The Best Policy

“There’ll be a good deal more than that – exactly how much I can’t say.”

“Go ahead,” instructed Daniel. “Put the little divil through.”

The lawyer investigated and found his task comparatively easy, for Adolph had now personally told the story to several people. Indeed, by the exercise of a little ingenuity, the lawyer got him to tell it to him. Then he acted.

When the news reached the local agency of the company there was no indecision as to what should be done. Unnecessary publicity in a matter of that kind was the very last thing sought. The solicitor was called in, put on the rack, and promptly confessed. Then he was discharged without further questioning. Perhaps the local agent was afraid he might learn of other similar instances if he pressed the matter too far, and he was quite content to remain in ignorance of anything else of that nature, so long as the public also remained in ignorance. The company promptly acknowledged its fault, showed that it had cleared itself morally by discharging the offending agent, and proceeded to clear itself legally by paying the necessary fine.

When the news came to Adolph, however, there was wailing prolonged, for his policy was annulled.

“I bet you,” said Adolph, “that feller Murray put up the job. He iss a great hog; he iss like those monopolists that puts smaller people out of business and gobbles it all.”

Then Adolph got a pencil and a sheet of paper and began to figure his losses.

“Zwei t’ousand dollar insurance,” he groaned, “and maybe she wouldn’t lif long. And I gif her a dress, too – a new dress. Ach, Himmel! it’s hard when a man’s vife beats him. A new dress for nothing at all but to looss money. That law iss a shame. It iss a – what you call it? – restriction of business.”

Thereafter, for some time, the sight of the new gown would make Adolph morose and gloomy, and his friends found him unusually modest and unobtrusive.

AN INCIDENTAL SCHEME

There came to Dave Murray one day a young man who was looking for a job. He was a bright young fellow and seemed to be very earnest.

“I have been a clerk,” he explained, “but there is little prospect for the future where I am now, and I want to get something that has some promise in it. In fact, I must do so. I am making barely enough to support my mother and myself, and I may want to marry, you know.”

Murray readily admitted that young men frequently were attacked by the matrimonial bacillus and that, there being no sure antidote, the disease had to run its course. “Which is a good thing for the world,” he added, “so you are quite right to prepare yourself for the attack. But are you sure that insurance is your field?”

“I have given the subject a good deal of thought,” was the reply, “and insurance interests me.”

“That’s a good sign,” commented Murray. “Success is for the man who is interested in his work, and not merely in the financial results of that work.”

“Oh, I want to make money, too,” said the young man frankly.

“We all do,” returned Murray, “but the man who has no other aim than that would better stick to business and let the professions alone. Life insurance has become a profession, like banking. Time was when anybody with money could be a banker, but now it is conceded to require special gifts and a special training. I place life insurance right up in the front rank of the professions, for it is semi-philanthropic. We are not in it for our health, of course, but, if we are conscientious and earnest, we may reasonably flatter ourselves that we are doing a vast amount of good in line with our work. The life insurance solicitor has been the butt of many jokes. Perhaps he himself has been responsible for this, but times have changed and so have methods. If I ever caught one of my men slipping into an office with an apologetic air, like a second-rate book-canvasser, I’d discharge him on the spot. The insurance solicitor of to-day wants to consider himself a business man with a business proposition to make; he must have self-respect and show it. The best men plan their work carefully, do not attempt to hurry matters, and usually meet those that they expect to interest in their proposition by appointment, instead of trying to force the thing upon them by pure nerve. When a fellow becomes a nuisance he is hurting himself, his company and all others in his line. Do you still think insurance the line for you?”

“I can begin,” said the young man, by way of reply, “with an application from my present employer. I’ve been talking insurance to him for practice, and he has agreed to take out a policy. He’s a pretty good fellow. He says I’m worth more than he can afford to pay me and he wants to help me along.”

“I guess you’re all right,” laughed Murray. “At any rate, you impress me as being the kind of man I want. Leave your references and come in again tomorrow.”

