By W. W. Jacobs
IWithout， the night was cold and wet， but in the smallparlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fireburned brightly. Father and son were at chess， the former， whopossessed ideas about the game involving radical changes，putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils thatit even provoked comment from the white-haired old ladyknitting placidly by the fire.
“Hark at the wind，” said Mr. White， who， having seen afatal mistake after it was too late， was amiably desirous ofpreventing his son from seeing it.
“I’m listening，” said the latter， grimly surveying the board ashe stretched out his hand. “Check.”
“I should hardly think that he’d come tonight，” said hisfather， 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 whatpeople are thinking about. I suppose because only two housesin the road are let， they think it doesn’t matter.”
“Never mind， dear，” said his wife， soothingly； “perhapsYou’ll win the next one.”
Mr. White looked up sharply， just in time to intercept aknowing glance between mother and son. The words diedaway on his lips， and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard.
“There he is，” said Herbert White， as the gate banged toloudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door.
The old man rose with hospitable haste， and opening thedoor， was heard condoling with the new arrival. The newarrival also condoled with himself， so that Mrs. White said，“Tut， tut！” and coughed gently as her husband entered theroom， followed by a tall， burly man， beady of eye and rubicundof visage.
“Sergeant-Major Morris，” he said， introducing him.
The sergeant-major shook hands， and taking the proffered seatby the fire， watched contentedly while his host got out whiskeyand 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 visitorfrom distant parts， as he squared his broad shoulders in thechair and spoke of wild scenes and doughty deeds； of wars andplagues and strange peoples.
“Twenty-one years of it，” said Mr. White， nodding at hiswife and son. “When he went away he was a slip of a youth inthe 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 tolook round a bit， you know.”
“Better where you are，” said the sergeant-major， shaking hishead. He put down the empty glass， and sighing softly， shookit 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 otherday about a monkey’s paw or something， Morris？”
“Nothing，” said the soldier， hastily. “Leastways nothingworth 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 visitorabsent-mindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set itdown 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 ashe took it from his son， and having examined it， placed it uponthe table.
“It had a spell put on it by an old fakir，” said the sergeantmajor，“a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruledpeople’s lives， and that those who interfered with it did so totheir sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate mencould each have three wishes from it.”
His manner was so impressive that his hearers wereconscious 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 wontto regard presumptuous youth. “I have，” he said， quietly， andhis blotchy face whitened.
“And did you really have the three wishes granted？” askedMrs. White.
“I did，” said the sergeant-major， and his glass tapped againsthis strong teeth.
“And has anybody else wished？” persisted the old lady.
“The first man had his three wishes. Yes，” was the reply； “Idon’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. “I did have some idea of selling it， but I don’t think Iwill. It has caused enough mischief already. Besides， peoplewon’t buy. They think it’s a fairy tale； some of them， and thosewho do think anything of it want to try it first and pay meafterward.”
“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 forefinger andthumb， suddenly threw it upon the fire. White， with a slightcry， stooped down and snatched it off.
“Better let it burn，” said the soldier， solemnly.
“If you don’t want it， Morris，” said the other， “give it to me.”
“I won’t，” said his friend， doggedly. “I threw it on the fire. Ifyou keep it， don’t blame me for what happens. Pitch it on thefire again like a sensible man.”
The other shook his head and examined his new possessionclosely. “How do you do it？” he inquired.
“Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud，” said thesergeant-major， “but I warn you of the consequences.”