you. I will try him.”

“I will leave you here, as I live in a different direction. I am sure I am much obliged to you for your politeness, Mr.—” Here she hesitated.

“Sherwood,” supplied Walter.

“Mr. Sherwood. My name is Jennie Gilbert.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Jennie,” said Walter, politely removing his hat.

He stopped a moment and watched the retreating figure of the young girl.

“I hope I shall meet her again some time,” he said to himself.

“I say, who be you?”

Walter turned quickly, and found himself confronted by a stout, hulking young fellow, broad-shouldered, and dressed in country fashion. He was, judging from his appearance, about twenty-one years of age. His tone and face indicated that he was displeased.

“Why do you want to know?” asked Walter coldly.

“Why do I want to know? I’ll tell you why I want to know. I ain’t goin’ to have any city dude chinning up to my best girl.”

“Is Miss Jennie Gilbert your best girl?” asked Walter.