prompt:
Chapter: In a partitioned-off section of a saloon sat a man with a half dozen
women, gleefully laughing, hovering about him.  The man had arrived at
that stage of drunkenness where affection is felt for the universe.

"I'm good f'ler, girls," he said, convincingly.  "I'm damn good f'ler.
An'body treats me right, I allus trea's zem right!  See?"

The women nodded their heads approvingly.  "To be sure," they cried out
in hearty chorus.  "You're the kind of a man we like, Pete.  You're
outa sight!  What yeh goin' to buy this time, dear?"

"An't'ing yehs wants, damn it," said the man in an abandonment of good
will.  His countenance shone with the true spirit of benevolence.  He
was in the proper mode of missionaries.  He would have fraternized with
obscure Hottentots.  And above all, he was overwhelmed in tenderness
for his friends, who were all illustrious.

"An't'ing yehs wants, damn it," repeated he, waving his hands with
beneficent recklessness.  "I'm good f'ler, girls, an' if an'body treats
me right I--here," called he through an open door to a waiter, "bring
girls drinks, damn it.  What 'ill yehs have, girls?  An't'ing yehs
wants, damn it!"

The waiter glanced in with the disgusted look of the man who serves
intoxicants for the man who takes too much of them.  He nodded his head
shortly at the order from each individual, and went.

"Damn it," said the man, "we're havin' heluva time.  I like you girls!
Damn'd if I don't!  Yer right sort!  See?"

He spoke at length and with feeling, concerning the excellencies of his
assembled friends.

"Don' try pull man's leg, but have a heluva time!  Das right!  Das way
teh do!  Now, if I sawght yehs tryin' work me fer drinks, wouldn' buy
damn t'ing!  But yer right sort, damn it!  Yehs know how ter treat a
f'ler, an' I stays by yehs 'til spen' las' cent!  Das right!  I'm good
f'ler an' I knows when an'body treats me right!"

Between the times of the arrival and departure of the waiter, the man
discoursed to the women on the tender regard he felt for all living
things.  He laid stress upon the purity of his motives in all dealings
with men in the world and spoke of the fervor of his friendship for
those who were amiable.  Tears welled slowly from his eyes.  His voice
quavered when he spoke to them.

Once when the waiter was about to depart with an empty tray, the man
drew a coin from his pocket and held it forth.

"Here," said he, quite magnificently, "here's quar'."

The waiter kept his hands on his tray.

"I don' want yer money," he said.

The other put forth the coin with tearful insistence.

"Here, damn it," cried he, "tak't!  Yer damn goo' f'ler an' I wan' yehs
tak't!"

"Come, come, now," said the waiter, with the sullen air of a man who is
forced into giving advice.  "Put yer mon in yer pocket!  Yer loaded an'
yehs on'y makes a damn fool of yerself."

As the latter passed out of the door the man turned pathetically to the
women.

"He don' know I'm damn goo' f'ler," cried he, dismally.

"Never you mind, Pete, dear," said a woman of brilliance and audacity,
laying her hand with great affection upon his arm.  "Never you mind,
old boy!  We'll stay by you, dear!"

"Das ri'," cried the man, his face lighting up at the soothing tones of
the woman's voice.  "Das ri', I'm damn goo' f'ler an' w'en anyone
trea's me ri', I treats zem ri'!  Shee!"

"Sure!" cried the women.  "And we're not goin' back on you, old man."

The man turned appealing eyes to the woman of brilliance and audacity.
He felt that if he could be convicted of a contemptible action he would
die.

"Shay, Nell, damn it, I allus trea's yehs shquare, didn' I?  I allus
been goo' f'ler wi' yehs, ain't I, Nell?"

"Sure you have, Pete," assented the woman.  She delivered an oration to
her companions.  "Yessir, that's a fact.  Pete's a square fellah, he
is.  He never goes back on a friend.  He's the right kind an' we stay
by him, don't we, girls?"

"Sure," they exclaimed.  Looking lovingly at him they raised their
glasses and drank his health.

"Girlsh," said the man, beseechingly, "I allus trea's yehs ri', didn'
I?  I'm goo' f'ler, ain' I, girlsh?"

"Sure," again they chorused.

"Well," said he finally, "le's have nozzer drink, zen."

