STORY OF THE DAY

STORY OF THE DAY

The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County

Mark Twain 

In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured that, if I asked old Wheeler about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me nearly to death with some infernal reminiscence of him as long and tedious as it should be useless to me. If that was the design, it certainly succeeded.

I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room stove of the old, dilapidated tavern in the ancient mining camp of Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up and gave me good-day. I told him a friend of mine had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of Angel's Camp. I added that, if Mr. Wheeler could tell me any thing about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to him.

Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his chair, and then sat me down and reeled off the monotonous narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned the initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly that, so far from his imagining that there was any thing ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse. To me, the spectacle of a man drifting serenely along through such a queer yarn without ever smiling, was exquisitely absurd. As I said before, I asked him to tell me what he knew of Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and he replied as follows. I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once:

There was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49 or may be it was the spring of '50 I don't recollect exactly, somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big flume wasn't finished when he first came to the camp; but any way, he was the curiosest man about always betting on any thing that turned up you ever see, if he could get any body to bet on the other side; and if he couldn't, he'd change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit him any way just so's he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn't be no solittry thing mentioned but that feller'd offer to bet on it, and -take any side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a horse-race, you'd find him flush, or you'd find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reg'lar, to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about here, and so he was, too, and a good man. If he even seen a straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him he would bet on any thing the dangdest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they warn's going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley asked how she was, and he said she was considerable better thank the Lord for his inftnit mercy and coming on so smart that, with the blessing of Providence, she'd get well yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, "Well, I'll risk two- and-a-half that she don't, any way."

Thish-yer Smiley had a mare the boys called her the fifteen- minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because, of course, she was faster than that and he used to win money on that horse, for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or three hundred yards start, and then pass her under way; but always at the fag-end of the race she'd get excited and desperate- like, and come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side amongst the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust, and raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.

And he had a little small bull pup, that to look at him you'd think he wan's worth a cent, but to set around and look ornery, and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him, he was a different dog; his underjaw'd begin to stick out like the fo'castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover, and shine savage like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him, and bully- rag him, and bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson which was the name of the pup Andrew Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else and the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze on it not chew, you understand, but only jest grip and hang on till they thronged up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because they'd been sawed off by a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet bolt, he saw in a minute how he'd been imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peered sur- prised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He give Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs for him to take bolt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him, and he had genius I know it, because he hadn't had no opportunities to speak of, and it don't stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he could under them circumstances, if he hadn't no talent. It always makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n, and the way it turned out.

Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and tom- cats, and all of them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'klated to edercate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut see him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of catching flies, and kept him in practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every time as far as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do most any thing and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor Dan'l Webster was the name of the frog and sing out, "Flies, Dan'l, flies!" and quicker'n you could wink, he'd spring straight up, and snake a fly off'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor again as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doin' any more'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straightforward as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywheres, all said he laid over any frog that ever they see.

Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him down town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller a stranger in the camp, he was come across him with his box, and says:

"What might it be that you've got in the box?"

And Smiley says, sorter indifferent like, "It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, may be, but it an't it's only just a frog."

And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, "H'm so 'tis. Well, what's he good for?"

"Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "He's good enough for one thing, I should judge he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county."

The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, "Well, I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog."

"May be you don't," Smiley says. "May be you understand frogs, and may be you don't understand 'em; may be you've had experience, and may be you an't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got my opinion, and I'll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county."

And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, "Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I an't got no frog; but if I had a frog, I'd bet you."

And then Smiley says, "That's all right that's all right if you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog." And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set down to wait.

So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a tea- spoon and filled him full of quail shot filled him pretty near up to his chin and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says:

"Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore- paws just even with Dan'l, and I'll give the word." Then he says, "One two three jump!" and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders so like a Frenchman, but it wan's no use he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course.

The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulders this way at Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, "Well, I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog."

Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, "I do wonder what in the nation that frog throw'd off for I wonder if there an't something the matter with him he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l by the nap of the neck, and lifted him up and says, "Why, blame my cats, if he don't weigh five pound!" and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketchd him. And-

[Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to see what was wanted.] And turning to me as he moved away, he said: "Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy I an't going to be gone a second."

