"I see her," said I. "What about her?" "That's Omega's second daughter." "Oh, Omega," I murmured. "Haven't seen him for ages. What's he doing with himself? Do you ever meet him nowadays?" Said Mr. Alpha: "I happened to dine with him--it was chiefly on business--a couple of days before I fell ill. Remarkably strange cove, Omega--remarkably strange." "Why? How? And what's the matter with the cove's second daughter, anyway?" "Well," said Alpha, "it's all of a piece--him and his second daughter and the rest of the family. Funny case. It ought to interest you. Omega's got a mania." "What mania?" "Not too easy to describe. Call it the precaution mania." "The precaution mania? What's that?" "I'll tell you." And he told me. V "Odd thing," said Alpha, "that I should have been at Omega's just as I was sickening for appendicitis. He's great on appendicitis, is Omega." "Has he had it?" "Not he! He's never had anything. But he informed me that before he went to Mexico last year he took the precaution of having his appendix removed, lest he might have acute appendicitis in some wild part of the country where there might be no doctor just handy for an operation. He's like that, you know. I believe if he had his way there wouldn't be an appendix left in the entire family. He's inoculated against everything. They're all inoculated against everything. And he keeps an elaborate medicine-chest in his house, together with elaborate typewritten instructions which he forced his doctor to give him--in case anything awful should happen suddenly. Omega has only to read those instructions, and he could stitch a horrible wound, tie up a severed artery, or make an injection of morphia or salt water. He has a thermometer in every room and one in each bath. Also burglar-alarms at all doors and windows, and fire extinguishers on every floor. But that's nothing. You should hear about his insurance. Of course, he's insured his life and the lives of the whole family of them. He's insured against railway accidents and all other accidents, and against illness. The fidelity of all his clerks is insured. He's insured against burglary, naturally. Against fire, too. And against loss of rent through fire. His plate-glass is insured. His bunch of keys is insured. He's insured against employers' liability. He's insured against war. He's insured against loss of business profits. The interest on his mortgage securities is insured. His wretched little automobile is insured. I do believe he was once insured against the eventuality of twins." "He must feel safe," I said.