Love Insurance

OUTSIDE a gilt-lettered door on the seventeenth floor of a New York office building, a tall young man in a fur-lined coat stood shivering. Why did he shiver in that coat? He shivered because he was fussed, poor chap. Because he was rattled, from the soles of his custom-made boots to the apex of his Piccadilly hat. A painful, palpitating spectacle, he stood. Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, the business of the American branch of that famous marine insurance firm, Lloyds, of London? usually termed in magazine articles "The Greatest Gambling Institution in the World"?went on oblivious to the shiverer who approached. The shiverer, with a nervous movement, shifted his walking-stick to his left hand, and laid his right on the door-knob. Though he is not at his best, let us take a look at him. Tall, as has been noted, perfectly garbed after London's taste, mild and blue as to eye, blond as to hair. A handsome, if somewhat weak face. Very distinguished ? even aristocratic ? in appearance. Perhaps?the thrill for us democrats here!? of the nobility. And at this moment sadly in need of a generous dose of that courage that abounds?see any book of familiar quotations? on the playing fields of Eton. Utterly destitute of the Eton or any other brand, he pushed open the door. The click of two dozen American typewriters smote upon his hearing. An office boy of the dominant New York race demanded in loud indiscreet tones his business there. "My business," said the tall young man weakly, "is with Lloyds, of London." The boy wandered off down that stenographer-bordered lane. In a moment he was back. "Mr. Thacker'll see you," he announced.