But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I started away.

At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he button- holed me and recommenced:

"Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yeller one-eyed cow that didn't have no tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and "

"Oh! hang Smiley and his afflicted cow!" I muttered, good-naturedly, and bidding the old gentleman good-day, I departed.

STORY OF THE DAY

THE MONKEY’S PAW
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 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 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.

“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. If you
keep it, don’t blame me for what happens. Pitch it on the fire again
like a sensible man.”

The other shook his head and examined his new possession closely. “How
do you do it?” he inquired.

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

“Sounds like the _Arabian Nights_,” said Mrs. White, as she rose and
began to set the supper. “Don’t you think you might wish for four pairs
of hands for me?”

Her husband drew the talisman from 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.

“If you must wish,” he said, gruffly, “wish for something sensible.”

Mr. White dropped it back in his pocket, and placing chairs, motioned
his friend to the table. In the business of supper the talisman was
partly forgotten, and afterward the three sat listening in an
enthralled fashion to a second instalment of the soldier’s adventures
in India.

“If the tale about the monkey’s paw is not more truthful than those he
has been telling us,” said Herbert, as the door closed behind their
guest, just in time for him to catch the last train, “we sha’nt make
much out of it.”

“Did you give him anything for it, father?” inquired Mrs. White,
regarding her husband closely.

“A trifle,” said he, colouring slightly. “He didn’t want it, but I made
him take it. And he pressed me again to throw it away.”

“Likely,” said Herbert, with pretended horror. “Why, we’re going to be
rich, and famous and happy. Wish to be an emperor, father, to begin
with; then you can’t be henpecked.”

He darted round the table, pursued by the maligned Mrs. White armed
with an antimacassar.

Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and eyed it dubiously. “I don’t
know what to wish for, and that’s a fact,” he said, slowly. “It seems
to me I’ve got all I want.”

“If you only cleared the house, you’d be quite happy, wouldn’t you?”
said Herbert, with his hand on his shoulder. “Well, wish for two
hundred pounds, then; that ’ll just do it.”

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 wish for two hundred pounds,” said the old man distinctly.

A fine crash from the piano greeted the words, interrupted by a
shuddering cry from the old man. His wife and son ran toward him.

“It moved,” he cried, with a glance of disgust at the object as it lay
on the floor.

“As I wished, it twisted in my hand like a snake.”

“Well, I don’t see the money,” said his son as he picked it up and
placed it on the table, “and I bet I never shall.”

“It must have been your fancy, father,” said his wife, regarding him
anxiously.

He shook his head. “Never mind, though; there’s no harm done, but it
gave me a shock all the same.”

They sat down by the fire again while the two men finished their pipes.
Outside, the wind was higher than ever, and the old man started
nervously at the sound of a door banging upstairs. A silence unusual
and depressing settled upon all three, which lasted until the old
couple rose to retire for the night.

“I expect you’ll find the cash tied up in a big bag in the middle of
your bed,” said Herbert, as he bade them good-night, “and something
horrible squatting up on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket
your ill-gotten gains.”

He sat alone in the darkness, gazing at the dying fire, and seeing
faces in it. The last face was so horrible and so simian that he gazed
at it in amazement. It got so vivid that, with a little uneasy laugh,
he felt on the table for a glass containing a little water to throw
over it. His hand grasped the monkey’s paw, and with a little shiver he
wiped his hand on his coat and went up to bed.




II.


In the brightness of the wintry sun next morning as it streamed over
the breakfast table he laughed at his fears. There was an air of
prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the
previous night, and the dirty, shrivelled little paw was pitched on the
sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its
virtues.

“I suppose all old soldiers are the same,” said Mrs. White. “The idea
of our listening to such nonsense! How could wishes be granted in these
days? And if they could, how could two hundred pounds hurt you,
father?”

“Might drop on his head from the sky,” said the frivolous Herbert.

“Morris said the things happened so naturally,” said his father, “that
you might if you so wished attribute it to coincidence.”

