Helena Weekly Herald

A Question of Insurance.

The Chicago Tribune says: "A beautiful and bashful young woman of about nineteen summers called at the office of a life assurance agent last week, and asked him timidly if he could tell her how long people of a certain age would live.

"Madame," replied the agent, coughing respectfully behind a prospectus and drawing his chair nearer to her, "here are our tables of expectation and average mortality, which contains all the information upon the subject that you can desire."

"Well," said she, "how long will a man of sixty-seven, and that eats peas with his knife, live?"

"According to our table, madame," replied the agent, "he should, on an average, survive eleven years, three months, and sixteen days."

"That," said his visitor, "would be to the 1st of August, 1887?"

"Precisely, madame, on the average expectation of mortality, for we all must die, and it is, therefore, well to insure against loss to the loved ones in a company whose character—

"And how much could I insure his life for?"

"Oh, for any amount, say for $50,000," he answered, taking up a blank form of application; "let me recommend the unexampled advantages offered by our non-forfeitable endowment policy."

"Well," said the young woman, "I think then, that I'll marry him."

"Insure him, you mean?" replied the agent.

"No, marry him: you insure him. You see," she added, with a burst of confidence, "I love Herbert, and Mr. Dawkins is old enough to be my grandfather. But Herbert is poor, and I just worship the corner lots that Mr. Dawkins builds on. And Herbert is very patient, and says if I will only fix a day, no matter how long he may have to wait, he will be happy. Now, you say Mr. Dawkins will die by the first of August, 1887, and as it wouldn't be decent to marry again till I've been in mourning a year, I'll arrange to marry Herbert on the 2d of August, 1888, and if Mr. Dawkins doesn't die by then you'll give me $50,000. Oh, thank you," and with a deep bow she swept out of the office.