"That's right," hailed a woman, "that's right.  Yer no bloomin' jay!
Yer spends yer money like a man.  Dat's right."

The man pounded the table with his quivering fists.

"Yessir," he cried, with deep earnestness, as if someone disputed him.
"I'm damn goo' f'ler, an' w'en anyone trea's me ri', I allus
trea's--le's have nozzer drink."

He began to beat the wood with his glass.

"Shay," howled he, growing suddenly impatient.  As the waiter did not
then come, the man swelled with wrath.

"Shay," howled he again.

The waiter appeared at the door.

"Bringsh drinksh," said the man.

The waiter disappeared with the orders.

"Zat f'ler damn fool," cried the man.  "He insul' me!  I'm ge'man!
Can' stan' be insul'!  I'm goin' lickim when comes!"

"No, no," cried the women, crowding about and trying to subdue him.
"He's all right!  He didn't mean anything!  Let it go!  He's a good
fellah!"

"Din' he insul' me?" asked the man earnestly.

"No," said they.  "Of course he didn't!  He's all right!"

"Sure he didn' insul' me?" demanded the man, with deep anxiety in his
voice.

"No, no!  We know him!  He's a good fellah.  He didn't mean anything."

"Well, zen," said the man, resolutely, "I'm go' 'pol'gize!"

When the waiter came, the man struggled to the middle of the floor.

"Girlsh shed you insul' me!  I shay damn lie!  I 'pol'gize!"

"All right," said the waiter.

The man sat down.  He felt a sleepy but strong desire to straighten
things out and have a perfect understanding with everybody.

"Nell, I allus trea's yeh shquare, din' I?  Yeh likes me, don' yehs,
Nell?  I'm goo' f'ler?"

"Sure," said the woman of brilliance and audacity.

"Yeh knows I'm stuck on yehs, don' yehs, Nell?"

"Sure," she repeated, carelessly.

Overwhelmed by a spasm of drunken adoration, he drew two or three bills
from his pocket, and, with the trembling fingers of an offering priest,
laid them on the table before the woman.

"Yehs knows, damn it, yehs kin have all got, 'cause I'm stuck on yehs,
Nell, damn't, I--I'm stuck on yehs, Nell--buy drinksh--damn't--we're
havin' heluva time--w'en anyone trea's me ri'--I--damn't, Nell--we're
havin' heluva--time."

Shortly he went to sleep with his swollen face fallen forward on his
chest.

The women drank and laughed, not heeding the slumbering man in the
corner.  Finally he lurched forward and fell groaning to the floor.

The women screamed in disgust and drew back their skirts.

"Come ahn," cried one, starting up angrily, "let's get out of here."

The woman of brilliance and audacity stayed behind, taking up the bills
and stuffing them into a deep, irregularly-shaped pocket.  A guttural
snore from the recumbent man caused her to turn and look down at him.

She laughed.  "What a damn fool," she said, and went.

The smoke from the lamps settled heavily down in the little
compartment, obscuring the way out.  The smell of oil, stifling in its
intensity, pervaded the air.  The wine from an overturned glass dripped
softly down upon the blotches on the man's neck.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Pete sits in a sectioned off portion of a saloon surrounded by half a dozen mirthfully laughing women. Pete is drunk and full of affection for himself and the world. "I'm a good f'ler ," he says to the girls, "An'body treats me right, I allus trea's zem right! See?" The girls loudly agree that Pete is the kind of man they like and he promises to buy them whatever they want to drink. He is overcome by a sense of his own benevolence and regard for his friends. Pete noisily summons a waiter and orders him to bring drinks for the girls. The waiter takes their orders but is obviously disgusted by Pete's overly intoxicated manner. While the waiter is gone Pete loudly proclaims the excellence of himself and his drinking companions and reassures the girls that he has very high regard for them and knows that they are not merely trying to work him for drinks. The waiter returns and while he disperses the drinks Pete delivers a tearful soliloquy about his tender regard for all living things. As the waiter is about to depart Pete presents the man with a quarter but the waiter refuses. "Put yer money in yer pocket," he says to Pete, "Yer loaded an' yehs on'ly makes a damn fool of yerself." The waiter leaves and Pete is visibly depressed. The ladies, including Nell, the woman of "brilliance and audacity" comfort him and promise to stick by him. Pete comforts himself by reminding himself that he is a "damn goo' f'ler" and the women heartily agree. Pete turns to Nell and drunkenly questions her with regards to his own worth. She readily agrees to everything he says and the whole group raises their glasses to Pete's health. Pete decides that they should have another drink and the women encourage his spending. Pete beats the wooden table in an effort to summon the waiter but he does not come. Finally, after much pounding and shouting the waiter appears, takes the order and leaves quickly. Pete is suddenly apprehensive and suspects that the waiter has insulted him but the women convince him that the waiter is a good fellow who has done Pete no harm. Pete becomes confused and when the waiter returns he dramatically rises to his feet, says that the girls have told him that the waiter has insulted him but he doesn't agree and apologizes. After the waiter leaves Pete sits down heavily and though he is tired he feels a strong desire to straighten everything out. He closely questions Nell and she assures him, again, that he is a good fellow. Overcome by affection, Pete pulls three bills from his pocket and tells Nell she can have all his money because he is stuck on her. Soon afterward Pete falls asleep in his chair. The women continue with their party until Pete pitches forward onto the floor groaning. The women are disgusted and begin to leave. Nell picks up the money from the table and looking at the snoring man on the floor she says: "What a damn fool." .