“Well, don’t break into the money before I come back,” said Herbert as
he rose from the table. “I’m afraid it’ll turn you into a mean,
avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you.”

His mother laughed, and following him to the door, watched him down the
road; and returning to the breakfast table, was very happy at the
expense of her husband’s credulity. All of which did not prevent her
from scurrying to the door at the postman’s knock, nor prevent her from
referring somewhat shortly to retired sergeant-majors of bibulous
habits when she found that the post brought a tailor’s bill.

“Herbert will have some more of his funny remarks, I expect, when he
comes home,” she said, as they sat at dinner.

“I dare say,” said Mr. White, pouring himself out some beer; “but for
all that, the thing moved in my hand; that I’ll swear to.”

“You thought it did,” said the old lady soothingly.

“I say it did,” replied the other. “There was no thought about it; I
had just—What’s the matter?”

His wife made no reply. She was watching the mysterious movements of a
man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at the house,
appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental
connection with the two hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger
was well dressed, and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he
paused at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood
with his hand upon it, and then with sudden resolution flung it open
and walked up the path. Mrs. White at the same moment placed her hands
behind her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, put
that useful article of apparel beneath the cushion of her chair.

She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He
gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the
old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband’s
coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then
waited as patiently as her sex would permit, for him to broach his
business, but he was at first strangely silent.

“I—was asked to call,” he said at last, and stooped and picked a piece
of cotton from his trousers. “I come from ‘Maw and Meggins.’”

The old lady started. “Is anything the matter?” she asked,
breathlessly. “Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is
it?”

Her husband interposed. “There, there, mother,” he said, hastily. “Sit
down, and don’t jump to conclusions. You’ve not brought bad news, I’m
sure, sir;” and he eyed the other wistfully.

“I’m sorry—” began the visitor.

“Is he hurt?” demanded the mother, wildly.

The visitor bowed in assent. “Badly hurt,” he said, quietly, “but he is
not in any pain.”

“Oh, thank God!” said the old woman, clasping her hands. “Thank God for
that! Thank—”

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 caught her breath, and turning to her slower-witted
husband, laid her trembling old hand upon his. There was a long
silence.

“He was caught in the machinery,” said the visitor at length in a low
voice.

“Caught in the machinery,” repeated Mr. White, in a dazed fashion,
“yes.”

He sat staring blankly out at the window, and taking his wife’s hand
between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in their old
courting-days nearly forty years before.

“He was the only one left to us,” he said, turning gently to the
visitor. “It is hard.”

The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the window. “The firm
wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great
loss,” he said, without looking round. “I beg that you will understand
I am only their servant and merely obeying orders.”

There was no reply; the old woman’s face was white, her eyes staring,
and her breath inaudible; on the husband’s face was a look such as his
friend the sergeant might have carried into his first action.

“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 sum as compensation.”

Mr. White dropped his wife’s hand, and rising to his feet, gazed with a
look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words, “How
much?”

“Two hundred pounds,” was the answer.

Unconscious of his wife’s shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put out
his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to the
floor.




III.


In the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people buried
their dead, and came back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It
was all over so quickly that at first they could hardly realize it, and
remained in a state of expectation as though of something else to
happen —something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for
old hearts to bear.

But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation—the
hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes
they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about,
and their days were long to weariness.

It was about a week after that the old man, waking suddenly in the
night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in
darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window. He
raised himself in bed and listened.

“Come back,” he said, tenderly. “You will be cold.”

“It is colder for my son,” said the old woman, and wept afresh.

The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his
eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden
wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start.

“_The paw!_” she cried wildly. “The monkey’s paw!”

He started up in alarm. “Where? Where is it? What’s the matter?”

She came stumbling across the room toward him. “I want it,” she said,
quietly. “You’ve not destroyed it?”

“It’s in the parlour, on the bracket,” he replied, marvelling. “Why?”

She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek.

“I only just thought of it,” she said, hysterically. “Why didn’t I
think of it before? Why didn’t _you_ think of it?”

“Think of what?” he questioned.

“The other two wishes,” she replied, rapidly. “We’ve only had one.”

