"
"No security? Why not, sir?"
"You might die to-morrow. You are not a young man. What age are you?"
"Sixty-three."
Mr. Metaxa turned over a long column of figures. "Here is an actuary's
table," said he. "At your time of life the average expectancy of life
is only a few years even in a well-preserved man."
"Do you mean to insinuate that I am not a well-preserved man?"
"Well, Admiral, it is a trying life at sea. Sailors in their younger
days are gay dogs, and take it out of themselves. Then when they grow
older they are still hard at it, and have no chance of rest or peace. I
do not think a sailor's life a good one."
"I'll tell you what, sir," said the Admiral hotly. "If you have two
pairs of gloves I'll undertake to knock you out under three rounds. Or
I'll race you from here to St. Paul's, and my friend here will see fair.
I'll let you see whether I am an old man or not."
"This is beside the question," said the moneylender with a deprecatory
shrug. "The point is that if you died to-morrow where would be the
security then?"
"I could insure my life, and make the policy over to you."
"Your premiums for such a sum, if any office would have you, which I
very much doubt, would come to close on five hundred a year.
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