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.

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.

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."

His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own credulity, held up the lucky charm, 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.

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.

...he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of strange scenes and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange peoples.

She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He gazed at her furtively, and listened patiently as she welcomed him.

The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth.

But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the hopeless resignation of the old, and uninterested.

 "I'm afraid it'll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you."

But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy.

"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."