"
"What else can a man do?" said Mr. Spugg.
"When does your chauffeur leave?" asked another man.
"Right away. I want him in the firing line just as quick
as I can get him there."
"It's a fine thing you're doing, Spugg," said a third
member, "but do you realise that your chauffeur may be
killed?"
"I must take my chance on that," answered Mr. Spugg,
firmly. "I've thought this thing out and made up my mind:
If my chauffeur is killed, I mean to pay for him,--full
and adequate compensation. The loss must fall on me, not
on him. Or, say Henry comes back mutilated,--say he loses
a leg,--say he loses two legs,--"
Here Mr. Spugg looked about him at his listeners, with
a look that meant that even three legs wouldn't be too
much for him.
"Whatever Henry loses I pay for. The loss shall fall on
me, every cent of it."
"Spugg," said a quiet looking, neatly dressed man whom
I knew to be the president of an insurance company and
who reached out and shook the speaker by the hand, "this
is a fine thing you're doing, a big thing. But we mustn't
let you do it alone. Let our company take a hand in it.
We're making a special rate now on chauffeurs, footmen,
and house-servants sent to the war, quite below the rate
that actuarial figures justify.
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