“That’s true,” responded the patient solicitor, “that’s true; insurance companies can’t prevent sickness and accidents and death any more than you can, Uncle Ned, but insurance companies can and do help you to bear your burdens in the time of trouble.”
“Dat’s jes’ what my ’ligion does,” said the old man with supreme satisfaction, “dat’s jes’ what my ’ligion does.”
“But we do it in a different way,” persisted the solicitor.
“Well, how does y’all do?” asked Uncle Ned.
Then the solicitor went over the details of the Workingmen’s Industrial Aid Insurance Company with his accustomed rapidity, telling about the initiation fees, monthly premiums, accident benefits, sick benefits, etc., etc., laying much stress especially upon the “endowment fund” that would be paid upon the death of the insured. When he had finished the elaborate narrative Uncle Ned, who had given the most earnest attention to the speaker, inquired:
“Boss, who you say de money goes to w’en I dies?”
“To your wife,” answered the solicitor, “or your children, or anybody you might name.”
“Well, Boss,” said the old man, “lemme ax you one question: Don’t you think dat would he’p de uddah fellah mo’n hit would me?”
“My ole ’oman’s secon’ husban’,” replied Ned; “you know des ez good ez I does dat ef I wuz to die an’ leave my ole ’oman two hundred or three hundred dollars, dah’d be some cullud gent’man done changed her name ’fo’ ole Ned got cole in de groun’.”
Uncle Ned’s originality made it very hard for Turner Tanksley to suppress a smile. Without giving the solicitor a chance to speak, Uncle Ned continued:
“An’ dah’s anuddah way to look at hit. Wimmins is mighty cu’ious. Yas, sah; wimmins is mighty cu’ious. Ef I wuz to go into dis thing you’s tellin’ me ’bout, I dasn’t let Dinah know hit. White man, you don’t know—no, sah, you don’t know. Ef dat ’oman knowed she’d git all dat money w’en I died, she would sho put a spidah in my dumplin’—she sho would, an’ fuss thing I know I’d wake up some mawnin’ an’ fine myse’f dead, an’ all on account uv dis thing dat you calls ’showance. No, sah, I don’t want nothin’ to do wid hit. De Baptis’ church is good ’nuff fer me.”
When the solicitor turned the corner he heard Uncle Ned singing some kind of religious song with the following refrain: