A Fair: Cut Thin to Win

She handed me one magazine. “Tell me about the contents of this one.”

“That,” I said, “is a magazine of general woman’s interest. It gives you tips on the home, on menus for high-protein, low-calorie meals. It tells you how to plan a house with the different areas in mind, how to take advantage of a view.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “That’s the stuff in this issue of the magazine you have with you, but what are the editors going to publish? What’s going to come out in the later issues?”

“Articles along the same general line,” I said. “The magazine has an established pattern and a reputation to live up to.”

“By whom will these articles be written?”

“The outstanding writers on the subject in the country.”

“Name one.”

“I can’t give you the names of the writers who are going to appear. All I can tell you is that it’s edited with an up-to-the-minute recognition of the problems of the modern housewife.”

“Humph,” she said. “What’s the next one?”

“That,” I said “specializes on homes. It tells you—”

“What’s the next issue going to be like?”

“Very similar to this one.”

“What’s in the Christmas issue?” she asked.

“The editor has gone in for a touching collection of human interest stories that—”

“By whom?” she asked. “Who are the writers?”

“The leading writers in the field.”

“Don’t you know anything other than that?”

“Well, I feel that that’s enough.”

“Who are the leading writers in the field?”

“Just look at the table of contents in this magazine,” I said, “and you’ll get the names.”

I started to open the magazine.

“Young man,” she said, “you’re a liar,”

I stopped and looked up at her.

“They told me about you,” she said. “You’re the man I was expecting after all.”

“Who told you about me?”

“Friends. They said a man representing the insurance company would call on me when I least expected it; that he’d start talking about something else and then lead the subject around to my injuries and try making a settlement.”

“I’m not interested in making a settlement,” I said. “I’m here to sell magazines.”

“Let me see one of your subscription blanks.”

“I don’t have them with me this morning. I am at present taking orders; then I report them to the office and the follow-up man who does the legwork and the detail work comes down with the actual subscriptions.”

“Phooey,” she said. “How much?”

“How much for what?”

“For a settlement.”

I said, “I’m not representing any insurance company. I’m not representing anyone who is interested in a settlement.”

“All right,” she said, “never mind whom you’re representing. How much?”

I said, “I tell you what I could do. I know a friend who sometimes speculates in personal injury cases. He buys up the claims for cash and gets an assignment and then he brings suit. He recovers, of course, a lot more money than he’s paid the person who was injured. Everyone has to make a profit.”

“Who is this person?” she asked.

“I’m not at liberty to give you his name, but if you’re interested in some form of a cash settlement, I might be able to get you in touch with him.”

“He’d pay me money and take over my claim and prosecute it and be entitled to everything he got out of it?”

“That’s right. It might not be that simple. There’s a little trouble with assignment of claims of this nature. You’d probably have to sign an instrument that, for value received, you agreed to turn over to him all of the money that you received as the result of a lawsuit; that he would finance the lawsuit and provide you with an attorney; that he could make any kind of a settlement he wanted; that he could let the matter drop at any time he wanted; that you would be guided by his wishes in the matter; that he would be substituted in your shoes and, in the event of any recovery in your name, you would turn over all the monies to him. In other words, he’d buy you out — lock, stock and barrel.”

“For how much?”

“That depends. How serious are you injuries?”

“I hurt all over.”

“How many broken bones?”

She said, “I know darned well that bone in my leg is broken, but the doctors tell me it isn’t. The X rays don’t show it, but I can tell from the way it feels.

“I wouldn’t go through this again for thousands of dollars. I can hardly move. I’m so sore.”

I said, “Sometimes this man that I know of makes quite a profit on these injuries; and sometimes, after he looks into them, he finds that he’s on the losing side of the case and he just backs away and lets the whole thing drop. If he decided to do that in this case, you’d have to sign a release if he told you to.”

“But that would be after he’d put up the money?”

“Yes.”

“I’d sign,” she said.

“Tell me about the facts in the case.”

“Well— Look here, young man, you’re not fooling me a bit. You’re from the insurance company and what you want is a release, but you’re trying to make it sound like a speculative investment so you can get it for less money than you would pay otherwise... You know all about the facts as much as I do, or maybe more.”

I smiled at her and said, “You’re rather shrewd and very, very suspicious, Mrs. Chester.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No,” I said, and then added, “it probably doesn’t make any difference. You have a figure in your mind that you’d be willing to accept as a cash settlement. In that way, you’d have the money in cash right now and you could move out of these cramped quarters, go to a nursing home or a hotel where you could get good service and be a lot more comfortable.”

“What I’d like to do,” she said, “would be to buy a television set with one of those remote control devices so you can turn it on and change stations.”

“I am quite satisfied that could be arranged — provided, of course, you didn’t want too much.”

“You’re still clinging to this story of yours about knowing somebody that wants to just buy my claim on a speculative basis?”

“That’s right. That’s the story. That’s all anybody would be doing.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” she said.

I smiled and shook my head, then added, “You haven’t even told me the facts of the case yet.”

“It was hit-and-run,” she said. “I was in an intersection minding my own business and this car came swooping around the corner and down the street. Some young woman was driving it. I didn’t get a good look at her.”

“Do you know the make of the car?”

“No.”

I said, “Of course, my man would have to take a chance on being able to find the car.”

“That’s going to be easy.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The police told me that one of the hardest crimes to get away with these days was a hit-and-run; that they have so many scientific gadgets that they’re able to spot the car usually within twenty-four hours.”

“How long has it been since the accident?”

“Five or six days, almost a week. I haven’t figured it up exactly. Let’s see, it was—”

“But it’s been over forty-eight hours?”

“Certainly. I said it had been — let’s see, I believe it’s five days. This is the sixth day.”

“And the police haven’t uncovered anyone yet?” I said. “Every day that passes by without uncovering the culprit makes it that much harder, and makes your claim worth that much less.”

Her eyes were shrewd. “Open that closet door, young man, and hand me that dress.”