Gunn.  “You are a poor man now.  How do you know that your family will have enough when you are gone to pay your funeral expenses, to bury you decently?”

Butterwick.  “I don’t want to be buried.”

Gunn.  “Perhaps Mrs. Butterwick will be so indignant at your neglect that she will not mourn for you, that she will not shed a tear over your bier.”

Butterwick.  “I don’t want a bier, and I’d rather she wouldn’t cry any.”

Gunn.  “Well, then, s’posin’ you go in on the endowment plan and take a policy for five thousand dollars, to be paid you when you reach the age of fifty?”

Butterwick.  “I don’t want five thousand dollars when I’m fifty.  I wouldn’t take it if you were to fling it at me and pay me to take it.”

Gunn.  “I’m afraid, then, I’ll have to say good-morning.”

Butterwick.  “I don’t want you to say good-morning; you can go without saying it.”

Gunn.  “I’ll quit.”

Butterwick.  “Aha! now you’ve hit it!  I do want you to quit, and as suddenly as you can.”

Then Mr. Gunn left.  He thinks he will hardly insure Butterwick.

[Illustration:  FINIS]