Walter Sherwood's Probation, Jr. Horatio Alger [best pdf reader for ebooks txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“I should like to insure your life.”
“You want to insure my life—what's dat?”
“If you will tell me your age, I will explain to you.”
“I was forty-nine next Christmas. You ain't the census man, eh?”
“No; that is quite another matter. Now, Mr. Fishbach,” continued Walter, referring to a pamphlet in his hand, “if you will pay to the company which I represent forty-four dollars every year, when you die a thousand dollars will be paid to your wife, or any one else you may name.”
“You won't pay me till I am dead, eh?”
“No.”
“How will I know you pay then?”
“We do business on the square. We keep our promises.”
“You pay the money to my widow, eh?”
“Yes. If you pay twice as much we will pay two thousand dollars.”
“What good will that do me, eh?”
“You will leave your wife comfortable, won't you?”
“If she gets much money she'll maybe marry again.”
“Perhaps so.”
“And the money will go to her second husband, eh?”
“If she chooses to give it to him.”
“By jiminy, that won't suit me. I will spend my money myself.”
“But if you die, how will your wife and children get along?”
“What makes you think I'm goin' to die, eh? Do I look delicate?”
As Walter surveyed the stout, rotund figure of Mr. Fishbach he could not help laughing at the idea of his being delicate.
“You look likely to live,” he was forced to admit. “Still, life is uncertain.”
“You can't scare Louis Fishbach, young man. My father lived till seventy-seven and my mother was seventy-five. My children can take care of themselves when I die, and they can look after the old woman.”
Walter used such other arguments as occurred to him, but his German friend was not to be moved, and he rather despondently put his documents into his pocket and went out into the street.
“I had no idea I should find it so difficult,” he reflected.
Life insurance seemed to him so beneficent, and so necessary a protection for those who would otherwise be unprovided for, that he could not understand how any one who cared for his wife and children could fail to avail himself of its advantages.
After leaving the house of Mr. Fishbach he kept on in the same direction. Being unacquainted in Elm Bank, he had to trust to chance to guide him.
A little distance beyond was an old-fashioned, two-story house.
“Perhaps I had better call,” thought Walter, and he entered the path that led to the side door. He had scarcely taken three steps when he was startled by a scream that seemed to proceed from the interior.
“Help! help!” was the cry that reached him.
He started to run, and on reaching the door opened it without ceremony. The sight that confronted him was one to test his courage.
CHAPTER XIV AN EXCITING ENCOUNTER
To understand the scene in which Walter became an actor a brief explanation is necessary.
The occupant of the house was a woman of perhaps thirty-five. Her husband, Ephraim Gregory, was employed in Chicago, and went to and from the city every day. It was somewhat inconvenient to live at Elm Bank, but both he and his wife were fond of the country, and were willing to submit to some inconvenience for the sake of the sweet, pure air and rural surroundings. They had one child, a little girl of five.
Twenty minutes previous Mrs. Gregory had been sitting at her sewing, with little Rosa on the floor beside her, when, without the ceremony of a knock, the outer door was opened and a tall, powerful man, whose garb and general appearance indicated that he was a tramp, entered the room.
“What do you want?” asked Mrs. Gregory, rising in alarm.
“I'm hungry,” answered the tramp, in a hoarse voice.
He might be hungry, but his breath indicated that he had been drinking. Mrs. Gregory would gladly have dismissed him, but she was afraid to do so. If only her husband had been at home!
“Sit down,” she said, “and I will find you something.”
She went to the pantry and returned with some bread and cold meat, which she set before her uncouth visitor.
“If you will wait five minutes I will make you some tea,” she said.
“I don't want any slops,” said her visitor, scornfully. “Give me brandy.”
“I have none.”
“Then whisky, gin—anything!”
“We don't keep liquors in the house. My husband and I never drink them.”
At this he swore in a manner that terrified his unwilling hostess, and anathematized her for a temperance crank. This aroused her spirit.
“If you want liquor,” she said, “you may go where it is sold. I won't supply it to you or anybody else. If you want hot tea you can have it.”
“Give it to me, then.”
Mrs. Gregory hastened to steep some tea—she had hot water all ready—and set it before the ruffian. He ate and drank eagerly, voraciously, and did not leave a crumb behind him. He had certainly spoken the truth when he said he was hungry. Then he arose, and she hoped he would go. But he turned to her with a significant look.
“I want money,” he said.
“I can give you none,” she answered, her heart sinking.
“Oh, yes, you can.”
“Are you a thief?” she demanded, with a flash of spirit.
“You can call me that if you like.”
There was little hope of shaming him, she saw.
“Look here, missis,” he went on roughly, “you've got money in the house, and I must have it.”
“How do you know that I have money in the house?”
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