Murray was unusually particular as to the character of the men he employed. It was not enough for him that a man could get business, but he had his own ideas as to the way business should be secured. Absolute integrity and the most painstaking care to state a proposition fairly, without exaggeration, were points upon which he insisted.

“A dissatisfied policy-holder,” he said, “is a dead weight to carry; a satisfied policy-holder is an advertisement. If a man finds he is getting a little more than he expected, he is so much better pleased; if he finds he is getting a little less, he feels he has been tricked. Insurance is a good enough proposition, so that you don’t have to gild it.”

Murray himself, in his younger days, had once secured an application for a large policy by refusing to expatiate on the merits of the particular form of insurance he was advocating.

“Well, let’s hear what a beautiful thing it is,” the man had said.

“My dear sir,” Murray had replied, “it is a straight business proposition, with no frills or twists of any kind. You have the facts and the figures. If you, with your business training, can’t see the merit of it, it would be a waste of time for me to attempt any elucidation. I have not the egotism to think I can talk you into taking out a policy. As a matter of fact, this proposition doesn’t need any argument, and it would be a reflection on the plain merit of the proposition for me to attempt one.”

Different methods for different men. This man never before had seen an insurance solicitor who would not talk for an hour, if he had the chance, and he was impressed and pleased. This was business, – straight business and nothing else. He straightway took out a large policy.

Something of this Murray told the young man when he came back the next day, for he was anxious to impress upon him the fact that life insurance was not like a mining scheme, which has to be painted with all the glories of the sunset in order to float the stock, and that the man who overstated his case would inevitably suffer from the reaction.

Murray had been favorably impressed with the young man – Max Mays was the name he gave – and the employer of Mays had spoken well of him. He was rather a peculiar fellow, according to the employer – always busy with figures or financial stories and seemingly deeply interested in the details of the large business affairs that were discussed in the newspapers and the magazines. Aside from this, he was about like the average clerk who hopes for and seeks better opportunities, and meanwhile makes the best of what he has – reasonably industrious and yet far from forsaking the pleasures of this life.

All in all, Mays seemed like good material from which to make a life insurance man, and the fact that he did not propose to desert his present employer without notice was in his favor. Possibly the fact that he was getting his first commission through the latter had something to do with this, but, anyhow, he planned to continue where he was until a successor had been secured; and too many young men, contemplating such a change, would have let their enthusiasm lead them to quit without notice when they found the new place open to them. This is mentioned merely as one of the things that led Murray to think he had secured a thoroughly conscientious, as well as an ambitious, employee.

When he finally reported for duty Murray gave him certain general instructions, principal among which was this: “Never make a statement that will require explanation or modification later. Any time you decide that the proposition you are making is not good enough to stand squarely on its merits, without exaggeration or deception, direct or inferential, come into the office and resign. Any time you find yourself saying anything that you yourself do not believe implicitly, it is time for you to quit. When you have to explain what you really meant by some certain statement, you are creating doubt and distrust, for the unadulterated truth, of course, does not have to be explained.”

For a time Murray watched Mays rather closely – not in the expectation of finding anything wrong, but rather with the idea of giving him helpful suggestions – but the young man seemed to be unusually capable and unusually successful for a beginner. He seemed to be working a comparatively new field – a field that turned up no large policies but that seemed to be prolific of small ones. This, however, was quite natural. Every new man works first among those he happens to know, and Mays was doing business with his old associates. In time, Murray ceased to give him any particular attention, except to note the regularity with which he turned in applications for small policies, and there probably would have been no deviation from the customary routine had it not been for an unexpected and apparently trivial incident.

An application for a small policy had come in through one of the other solicitors. Mays happened to be in the office when the applicant called for his physical examination, but they exchanged no greetings. Apparently they were strangers. Yet Mays slipped out into the hall and intercepted the other as he came from the doctor’s office. Murray, emerging suddenly from his own room, saw them talking together and caught this question and answer:

“Is it all right?”

