human
Yes, he said,
gpt
Well, Spugg, said one of the members
human
What else can a man do?
gpt
When does your chauffeur leave?
human
Right away. I want him in the firing line just as quick as I can get him there.
gpt
It's a fine thing you're doing, Spugg, said a third member,
human
I must take my chance on that, answered Mr. Spugg, firmly.
gpt
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,--
human
Whatever Henry loses I pay for. The loss shall fall on me, every cent of it.
gpt
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,
human
he added modestly.
gpt
We like to feel that we're doing our bit, too. We had a chauffeur killed last week. We paid for him right off without demur,--waived all question of who killed him. I never signed a check (as I took occasion to say in a little note I wrote to his people) with greater pleasure.
human
What do you do if Henry's mutilated? asked Mr. Spugg, turning his quiet eyes on the insurance man and facing the brutal facts of things without flinching.
gpt
What do you pay? Suppose I lose the use of Henry's legs, what then?
human
It's all right, said his friend.
gpt
Leave it to us. Whatever he loses, we make it good.
human
All right, said Spugg,