The Best Policy

“Poor Ralph!” sighed Mrs. Tucker, as they departed.

When they had gone, Murray rang for his office-boy.

“You tell Mr. Ross,” he said to the boy, “to keep out of my way for a few days. I’m not in a mental condition to stand the sight of the man who loaded this trouble on me.”

For the next three days Murray saw as little of his office as he possibly could, fearing another call from Mr. and Mrs. Tucker. Then he learned that they had left again for the West, and he breathed more freely. But, shortly thereafter, a stock-broker called upon him.

“I am commissioned,” said the broker, “to buy some stock in your company, and I thought possibly you might know of some that is for sale.”

“I do not,” replied Murray. “As you know, it is not a speculative stock, but is held, for the most part, by conservative investors. A little gets on the market occasionally, when some estate is being settled or some holder becomes financially embarrassed, but that is about your only chance.”

“So my client informed me,” said the broker, “but he also informed me that he was sure he could get some himself, and he wished me to use every effort to add to his prospective holdings.”

“Mr. Tucker, your client, tried to buy some from me before he left for the West,” said Murray, for he had no doubt as to the identity of the man who wanted the stock.

“Indeed!” returned the broker. “I didn’t know that. He explained his anxiety for prompt action by the rather extraordinary statement that he wished to get the stock before somebody foreclosed on his life!”

“By thunder!” cried Murray, “somebody will foreclose on his life, and take the Limited west to do it, if he keeps this thing up!”

In some amazement, the broker apologized and retired, and Murray began to wonder what would happen to him if Mrs. Tucker ever did get enough of the stock to make her influence felt. Of course, there was little chance of that, but even a small stock-holder could be annoying when so disposed. He began to dream about the Tucker case, and an incidental mention of it in the office would make the atmosphere unpleasant for the day. Every clerk and solicitor understood that it was a dangerous topic. Once the name “Tucker” was mentioned in the ordinary course of business, and Murray had things at a fever heat before it could be explained to him that it was another Tucker. Then came a letter from the West, with a Tucker return card on the envelop. A council of war was held before it was delivered to Murray, and even then a time was chosen when he was absent to lay it on his desk. It was very brief – just an announcement that “the patient” had rallied splendidly after the fatigue of the journey and exhibited “really wonderful vitality for a sick man.” No one cared to go near Murray all the rest of that day.

Soon after the first of the following month another missive arrived – a mere formal affidavit, headed “Certificate of Life,” and solemnly averring that “Ralph Tucker’s heart has not ceased to murmur along in the land of the living.” This was followed a month later by a certificate from a physician to the effect that “a restful ranch life is especially conducive to longevity, and Mr. Tucker’s health continues to show all the improvement that can be expected in a man who had nothing the matter with him in the first place.”

These facetious reports continued to arrive at monthly intervals for a period of nearly a year. Usually they were brief, but occasionally the doctor, who seemed to enter into the spirit of the affair, would go into such details as weight, endurance, appetite, lifting power, respiration and – heart murmur. “The heart,” he wrote at one time, “seems to be too well satisfied to murmur now, and the patient was able to sit up and eat a large steak to-day, after which a little gentle exercise – about twenty miles on horseback – seemed to do him some good.”

Murray promptly turned this over to the company doctor, and the latter sighed. Almost the only satisfaction in life that Murray had during this time arose from his ability to make the doctor miserable.

“He was not a good risk when I examined him,” the doctor insisted, “but he may be a good one now. We can’t be certain of results in such a case, and the law of probabilities frequently works out wrong. He could not have done a better thing, under the circumstances, than to go in for a simple, outdoor life. The basis of trouble was there, in my judgment, but it may have been overcome.”

“The basis of trouble is still there,” declared Murray; “not only the basis of trouble, but the whole blame structure, and it’s resting on us. I can feel the weight.”

“So can I,” replied the doctor disconsolately.

Less than a week after this Tucker telegraphed to know if Murray had changed his mind about disposing of any stock.

“No,” was the reply sent back.

“All right,” Tucker answered. “I just wanted to give Mrs. Tucker another slice of your company. She has a little of it already.”

Investigation showed that the broker had succeeded in picking up a few shares, but hardly enough to exert any considerable influence. Still, it was disquieting to find the Tuckers so persistent.

“I’ll bet,” said Murray, “that mental worry has put me where you wouldn’t pass me for a risk.”

“If your wife,” returned the doctor, “is anything like Mrs. Tucker I’d pass you for any kind of risk rather than incur her displeasure. They’ll begin to take a stock-holder’s interest in the affairs of this particular office pretty soon.”

“The affairs are in good shape,” declared Murray.

