Love Insurance

On duty with Lloyds of London in NYC, young Richard Minot is sent to the St Augustine-ish town of San Marco to ensure that a wealthy young lady, Cynthia Meyrick marry his firm's client, Lord Harrowby. Then, in a meet-cute on a slow-moving train, Minot meets the very enticing Miss Meyrick and... reconsiders his duty.

By : Earl Derr Biggers (1884 - 1933)

01 - I A Sporting Proposition 02 - II An Evening in the River 03 - III Journeys End in--Taxi Bills 04 - IV Mr. Trimmer Limbers Up 05 - V Mr. Trimmer Throws His Bomb 06 - VI Ten Minutes of Agony 07 - VII Chain Lightning's Collar 08 - VIII After the Trained Seals 09 - IX ''Wanted! Board and Room'' 10 - X Two Birds of Passage 11 - XI Tears From the Gaiety 12 - XII Exit a Lady, Laughingly 13 - XIII ''And On the Ships at Sea'' 14 - XIV Jersey City Interferes 15 - XV A Bit of a Blow 16 - XVI Who's Who in England 17 - XVII The Shortest Way Home 18 - XVIII ''A Rotten Bad Fit'' 19 - XIX Mr. Minot Goes Through Fire 20 - XX ''Please Kill'' 21 - XXI High Words at High Noon 22 - XXII ''Well, Hardly Ever--''

Outside a gilt-lettered door on the seventeenth floor of a New York office building, a tall young man in a fur-lined coat stood shivering.

Why did he shiver in that coat? He shivered because he was fussed, poor chap. Because he was rattled, from the soles of his custom-made boots to the apex of his Piccadilly hat. A painful, palpitating spectacle, he stood.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, the business of the American branch of that famous marine insurance firm, Lloyds, of London—usually termed in magazine articles "The Greatest Gambling Institution in the World"—went on oblivious to the shiverer who approached.

The shiverer, with a nervous movement shifted his walking-stick to his left hand, and laid his right on the door-knob. Though he is not at his best, let us take a look at him. Tall, as has been noted, perfectly garbed after London's taste, mild and blue as to eye, blond as to hair. A handsome, if somewhat weak face. Very distinguished—even aristocratic—in appearance. Perhaps—the thrill for us democrats here!—of the nobility. And at this moment sadly in need of a generous dose of that courage that abounds—see any book of familiar quotations—on the playing fields of Eton.

Utterly destitute of the Eton or any other brand, he pushed open the door. The click of two dozen American typewriters smote upon his hearing. An office boy of the dominant New York race demanded in loud indiscreet tones his business there.

"My business," said the tall young man weakly, "is with Lloyds, of London."

The boy wandered off down that stenographer-bordered lane. In a moment he was back.

"Mr. Thacker'll see you," he announced.

He followed the boy, did the tall young man. His courage began to return. Why not? One of his ancestors, graduate of those playing fields, had fought at Waterloo.

Mr. Thacker sat in plump and genial prosperity before a polished flat-top desk. Opposite him, at a desk equally polished, sat an even more polished young American of capable bearing. For an embarrassed moment the tall youth in fur stood looking from one to the other. Then Mr. Thacker spoke:

"You have business with Lloyds?"...