The Monkey’s Paw

Part I

Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnum

villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son

were at chess; the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving

radical chances, 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.

"I'm listening," said the latter grimly surveying the board as he stretched

out his hand. "Check."

"I should hardly think that he's come tonight, " said his father, with his

hand poised over the board.

"Mate," replied the son.

"That's the worst of living so far out," balled Mr. White with sudden and

unlooked-for violence; "Of all the beastly, slushy, out of the way places to

live in, this is the worst. Path's a bog, and the road's a torrent. I don't

know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses

in the road are let, they think it doesn't matter."

"Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the next

one."

Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance

between mother and son. the words died away on his lips, and he hid a

guilty grin in his thin grey beard.

"There he is," said Herbert White as the gate banged to loudly and heavy

footsteps came toward the door.

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.

"Sargeant-Major Morris, " he said, introducing him.

The Sargeant-Major took hands and taking the proffered seat by the fire,

watched contentedly as his host got out whiskey and tumblers and stood

a small copper kettle on the fire.

At the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little

family circle regarding with eager interest this visitor from distant parts,

as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of wild scenes

and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange peoples.

"Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son.

"When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now look

at him."

"He don't look to have taken much harm." said Mrs. White politely.

"I'd like to go to India myself," said the old man, just to look around a bit,

you know."

"Better where you are," said the Sargeant-Major, shaking his head. He

put down the empty glass and sighning softly, shook it again.

"I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers," said the

old man. "what was that that you started telling me the other day about a

monkey's paw or something, Morris?"

"Nothing." said the soldier hastily. "Leastways, nothing worth hearing." "Monkey's paw?" said Mrs. White curiously.

"Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps." said the

Sargeant-Major off-handedly.

His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor absent-mindedly

put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again. His host filled it

for him again.

"To look at," said the Sargeant-Major, fumbling in his pocket, "it's just an

ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy."

He took something out of his pocket and proffered it. Mrs. White drew

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

"And what is there special about it?" inquired Mr. White as he took it from

his son, and having examined it, placed it upon the table.