“But a real determined stock-holder can stir up a devil of a rumpus over nothing,” asserted the doctor. “If she should send all those physicians’ reports to headquarters, they would rather offset my report on which he was turned down, and the company would feel that it had lost a good thing. The company will not stop to think that my report may have been justified by conditions at the time.”

“And the risk that I thought too big for him then may not seem too big for him now,” commented Murray ruefully.

“I’d like to examine him again,” said the doctor.

“I don’t think it would be safe,” returned Murray, “unless you were searched for weapons first.”

So the doctor and Murray settled down to await, with some anxiety, the next move in the game, and their patience was rewarded by the receipt of five certificates of health from as many different physicians, each certificate having a message of some sort scribbled across the top. “The patient had to ride a hundred miles to get these,” Mrs. Tucker had written on the first. “There were a few shares of this stock in my late lamented uncle’s estate,” appeared in Tucker’s handwriting on the second. “The president of your company is rusticating a few miles from here,” Mrs. Tucker asserted on the third. “Better come out here for a few days,” Tucker urged on the fourth. “Poor Ralph!” was Mrs. Tucker’s comment on the fifth.

“Poor Dave Murray!” grumbled Murray, and he and the doctor started West the next day. “Might as well get this thing settled,” he said. “You and I have got to be on harmonious terms with the stock-holders. Besides, there’s an early grave yawning for me if I don’t succeed in making peace with Mrs. Tucker. I tell you, Doctor, when a woman decides to make things uncomfortable for a man, – well, the man might just as well resign himself to being perpetually uncomfortable.”

And yet, no one could have greeted them more graciously than did Mrs. Tucker.

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, “and brought the doctor. It is particularly pleasing to have the doctor here, for I want him to see if something can’t be done for poor Ralph. I’m sure I don’t know what’s going to become of the poor fellow. He doesn’t sleep any better than a baby, and he can’t ride over a hundred miles without getting tired. His muscles aren’t a bit harder than iron, either, and his heart beats all the time.”

“Mrs. Tucker,” said Murray appealingly, “what can we do to make peace with you?”

“Without even seeing your husband again,” added the doctor, “I am willing to concede that he will live to be three thousand years old.”

“We are beaten,” asserted Murray. “You have humbled our business and professional pride. We give Mr. Tucker none of the credit; it all belongs to you. We claim to be the equals of any man, but of no woman. Now, on what terms can we have peace?”

“I did want your insurance company for a sort of belated wedding present,” said Mrs. Tucker thoughtfully.

“I’d give it to you if I could,” said Murray with the utmost sincerity. “I assure you, that company has been nothing but an annoyance to me ever since you cast longing eyes on the stock.”

“Oh, I’ve become more modest in my expectations,” replied Mrs. Tucker cheerfully. “I don’t expect much more than we’ve got now.”

“How much have you got?” asked Murray.

“Well, our broker picked up a few shares, and there were some more in the estate of Ralph’s uncle, and the president of the company kindly arranged it so that we could get a little more. Such a delightful man he is, too! It was when I heard he had a place in this vicinity, where he came for an outing every year, that I insisted upon Ralph’s buying this ranch. I thought it would be nice to be near him – and it was. We’re great friends now, although he’s only here for a little while in the spring and fall.”

“Did – did you tell him about the insurance?” asked Murray.

“What insurance?” asked Mrs. Tucker blandly. “We haven’t any insurance. Poor Ralph – ”

“Mrs. Tucker,” interrupted Murray, “if you say ‘Poor Ralph’ again, you will see a driveling idiot making streaks across the prairie. I have reached the limit of endurance. All I want is peace, peace, peace, and I’ll pay the price for it. Do you want some of my stock?”

“Oh, dear, no,” she replied. “We’ve got it fixed now so that Ralph is pretty sure to be a director next year. We talked it over with the president.”

“Does Mr. Tucker still want a policy?” asked Murray.

“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Tucker. “If he’s going to die so soon, it would be beating the company, and we’re part of the company now, so we – ”

“Stop it! stop it!” pleaded Murray. “I’ll bet you couldn’t kill him with an ax!”

“Sir!”

“I beg your pardon, but this is the climax of a year of torment that I didn’t suppose was possible this side of the infernal regions,” explained Murray dismally, “and I’m just naturally wondering why you brought me out here.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you that, did I?” returned Mrs. Tucker ingenuously. “I just wanted to tell you that, now that we’re stock-holders to a reasonable amount – Ralph retained a few shares, you know, and holds a proxy for mine – we look at the matter from an entirely different viewpoint, and we think that every reasonable precaution should be taken to avoid poor risks, as you call them. We are highly gratified by the evidence of caution that has inadvertently come under our notice, even if there was an incidental error that baffled human foresight.”