The Monkeys Paw

The Monkey's Paw, by W.W.
Jacobs

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Title: The Monkey's Paw The Lady of the Barge and Others, Part 2.
Author: W.W. Jacobs
Release Date: April 22, 2004 [EBook #12122]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
MONKEY'S PAW ***

Produced by David Widger

THE LADY OF THE BARGE
AND OTHER STORIES
By W. W. Jacobs

THE MONKEY'S PAW
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 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.
"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 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 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, offhandedly.
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.
"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