The Monkey's Paw

The father, who liked to take radical chances when he played, put his king into such unnecessary danger that it even produced a comment from the white-haired old lady knitting quietly by the fire.

“Listen to that wind,” said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was trying to prevent his son from seeing it.

“I doubt he’ll come tonight,” said the father, with his hand poised over the board.

“That’s the worst thing about living so far out,” complained Mr. White with sudden agitation.

The little family circle listened with interest to their visitor, as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of distant lands, strange scenes and brave deeds, of wars and plagues and extraordinary peoples.

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

“Nothing,” said the soldier, hastily.

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

The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age often regards presumptuous youth.

“Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,” said the sergeant-major, “but I warn you of the consequences.”

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.

As they ate supper, the talisman was partly forgotten, and afterwards the three sat listening in an enthralled way to a second installment of the soldier’s adventures in India.

He darted round the table, pursued by the offended Mrs. White armed with an dinner napkin.

Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and looked at it dubiously.

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.

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.

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.

“I’m afraid it’ll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you.”

“I’m afraid it’ll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you.”

He gazed furtively at Mrs. White, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband’s coat, which he usually only wore while working in the garden.

The visitor bowed in assent.

She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other’s averted face.

She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other’s averted face.

She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other’s averted face.

There was no reply; the old woman’s face was white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible.

“I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim all responsibility,” continued the other.

“They admit no liability at all, but in consideration of your son’s services they wish to present you with a certain amount of money as compensation.”

“They admit no liability at all, but in consideration of your son’s services they wish to present you with a certain amount of money as compensation.”

But the days passed, and expectation was replaced with resignation.

Sometimes they hardly said a word to each other, for now they had nothing to talk about, and their days were long and weary.

“Good God, you are mad!” he cried, aghast.

A horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him before he could escape from the room seized him.

His brow cold with sweat, he felt his way around the table, and groped along the wall until he found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in his hand.

“It is foolish and wicked,” he faltered.

The candle end, which had burned below the rim of the china candlestick, was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceiling and walls, until, with a flicker larger than the rest, it went out.

At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strike another, and at the same moment a knock, so quiet and cautious that it could hardly be heard, sounded on the front door.

He stood motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated.

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

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