prompt:
Chapter: In a room a woman sat at a table eating like a fat monk in a picture.

A soiled, unshaven man pushed open the door and entered.

"Well," said he, "Mag's dead."

"What?" said the woman, her mouth filled with bread.

"Mag's dead," repeated the man.

"Deh hell she is," said the woman.  She continued her meal.  When she
finished her coffee she began to weep.

"I kin remember when her two feet was no bigger dan yer t'umb, and she
weared worsted boots," moaned she.

"Well, whata dat?" said the man.

"I kin remember when she weared worsted boots," she cried.

The neighbors began to gather in the hall, staring in at the weeping
woman as if watching the contortions of a dying dog.  A dozen women
entered and lamented with her.  Under their busy hands the rooms took
on that appalling appearance of neatness and order with which death is
greeted.

Suddenly the door opened and a woman in a black gown rushed in with
outstretched arms.  "Ah, poor Mary," she cried, and tenderly embraced
the moaning one.

"Ah, what ter'ble affliction is dis," continued she.  Her vocabulary
was derived from mission churches.  "Me poor Mary, how I feel fer yehs!
Ah, what a ter'ble affliction is a disobed'ent chil'."

Her good, motherly face was wet with tears.  She trembled in eagerness
to express her sympathy.  The mourner sat with bowed head, rocking her
body heavily to and fro, and crying out in a high, strained voice that
sounded like a dirge on some forlorn pipe.

"I kin remember when she weared worsted boots an' her two feets was no
bigger dan yer t'umb an' she weared worsted boots, Miss Smith," she
cried, raising her streaming eyes.

"Ah, me poor Mary," sobbed the woman in black.  With low, coddling
cries, she sank on her knees by the mourner's chair, and put her arms
about her.  The other women began to groan in different keys.

"Yer poor misguided chil' is gone now, Mary, an' let us hope it's fer
deh bes'.  Yeh'll fergive her now, Mary, won't yehs, dear, all her
disobed'ence?  All her t'ankless behavior to her mudder an' all her
badness?  She's gone where her ter'ble sins will be judged."

The woman in black raised her face and paused.  The inevitable sunlight
came streaming in at the windows and shed a ghastly cheerfulness upon
the faded hues of the room.  Two or three of the spectators were
sniffling, and one was loudly weeping.  The mourner arose and staggered
into the other room.  In a moment she emerged with a pair of faded baby
shoes held in the hollow of her hand.

"I kin remember when she used to wear dem," cried she.  The women burst
anew into cries as if they had all been stabbed.  The mourner turned to
the soiled and unshaven man.

"Jimmie, boy, go git yer sister!  Go git yer sister an' we'll put deh
boots on her feets!"

"Dey won't fit her now, yeh damn fool," said the man.

"Go git yer sister, Jimmie," shrieked the woman, confronting him
fiercely.

The man swore sullenly.  He went over to a corner and slowly began to
put on his coat.  He took his hat and went out, with a dragging,
reluctant step.

