H.P. Podcraft.com.

What was that you started telling me the other day about a monkey's poor or something, Morris?

Nothing, said the soldier hastily.

These ways nothing worth hearing.

Monkeys poor, said Mrs White curiously.

Well, it's just a bit of what you like call magic perhaps, said the Sergeant Major off-handedly.

His three listeners leaned forward eagerly.

The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again.

His host filled it for him again.

To look at, said the Sergeant Major, fumbling in his pocket. It's just an ordinary little poor, dried to a mummy. He took something out of his pocket and profited. Mrs White drew back with the 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 on 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 manners were so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter

had jarred somewhat.

Well, why don't you have three, sir?

said Herbert White cleverly.

The soldier regarded him the way middle age is wont to regard presumptious youth.

I have, he said quietly, and his blotchy face widened.

...