WERE riding back from 



Henry Brokton's funeral. Bill 



was driving. I was in front 



with him. The Old Judge was 



in the back seat with Herb 



Endicott. Ahead of us the 



Brokton family were turning into their 



gate — ^the widow, the small son, and 



two young daughters. 



"Poor Henry was a good man," spoke 

 up Bill. "Look at that farm. About the 

 nicest layout in these parts." 



"That's true," I replied, "but Henry 

 had it pretty well mortgaged." 



"What's a mortgage," scoffed Bill. 

 "We've all got 'em. They go with farm- 

 ing like the weather." 



Anyway, I couldn't help wondering 

 about the widow and those three small 

 children. And that mortgage. 

 ' Bill went on. "His widow is better off 

 than most. She's got a roof over her 

 head and food for her table. The land 

 is good and the mortgage will stand as 

 it is. Henry was a good man. Never did 

 a mean thing in his life. Never did a 

 wrong deed — " 



"Humph!" growled the Old Judge 

 from the back seat. "Henry never 

 meant to, but he committed a crime." 



Bill and I exploded in a storm of 

 protest. The Judge was crazy, we said. 

 Henry never tangled up in anything 

 shady — and so on. 



The Old Judge heard us out, then 

 continued, "Everything you say is true. 

 But, here's the crime of Henry Brok- 

 ton." He closed his eyes in thought. "I 

 knew Henry's father. I've known Henry 

 since he was a little shaver. He talked 

 to me when he bought that farm. It 

 took all he had and then some. He 

 worked like a slave improving it. Then 

 he married. The children came along. 

 More money was needed for improve- 

 ments. An automobile. Prices were high 

 for everything except farm products. 



Land was going down. Henry's mort- 

 gage was made on high priced land. 



"One day in 1930 Henry came to me 

 looking pretty glum. He'd just conie 

 from the bank. They hadn't been rough 

 with him, you understand, but they 

 made it clear they couldn't go along 

 lending him money. I suggested he bor- 

 row on his life insurance policy. But 

 that was no go. He didn't carry any. 



"I didn't see Henry again to really 

 talk to until last year when he came in 

 and said he wanted to make his will. 

 We didn't talk much. Things were 

 pretty bad for all of us. I didn't ask 

 any questions. A lawyer learns when 

 not to. We cleaned things up in a 

 jiffy. I was surprised at the absence 

 of any life insurance and said so. Henry 

 said he'd go over and see Herb, here, 

 when he left me. Well — I found out he 



didn't go. '/V"^'"-^■v^•'/!-V''^■••■'^'^■'''^/•^^ v/\-^^-'v 



: "I didn't think any more about it until 

 the news came the other day that Henry 

 had fallen off his barn. Then I thought 

 about that will, the mortgage, and no 

 life insurance. :;. ■^' :''^^'^-^'''-:\.J.^'':/}J^-\^^^ 



"So, I say, no matter how fine, hard 

 working, faithful and honest he was, the 

 crime of Henry Brokton was in not 

 carrying protection for his widow and 



those kids. If he couldn't make both 

 ends meet and pay his mortgage, how, 

 in hades is his widow going to? Who's 

 going to send those kids to college? 

 Mortgages don't go on forever. A young 

 widow with three little ones is not go- 

 ing to marry very soon. And hired help 

 don't make money for a farm!" 



He turned to Herb Endicott who'd 

 been sitting there not saying a word. 

 Just smiling. That made the Old Judge 

 mad. 



"There's nothing to smile about Herb. 

 You were a friend of Henry's. Why'n ' 

 blue blazes didn't you make him take : 

 out life insurance with you? That's ; 

 your job down at the County Farm Bu- 

 reau office." :\'Vo 1'•^*^'!'H -^f ■-■'•;: ;^;^^ 



Herb kept right on smiling. "That's : 

 my job all right. Judge," he said. "And 

 you're right as usual — about both Henry 

 and me. But there's one thing you're 

 wrong about. Henry did have his life 

 insured — just a month before he died. I 

 had the hardest job of my life making 

 him take it. Won't his widow be sur- 

 prised and happy when I hand her a • 

 Country Life check tomorrow, for $10,- 

 000? Henry never told her about it." 

 Country Life Insurance Company, 608 

 South Dearborn Street, Chicago, Illinois. 





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