The woman in black came forward and again besought the mourner.

"Yeh'll fergive her, Mary!  Yeh'll fergive yer bad, bad, chil'!  Her
life was a curse an' her days were black an' yeh'll fergive yer bad
girl?  She's gone where her sins will be judged."

"She's gone where her sins will be judged," cried the other women, like
a choir at a funeral.

"Deh Lord gives and deh Lord takes away," said the woman in black,
raising her eyes to the sunbeams.

"Deh Lord gives and deh Lord takes away," responded the others.

"Yeh'll fergive her, Mary!" pleaded the woman in black.  The mourner
essayed to speak but her voice gave way.  She shook her great shoulders
frantically, in an agony of grief.  Hot tears seemed to scald her
quivering face.  Finally her voice came and arose like a scream of pain.

"Oh, yes, I'll fergive her!  I'll fergive her!"

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: This final chapter opens with a woman sitting at a table eating. An unkempt soiled man enters and says: "Well, Mag's dead." The woman responds: "Deh hell she is," and finishes her meal before she begins to cry. The man is Jimmie and the woman is Mary and the neighbors come running at the sound of her lamentations. She repeats over and over that she can remember when Maggie's feet were as big as a thumb and she wore worsted boot, a detail that seems particularly important to her. The other women of the tenement house share her grief and make an effort to tidy up the apartment. One particularly sympathetic woman, identified as Miss Smith, enters in a black gown and using the vocabulary of mission preachers she embraces Mary and shares her grief. She comforts Mary with the knowledge that Maggie was a fallen girl, unkind to her mother, and has gone to a place where her sins will be judged. Mary rises to her feet, stumbles about the room and grabs Maggie's baby shoes from the wall. The sight of them causes all the women to break out anew in sobbing and wailing. Mary commands Jimmie to fetch his sister's body so they can put the baby shoes on her and though Jimmie sees no point to the task he wearily agrees. The women tell Mary that she must forgive her wayward child and that she has gone to a place where her sins will be judged. Mary relents and proclaims loudly "Oh, yes, I'll fergive her! I'll fergive her!" .


prompt:
Chapter: 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: On a cold and rainy night, Mr. White and his son play chess in their warm parlor while Mrs. White knits comfortably. As they play, Mr. White complains that their villa is too far away from the town and it is difficult to travel there. He is expecting a guest, but the road is bad. What adds to his annoyance is that he loses the game to his son. Footsteps are heard at the door; Mr. White rises to let in the tall and hale Sergeant-Major Morris. He shakes hands with Mrs. White and Herbert; then, he sits by the fire. Mr. White gives him whiskey and by the time of the third glass he is telling the family strange and fascinating tales from his time abroad. He was gone for twenty-one years, which Mr. White finds amazing; he says that he wishes he could go to India to "look around." Morris tells Mr. White that he is better off here than in India. Mr. White asks him about a monkey's paw, something that Morris mentioned in passing the other day. Morris does not seem very inclined to talk about this bit of "magic," but his listeners lean forward raptly. He pulls it out of his pocket after taking a sip of his drink. The family looks at the small shriveled thing and asks what is so special about it. Morris says a fakir put a spell on it in order to show people that fate ruled their lives and they ought not to interfere with it; the person who posses the paw gets three wishes. The family laughs a bit, but they see how serious their guest is. Herbert asks if Morris had three wishes; Morris says he did. Mrs. White asks if anyone else has used the monkey's paw; Morris replies that the first man had three wishes, and that his third was for death. After a moment of silence Mr. White asks if Morris still needs the paw, since all his wishes are gone. Morris considers the paw, and then throws it on the fire. Mr. White leaps to it with a cry and pulls it out. Morris sighs and tells Mr. White that if he chooses to keep it then he cannot blame Morris for what happens: there may be consequences. All he says further is that Mr. White should wish for something sensible. They then drop the subject and proceed to a pleasant dinner. After Morris leaves, Herbert says the tale of the paw is probably just another embellished story of India. Mr. White says he gave his friend a trifle for it. Herbert laughs and says they are now going to be rich and famous. Mr. White picks up the paw and stares at it, musing that he does not know what to wish for since he already has everything he wants. Herbert suggests just asking for two hundred pounds to take care of the house, so Mr. White concedes: he uses the paw to wish for two hundred pounds. Suddenly there is a crash heard from the piano and Mr. White cries out. They are all startled, especially when Mr. White says the paw moved in his hand. They look around but see no money, so they sit down again by the fire. The evening wears on, melancholy and eerie. Mr. White sits by the fire after his wife and son retire. He sees faces in it, one of which is horribly simian. He reaches for water to throw on it but accidentally grasps the monkey's' paw instead. He shivers and goes to bed.


