“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 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, 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?” persisted
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. “I did
have some idea of selling it, but I don’t think
I will. It has caused enough mischief already.
Besides, people won’t buy. They think
it’s a fairy tale; some of them, and those who
do think anything of it want to try it first and pay
me afterward.”
“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
and thumb, suddenly threw it upon the fire.
White, with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched
it off.