“Was not that enough?” he demanded, fiercely.

“No,” she cried, triumphantly; “we’ll have one more. Go down and get it
quickly, and wish our boy alive again.”

The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs.
“Good God, you are mad!” he cried, aghast.

“Get it,” she panted; “get it quickly, and wish—Oh, my boy, my boy!”

Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. “Get back to bed,” he
said, unsteadily. “You don’t know what you are saying.”

“We had the first wish granted,” said the old woman, feverishly; “why
not the second?”

“A coincidence,” stammered the old man.

“Go and get it and wish,” cried his wife, quivering with excitement.

The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. “He has been
dead ten days, and besides he—I would not tell you else, but—I could
only recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible for you to
see then, how now?”

“Bring him back,” cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door.
“Do you think I fear the child I have nursed?”

He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and then
to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fear
that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him ere he
could escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught his breath as
he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with
sweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall until
he found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in his
hand.

Even his wife’s face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was
white and expectant, and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look
upon it. He was afraid of her.

“_Wish!_” she cried, in a strong voice.

“It is foolish and wicked,” he faltered.

“_Wish!_” repeated his wife.

He raised his hand. “I wish my son alive again.”

The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then he
sank trembling into a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes, walked
to the window and raised the blind.

He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at the
figure of the old woman peering through the window. 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 expired. The old man, with an unspeakable
sense of relief at the failure of the talisman, crept back to his bed,
and a minute or two afterward the old woman came silently and
apathetically beside him.

Neither spoke, but lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock.
A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall.
The darkness was oppressive, and after lying for some time screwing up
his courage, he took the box of matches, and striking one, went
downstairs for a candle.

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 stealthy as to be
scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.

The matches fell from his hand and spilled in the passage. He stood
motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he
turned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door behind
him. A third knock sounded through the house.

[Illustration]

“_What’s that?_” cried the old woman, starting up.

“A rat,” said the old man in shaking tones—“a rat. It passed me on the
stairs.”

His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through the
house.

“It’s Herbert!” she screamed. “It’s Herbert!”

She ran to the door, but her husband was before her, and catching her
by the arm, held her tightly.

“What are you going to do?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s my boy; it’s Herbert!” she cried, struggling mechanically. “I
forgot it was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I
must open the door.”

“For God’s sake don’t let it in,” cried the old man, trembling.

“You’re afraid of your own son,” she cried, struggling. “Let me go. I’m
coming, Herbert; I’m coming.”

There was another knock, and another. The old woman with a sudden
wrench broke free and ran from the room. Her husband followed to the
landing, and called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. He
heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and
stiffly from the socket. Then the old woman’s voice, strained and
panting.

“The bolt,” she cried, loudly. “Come down. I can’t reach it.”

But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor
in search of the paw. If he could only find it before the thing outside
got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the house,
and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the
passage against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came
slowly back, and at the same moment he found the monkey’s paw, and
frantically breathed his third and last wish.

The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in
the house. He heard the chair drawn back, and the door opened. A cold
wind rushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of disappointment
and misery from his wife gave him courage to run down to her side, and
then to the gate beyond. The street lamp flickering opposite shone on a
quiet and deserted road.

From the book 

THE LADY OF THE BARGE
AND OTHER STORIES. by W W JACOBS

Grateful thanks to Project Gutenberg

STORY OF THE DAY

Here's one of O. Henry's most famous short stories:

"The Gift of the Magi"

It was Christmas Eve, and Jim and Della Young were struggling to make ends meet. Della had only $1.87 to buy a gift for Jim, who was her pride and joy.

Della had long, beautiful hair, which she cherished dearly. But she knew that Jim had always wanted a chain for his prized possession, a gold watch.

So, Della made a difficult decision. She went to a nearby shop and sold her hair for $20. With the money, she bought a beautiful chain for Jim's watch.

Meanwhile, Jim was struggling to find the perfect gift for Della. He wanted to buy her a set of beautiful combs for her hair, but he didn't have enough money.

So, Jim made a difficult decision of his own. He sold his gold watch to buy the combs for Della's hair.

