6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs

6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs

6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs6 The Monkeys Paw By WW Jacobs

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THE MONKEY'S PAW (1902) by W.W. Jacobs
gaslight.mtroyal.ca/mnkyspaw.htm
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THE MONKEY'S PAW (1902)
from The lady of the barge (1906, 6th ed.)
London and New York
Harper & Brothers, Publishers
by W.W. Jacobs
I.
WITHOUT, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam 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 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.
"I'm listening," said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "Check."
"I should hardly think that he'd come to-night," said his father, with his hand poised over the board.
"Mate," replied the son.
"That's the worst of living so far out," bawled 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. Pathway's a bog, and the road's a torrent. I
don't know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses on 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.
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"Sergeant-Major Morris," he said, introducing him.
The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly while his host
got out whisky 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 strange 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 round a bit, you know."
"Better where you are," said the sergeant-major, shaking his head. He put down the empty glass, and sighing
softly, shook it again.
"I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers," said the old man. "What was 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 sergeant-major off-handedly.
His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set
it down again. His host filled it for him.
"To look at," said the sergeant-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.
"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."
His manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter jarred somewhat.
"Well, why don't you have three, sir?" said Herbert White cleverly.
The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth. "I have," he said
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quietly, and his blotchy face whitened.
"And did you really have the three wishes granted?" asked Mrs. White.
"I did," said the sergeant-major, and his glass tapped against his strong teeth.
"And has anybody else wished?" inquired the old lady.
"The first man had his three wishes, yes," was the reply. "I don't know what the first two were, but the third was
for death. That's how I got the paw."
His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group.
"If you've had your three wishes, it's no good to you now, then, Morris," said the old man at last. "What do you
keep it for?"
The soldier shook his head. "Fancy, I suppose," he said slowly.
"If you could have another three wishes," said the old man, eyeing him keenly, "would you have them?"
"I don't know," said the other. "I don't know."
He took the paw, and dangling it between his front finger and thumb, suddenly threw it upon the fire. White,
with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched it off.
"Better let it burn," said the soldier solemnly.
"If you don't want it, Morris," said the old man, "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."
The other shook his head and examined his new possession closely. "How do you do it?" he inquired.
"Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,' said the sergeant-major, "but I warn you of the consequences."
"Sounds like the Arabian Nights," said Mrs White, as she rose and began to set the supper. "Don't you think
you might wish for four pairs of hands for me?"
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.
"If you must wish," he said gruffly, "wish for something sensible."
Mr. White dropped it back into his pocket, and placing chairs, motioned his friend to the table. In the business
of supper the talisman was partly forgotten, and afterward the three sat listening in an enthralled fashion to a
second instalment of the soldier's adventures in India.
"If the tale about the monkey paw is not more truthful than those he has been telling us," said Herbert, as the
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