Of course, he's insured his life and the lives of the whole family of
them. He's insured against railway accidents and all other accidents,
and against illness. The fidelity of all his clerks is insured. He's
insured against burglary, naturally. Against fire, too. And against
loss of rent through fire. His plate-glass is insured. His bunch of
keys is insured. He's insured against employers' liability. He's
insured against war. He's insured against loss of business profits.
The interest on his mortgage securities is insured. His wretched
little automobile is insured. I do believe he was once insured against
the eventuality of twins."

"He must feel safe," I said.

"Not the least bit in the world," replied Alpha. "Life is a perfect
burden to him. That wouldn't matter so much if he didn't make it a
perfect burden to all his family as well. They've all got to be
prepared against the worst happening. If he fell down dead his wife
would know just what to do. She knows all the details of his financial
position exactly. She has to; he sees to that. He keeps her up to date
in them every day. And she has to show him detailed accounts of the
house as though it was a business undertaking, because he's so afraid
of her being left helpless and incapable. She just has to understand
that 'life is real, life is earnest,' and death more so.

"Then the children. They're all insured, of course. Each of the girls
has to take charge of the house in turn. And they must all earn their
own living--in case papa fell down dead. Take that second daughter.
She hates music, but she has a certain mechanical facility with the
fiddle, and so she must turn it into coin, in order to be on the safe
side. Her instincts are for fine clothes, idleness, and