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    Chapter 3

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    Chapter 3
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    On the very next day but one I was sitting behind my glass
    partition, as before, when he came into the outer office, as
    before. The moment I saw him again without hearing him, I hated
    him worse than ever.

    It was only for a moment that I had this opportunity; for he waved
    his tight-fitting black glove the instant I looked at him, and came
    straight in.

    'Mr. Sampson, good-day! I presume, you see, upon your kind
    permission to intrude upon you. I don't keep my word in being
    justified by business, for my business here - if I may so abuse the
    word - is of the slightest nature.'

    I asked, was it anything I could assist him in?

    'I thank you, no. I merely called to inquire outside whether my
    dilatory friend had been so false to himself as to be practical and
    sensible. But, of course, he has done nothing. I gave him your
    papers with my own hand, and he was hot upon the intention, but of
    course he has done nothing. Apart from the general human
    disinclination to do anything that ought to be done, I dare say
    there is a specially about assuring one's life. You find it like
    will-making. People are so superstitious, and take it for granted
    they will die soon afterwards.'

    'Up here, if you please; straight up here, Mr. Sampson. Neither to
    the right nor to the left.' I almost fancied I could hear him
    breathe the words as he sat smiling at me, with that intolerable
    parting exactly opposite the bridge of my nose.

    'There is such a feeling sometimes, no doubt,' I replied; 'but I
    don't think it obtains to any great extent.'

    'Well,' said he, with a shrug and a smile, 'I wish some good angel
    would influence my friend in the right direction. I rashly
    promised his mother and sister in Norfolk to see it done, and he
    promised them that he would do it. But I suppose he never will.'

    He spoke for a minute or two on indifferent topics, and went away.

    I had scarcely unlocked the drawers of my writing-table next
    morning, when he reappeared. I noticed that he came straight to
    the door in the glass partition, and did not pause a single moment
    outside.

    'Can you spare me two minutes, my dear Mr. Sampson?'

    'By all means.'

    'Much obliged,' laying his hat and umbrella on the table; 'I came
    early, not to interrupt you. The fact is, I am taken by surprise
    in reference to this proposal my friend has made.'

    'Has he made one?' said I.

    'Ye-es,' he answered, deliberately looking at me; and then a bright
    idea seemed to strike him - 'or he only tells me he has. Perhaps
    that may be a new way of evading the matter. By Jupiter, I never
    thought of that!'

    Mr. Adams was opening the morning's letters in the outer office.
    'What is the name, Mr. Slinkton?' I asked.

    'Beckwith.'

    I looked out at the door and requested Mr. Adams, if there were a
    proposal in that name, to bring it in. He had already laid it out
    of his hand on the counter. It was easily selected from the rest,
    and he gave it me. Alfred Beckwith. Proposal to effect a policy
    with us for two thousand pounds. Dated yesterday.

    'From the Middle Temple, I see, Mr. Slinkton.'

    'Yes. He lives on the same staircase with me; his door is
    opposite. I never thought he would make me his reference though.'

    'It seems natural enough that he should.'

    'Quite so, Mr. Sampson; but I never thought of it. Let me see.'
    He took the printed paper from his pocket. 'How am I to answer all
    these questions?'

    'According to the truth, of course,' said I.

    'O, of course!' he answered, looking up from the paper with a
    smile; 'I meant they were so many. But you do right to be
    particular. It stands to reason that you must be particular. Will
    you allow me to use your pen and ink?'

    'Certainly.'

    'And your desk?'

    'Certainly.'

    He had been hovering about between his hat and his umbrella for a
    place to write on. He now sat down in my chair, at my blotting-
    paper and inkstand, with the long walk up his head in accurate
    perspective before me, as I stood with my back to the fire.

    Before answering each question he ran over it aloud, and discussed
    it. How long had he known Mr. Alfred Beckwith? That he had to
    calculate by years upon his fingers. What were his habits? No
    difficulty about them; temperate in the last degree, and took a
    little too much exercise, if anything. All the answers were
    satisfactory. When he had written them all, he looked them over,
    and finally signed them in a very pretty hand. He supposed he had
    now done with the business. I told him he was not likely to be
    troubled any farther. Should he leave the papers there? If he
    pleased. Much obliged. Good-morning.

    I had had one other visitor before him; not at the office, but at
    my own house. That visitor had come to my bedside when it was not
    yet daylight, and had been seen by no one else but by my faithful
    confidential servant.

    A second reference paper (for we required always two) was sent down
    into Norfolk, and was duly received back by post. This, likewise,
    was satisfactorily answered in every respect. Our forms were all
    complied with; we accepted the proposal, and the premium for one
    year was paid.
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