On Christmas Eve, Jim and Della exchanged gifts. Della was overjoyed with the combs, but her hair was gone. Jim was thrilled with the chain, but his watch was gone.

As they sat together, holding their gifts, Jim and Della realized the true meaning of Christmas. They had given each other the greatest gifts of all – their love and sacrifice.

Grateful thanks to META AI 

STORY OF THE DAY

A classic short story by Leo Tolstoy:

"The Death of Ivan Ilyich"

Ivan Ilyich, a high-court judge, lived a carefree life in St. Petersburg. He was married and had two children. One day, while hanging curtains, he fell and hurt his side.

At first, the pain was bearable, but it gradually worsened. Ivan visited various doctors, but none could diagnose the problem. As the pain intensified, Ivan became increasingly irritable and withdrawn.

His family and friends tried to cheer him up, but Ivan felt isolated and alone. He began to question the meaning of his life and the values he had pursued.

One day, Ivan had a profound realization: he had lived his entire life wrongly, pursuing wealth, status, and pleasure. He saw that true happiness and fulfillment came from living a simple, authentic life.

As Ivan lay dying, he felt a sense of peace and acceptance wash over him. He forgave himself and others, and let go of his attachment to worldly things.

Ivan's death was a transformative experience for those around him, particularly his young son, who wept uncontrollably over his father's lifeless body.

Tolstoy's poignant tale raises profound questions about the human condition, the meaning of life, and the nature of death.

Many thanks to Meta AI

STORY OF THE DAY : "The Lady with the Dog" by Anton Chekhov

"The Lady with the Dog" by Anton Chekhov:

It was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with a dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had been at Yalta for two weeks, and had got accustomed to the sight of the common crowd of Yalta people, was sitting in a pavilion at the upper end of the sea-front, sipping a cold drink.

A young woman with a white Pomeranian dog was walking along the sea-front, as though she owned the place. She was not dressed like the other visitors to Yalta; her dress was very simple, and her hat was not flashy.

Gurov watched her with interest, and his thoughts were like this: "If she is here alone without her husband or her friends, it would be quite possible to make her acquaintance."

He sent his drink away, and walked along the sea-front towards the young woman. As he walked, he watched her, and he noticed that she was not as young as he had thought at first. Her face was not pretty, but it was interesting.

When he reached the young woman, he took off his hat, and said: "May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

The young woman looked at him with a serious face, and said: "I am Anna Sergeevna von Volken."

Gurov was surprised, and he did not know what to say.

Anna Sergeevna walked on, and Gurov walked beside her. They walked along the sea-front, and then they walked through the park.

As they walked, they talked. Gurov learned that Anna Sergeevna was a married woman, and that she was at Yalta without her husband.

Gurov and Anna Sergeevna spent the rest of the day together. They walked, they talked, and they got to know each other.

As the sun began to set, Gurov and Anna Sergeevna said goodbye to each other. Gurov promised to meet her the next day.

Gurov and Anna Sergeevna met every day. They walked, they talked, and they got to know each other better.

As the days passed, Gurov and Anna Sergeevna fell in love. They did not say anything to each other, but they both knew that they were in love.

One day, Gurov had to leave Yalta. He said goodbye to Anna Sergeevna, and he promised to write to her.

Gurov returned to Moscow, and he began to work again. But he could not forget Anna Sergeevna. He wrote to her, and she wrote back to him.

Gurov and Anna Sergeevna continued to write to each other. They wrote about their love, and they wrote about their lives.

But their love was not happy. Gurov was married, and Anna Sergeevna was married too. They knew that they could not be together.

One day, Anna Sergeevna came to Moscow. She met Gurov, and they spent the day together.

As the day came to an end, Gurov and Anna Sergeevna said goodbye to each other. They knew that they would never be happy together.

Gurov watched Anna Sergeevna as she walked away. He knew that he would never forget her.

And so, Gurov and Anna Sergeevna's love story came to an end. They knew that they would never be happy together, but they also knew that they would never forget each other.

Many thanks to Meta AI