“Of course. I’m a bully good risk, as you call it.”

Then, seeing Murray, they hastily separated and went their ways.

Now, why should a friend of Mays apply for insurance through another solicitor? Well, he might have been ignorant, when he made his application, of the fact that Mays was in the insurance business. But why did they give no sign of recognition when they met in the main office? It was quite natural that Mays should be anxious to learn how his friend came out with the physician, but why should he sneak out into the hall to ask the question?

Any evidence of secrecy and underhand work always annoyed Murray. He did not like this, although he could see nothing in it to cause him any anxiety. Nevertheless, he looked up the papers of the man who had just been examined and found that his name was John Tainter and that he lived near Mays. He was a good risk, however, and he got his policy. There was no earthly reason why it should be refused. But Murray watched Mays more carefully and gave painstaking attention to the risks he brought in.

The applicants were generally small tradesmen – usually foreigners – but there was nothing in the least suspicious in any case. Indeed, it was difficult to see how there could be anything wrong, for the safeguards made it practically impossible for a mere solicitor to put up any successful scheme to beat the company, and certainly it would not be tried with any trifling policy. But it annoyed Murray to find that a man he had believed so frank and straightforward was tricky, and he could not, try as he would, find any reason for this trickiness.

Then, one day, while he was waiting in a hotel office for his card to be taken up to the room of a man with whom he had some business, he heard a strangely familiar voice near him making a strangely familiar assertion.

“You bet you, they don’t fool me very much,” said the voice.

Murray turned to see who it was, but a big square column was in the way. Murray’s chair was backed up to one side of this, and the speaker was on the other.

“I can’t just place that voice,” mused Murray, “but I have heard it somewhere.” There was silence for an instant.

“It’s going to be vorth something, ain’t it, yes?” inquired the voice at last.

“It looks like a big thing and no mistake,” was the reply.

“By George!” muttered Murray, “it’s that Adolph Schlimmer who tried to get a rebate on his policy, and the fellow with him is Max Mays.”

Just then word came that Murray’s man would see him, and he had to leave. He was careful, however, to keep the column between him and the two he had found in conversation. It was just as well not to let them know of his presence, for he preferred not to have their suspicions aroused.

There was now little doubt in his mind that some scheme was being worked out. But what? What could these two men, neither of whom was versed in the theory and details of life insurance, do that would be in any way hurtful to the company or advantageous to them? Of course, it was only a surmise that their confidential business concerned him in any way, but association with Schlimmer would be sufficient to make Murray uneasy about any of his men, and the strange action of Mays in the Tainter matter added to his uneasiness.

His first move was to investigate Mays thoroughly, and, to his astonishment, he discovered that, far from having a mother to support, Mays was living with a married brother and had no one to look after but himself. He had told the truth about his business record, but he had lied about his personal responsibilities. That lie had been an artistic one, however, for it had helped materially to get him a position with Murray.

Further investigation showed that there was a light-headed, frivolous young girl, to whom he was devoted and with whom he attended Saturday-night dances in various public halls, but it had to be admitted, to his credit, that he never let these interfere with business and was always on hand with a clear head. At the same time, it threw an entirely new light on his character, and showed him to be not at all the sort of fellow his business record had indicated.

Murray was tempted to discharge him at once, but he refrained for two reasons: first, his action would be dictated by his own disappointment in the man rather than by anything he knew that was definitely derogatory, aside from his falsehood about his mother; second, he wanted a chance to investigate further the association with Schlimmer, and the only way to do this was to pretend to be entirely unsuspicious and entirely satisfied. If there was any kind of scheme that could be put up by two such men, he was interested in finding it out, especially if they had already taken any action. Until the thing was clear, he wished to have Mays within reach.

Mays was shadowed for a few days, but nothing was learned except that he unquestionably had business relations with the unscrupulous Schlimmer, and that they occasionally met in the office of a lawyer in that district.