"Of course, if you wish to." "Don't you think he can be induced to insure?" asked Gunn. "I hardly think so," replied Mrs. Kemper. "He is in good health, I suppose? Has he complained lately of being sick?" "Not lately." "May I ask if he has any considerable wealth?" "Not a cent." "Then, of course, he must insure. No poor man can afford to neglect such an opportunity. I suppose he travels sometimes--goes about in railroad cars and other dangerous places?" "No, he keeps very quiet." "Man of steady habits, I s'pose?" "Very steady." "He is the very man I want," said Gunn. "I know I can sell him a policy." "I don't think you can," replied Mrs. Kemper. "Why? When will he be home? I'll call on him. I don't know of any reason why I shouldn't insure him." "I know," replied Mrs. K. "Why?" "He _has been dead twenty-seven years_!" said the widow. [Illustration] Then Mr. Gunn said "good-morning," and returned to his office. The widow must have told the story to some one, probably to Magruder, for it was soon known all over town, and those who had suffered from an excess of Gunn gloried in his discomfiture. As this was the first time in his career that he had ever been down, it is not surprising that several of his enemies should improve the opportunity by giving him a few vigorous kicks. The most venomous attack upon him, however, appeared in the _Argus_. It came, I think, from that remarkable medical man Dr. Tobias Jones, who dislikes Gunn because he employs a rival physician, Dr. Brindley, to examine persons who apply for policies. He called the article A LIFE INSURANCE AGENT. His name was Benjamin P. Gunn, and he was the agent for a life insurance company. He came around to my office fourteen times in one morning to see if he could not persuade me to take out a policy. He used to waylay me on the street, at church, in my own house, and bore me about that policy. If I went to the opera, Gunn would buy the seat next to me, and sit there the whole evening talking about sudden death and the advantages of the ten-year plan. If I got into a railway car, Gunn would come rushing in and sit by my side, and drag out a lot of mortality tables and begin to explain how I could gouge a fortune out of his company. If I sat down to dinner in a restaurant, up would come Gunn; and seizing the chair next to me, he would tell a cheering anecdote about a man who insured in his company for $50,000 only last week, and was buried yesterday. If I attended the funeral of a departed friend, and wept as they threw the earth upon his coffin, I would hear a whisper; and turning around, there would be the indomitable Benjamin P. Gunn, bursting to say, "Poor Smith! Knew him well. Insured for ten thousand in our company. Widow left in comfortable circumstances. Let me take your name. Shall I?"