prompt:
Chapter: 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: In the wholesome sunshine of the next morning, Herbert laughs at the fears from the previous night. The dirty and diminutive paw looks utterly powerless on the sideboard. Mrs. White scoffs at how they listened to the old soldier's tale. Mr. White says that the wish is supposed to happen naturally. Herbert rises to go to work and jokes with his father not to greedily spend his money when it shows up. As the morning proceeds, Mrs. White is in a good mood, but she manages to still be annoyed at the sergeant-major and a tailor's bill. Mr. White confides in her that he still thinks the paw moved in his hand, but she soothingly insists he made it up. A well-dressed man outside the house catches Mrs. White's attention. The man pauses a few times and turns away, but then returns. Finally he knocks. Mrs. White brings the stranger, who is acting uncomfortable, into the room. She waits patiently for him to speak but he is quiet. Eventually he says he was asked to come by Maw and Meggins, where Herbert works. Mrs. White immediately asks if her son is okay, and Mr. White tries to calm her. She asks if Herbert is hurt; the man replies haltingly that Herbert is badly hurt, but not in any pain. His cryptic words become clear, and her fears are confirmed. The man says quietly that Herbert was caught in the machinery. The couple holds each other's hands. The visitor coughs awkwardly and says the firm takes no liability for the accident, but wishes to convey their sympathy. They will also provide a sum for compensation. When Mr. White asks how much, the man says "Two hundred pounds. Mrs. White shrieks; Mr. White smiles and faints


prompt:
Chapter: 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.

"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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Before they even know it is over, Herbert is buried in a cemetery and the couple is back at their house. They feel a strange sense of expectation at first, but soon resignation sets in. They are silent and weary. One dark night, Mr. White hears his wife weeping and calls for her to come back to bed. He dozes off again but is woken by her scream: "The paw. The monkey's paw. He is confused and asks what she means. She is crying and smiling; then, she hysterically blurts out that she has just thought of what to do: she will use another wish and bring her son back to life. Mr. White is shocked and says she is crazy to say that. She is feverish and demands he go get the paw. His voice quavering, he tells her that the condition of Herbert's body was so mangled that he could only identify him by the clothing; thus it would be too terrible to see him brought back. She is unconvinced and screams that he must go get the paw. As Mr. White heads downstairs to the parlor, he is filled with foreboding. He is even afraid his unspoken words might cause the wish to be fulfilled. He grasps the paw and returns to his wife. She demands he make the wish and he obeys, saying, "I wish my son alive again. The paw drops to the floor and he sits down, trembling. The night is cold as he and his wife wait. The candle flickers and goes out; they return to their bed where they lie there silently. The clock ticks. Mr. White feels relieved but becomes distressed by the darkness in his room. He lights a match to return downstairs for a candle. At the foot of the stairs the match goes out and a knock sounds at the door. Frightened, Mr. White runs back upstairs. His wife asks what it was and he lies, telling her it was a rat. The knock, now louder, sounds again. She screams that it is her son and prepares to fly downstairs, but he grabs her arm. She struggles and Mr. White refuses to let go. She yells that she is coming for her son. The knocks continue. Mrs. White breaks loose and runs downstairs. He follows and can hear her trying to undo the bolt on the chain. She calls for him because she cannot do it, but he is frantically searching for the paw on the floor. He needs to find it before the thing enters the house. The knocks become louder and more frequent. He hears his wife grab a chair to reach the bolt. He hears the bolt starting to open as his hands close over the paw and he breathes his last wish. The knocking stops. Everything is quiet. He hears his wife open the door and cry out in disappointment. He joins her and looks outside, where there is only a streetlight softly illuminating a deserted road


