Collection 2: "The Monkey's Paw" by W.W. Jacobs

Father and son were at chess; the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.

Father and son were at chess; the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.

“Hark at the wind,” said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it.

The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival.

The new arrival also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. White said, “Tut, tut!” and coughed gently as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall, burly man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage.

The new arrival also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. White said, “Tut, tut!” and coughed gently as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall, burly man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage.

The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly while his host brought out drinks and stood a small copper kettle on the fire.

“I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers,” said the old man.

Mrs. White drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously.

“It had a spell put on it by an old fakir,” said the sergeant-major, “a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people’s lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it.”

The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth.

“If you don’t want it, Morris,” said the other, “give it to me.”
“I won’t,” said his friend doggedly. “I threw it on the fire. If you keep it, don’t blame me for what happens. Pitch it on the fire again like a sensible man.”

Her husband drew the talisman from his pocket, and then all three burst into laughter as the sergeant-major, with a look of alarm on his face, caught him by the arm.

“Did you give him anything for it, Father?” inquired Mrs. White, regarding her husband closely.
“A trifle,” said he, coloring slightly. “He didn’t want it, but I made him take it. And he pressed me again to throw it away.”

He darted round the table, pursued by the maligned Mrs. White armed with an antimacassar.

His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own credulity, held up the talisman, as his son, with a solemn face, somewhat marred by a wink at his mother, sat down at the piano and struck a few impressive chords.

“It must have been your fancy, father,” said his wife, regarding him anxiously.

The last face was so horrible and so simian that he gazed at it in amazement.

There was an air of prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the previous night, and the dirty, shriveled little paw was pitched on the sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its virtues.

There was an air of prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the previous night, and the dirty, shriveled little paw was pitched on the sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its virtues.

“Well, don’t break into the money before I come back,” said Herbert as he rose from the table. “I’m afraid it’ll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you.”

He gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband’s coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden.

She then waited patiently for him to broach his business, but he was at first strangely silent.

“Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is it?”
Her husband interposed. “There, there, mother,” he said hastily.

“Sit down, and don’t jump to conclusions. You’ve not brought bad news, I’m sure, sir;” and he eyed the other wistfully.

“Is he hurt?” demanded the mother wildly.
The visitor bowed in assent. “Badly hurt,” he said quietly, “but he is not in any pain.”

“The firm wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss,” he said, without looking round.

But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation—the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled apathy.

But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation—the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled apathy.

A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the passage against the door.