“No,” answered Walter, swelling¹ 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 pointed² 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.”

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