The Monkey's Paw

THE MONKEY'S PAW (1902)

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 com-

ment 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 con-

doling 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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