prompt:
Chapter: 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: "The Monkey's Paw" starts off the way many good scary stories start - with a dark and stormy night. We're in England, inside Laburnam Villa, where things are not dark and stormy. Actually, they are quite cheery - there's even a fire burning in the fireplace. Now we meet the White family. The father and mother both have white hair. Their grown son, Herbert White, is probably in his mid-20s. Mr. White and Herbert are playing chess, while Mrs. White knits near that fire we were talking about. What could be more homey and comfy than this? Mr. White makes a wrong move and Herbert wins the game, putting Mr. White in a bad mood, but just for a second. Soon Sergeant-Major Morris arrives. The Whites welcome him and offer him some whiskey. The alcohol makes Morris talkative, and he tells the White stories of his time in India. Apparently he has been away in India for the past 21 years, serving in the British Army. Mr. White brings up something from an earlier conversation with Morris - a monkey's paw. Morris says the paw is "magic" . As he takes it out of his pocket, he says, "To look at, it's just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy" . Mrs. White is grossed out by the paw, but Herbert holds it and checks it out, then Mr. White takes it. Morris tells them the legend of the paw: "It had a spell put on it by an old fakir, 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" . Morris says he got the paw from the first man who wished on it. Guess what that man's third wish was. It was "for death" . Morris says he made three wishes on the paw too, and his wishes came true, but he isn't sure he would wish again if he had the chance. Suddenly, Morris chucks the paw into the fire. Mr. White grabs it out before it burns. He asks Morris to let him have the paw. Morris warns him against it, but then he gives him instruction on using the paw: 1. Hold paw in hand. 2. Make wish. After Morris leaves, Mr. White holds the paw and says, "I don't know what to wish for, and that's a fact It seems to me I've got all I want" . Oh really? Then why did you want the cursed paw in the first place? Herbert suggests wishing for two hundred pounds . Two hundred pounds is the amount Mr. White needs to finish paying back the bank for his house. Mr. White holds the paw and makes the wish. The paw moves in his hand - eek! He screams. Herbert makes some jokes about the paw. He doesn't believe it's magic. After his parents go to bed, Herbert sees the "horrible" face of a monkey in the fire. He throws water on the face, then gives the paw a squeeze and goes to bed.


prompt:
Chapter: 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Things don't look as scary to Herbert in the bright light of morning. He feels silly for letting a dirty little paw spook him last night. He makes some jokes about the paw and then leaves for work. Mrs. White doesn't believe in the power of the paw either, but she can't help thinking about the possibility of the money magically appearing. Later in the day a fancily dressed man pays the Whites a visit. He says he comes from Maw and Meggins, the company where Herbert works. The man tells the Whites that Herbert "was caught in the machinery" . Their son did not survive the accident. Mrs. White tells the man that Herbert is the only child they have left. Now for the part you've been waiting for: the man tells the Whites that Maw and Meggins isn't responsible for Herbert's death, but it does want to give the Whites two hundred pounds to settle the matter. At this news Mrs. White screams and Mr. White faints.


prompt:
Chapter: 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.

"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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Whites bury Herbert in a cemetery two miles from their house. Their home is now a dark and lonely place. The Whites feel like they are waiting for something to happen to help them with their sadness. One night, about a week later, Mrs. White remembers the monkey's paw. She wants Mr. White to wish Herbert back to life. Mr. White, who isn't sure whether Herbert's death has anything to do with the paw, is totally against this idea. But Mrs. White won't take no for an answer, so Mr. White, against his own judgment, wishes Herbert back to life. Nothing happens. They go back to bed. Mr. White is relieved. Herbert has been dead ten days and his body looked really horrible ten days ago. Mr. White has no desire to see the undead version of his son. After a while, the Whites hear someone - or something - banging on the front door. Mrs. White decides that it just took Herbert a little while to get home, because the graveyard where he was buried is two miles away. She runs downstairs to welcome home undead Herbert. Mr. White is scared. He wants nothing to do with undead Herbert. He quickly makes his third wish. The story doesn't say what this wish is, but the knocking stops just as Mrs. White gets the door open. When she steps outside, nobody there and the road is empty. She screams because Herbert isn't there. Mr. White goes outside and comforts her. Want to talk about the ending? Hurry over to "What's Up With the Ending?"