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was simply that he couldn't open his mouth unless it was to make a
sales talk. He couldn't carry on an ordinary conversation because he
didn't know the first thing about anything that didn't have something
to do with insurance, or automobiles, or real estate. If somebody tried
to talk about politics or maybe religion Harry would look irritated,
and he would start to make a sales talk. He even asked Simon
Gregory how old he was, and when Simon said that he was twenty-
two, Harry became very excited.
"Listen, Simon," he said, "you are my cousin, and I want to do
you a favour. You haven't a day to lose if you intend to be financially
independent when you are sixty-five. I have just the policy you need.
Surely you can afford to pay six dollars and twenty-seven cents a
month for the next forty-three years. You won't be able to go to the
cinema often; but what is more important, to see a few foolish
moving pictures, or to be independent when you are sixty-five?" it
almost made Simon bawl to hear Harry talking that way, sick as he
was.
The doctor told Harry's folks that his only hope was to go to the
South for a year or two, but when they talked the matter over with
Harry, he got sore and said the doctor was trying to make him spend
his money. He said he was all right, just a cold in the chest, and he
told his folks to ask the doctor to stay away. "Get some other doctor,"
he said. "Why should I go to the south?"
From time to time we would see Harry in town, talking rapidly
to someone, trying to sell something, but it would be for only a day or
two and then he would have to go back to bed. He kept this up for
about two years, and you ought to see the change that came over that
poor boy. It was really enough to make you feel rotten. To look at
him you would think he was the loneliest person on earth, and the
thing that hurt most was the realization that if you tried to talk to him,
or tried to be friendly towards him, he would turn around and try to
sell you life insurance. That's what burned a man up. There he was
dying on his feet, and still wanting to sell life insurance to healthy
people. It was too sad not to be funny.
Well, one day (this was years ago) I saw Simon Gregory in
town, and he looked sick. I asked him what the trouble was, and he
said Harry had died and that he had been at the bedside at that time,
and now he was feeling rotten. The things Harry talked about. It was