A Spirit of Avarice Page #4

"A Spirit of Avarice" is a gripping short story by W. W. Jacobs that delves into themes of greed and the supernatural. The narrative follows a character whose insatiable desire for wealth leads him to a mysterious encounter that tests the limits of his ambition. Jacobs skillfully blends humor with an eerie atmosphere, showcasing the consequences of avarice and the moral dilemmas that arise when one becomes blinded by desire. The story serves as a cautionary tale about the perils of letting greed govern one's actions, ultimately revealing the unpredictable nature of greed and its impact on the human soul.

• Short story

								

of indignation and dismay at the intrusion. Mr. Blows, conscious of the
strength of his position, walked up to them.

“Mr. Blows!” gasped the president.

“Ah, you didn’t expec’ see me,” said Mr. Blows, with a scornful laugh.
“They’re trying do me, do me out o’ my lill bit o’ money, Bill.”

“But you ain’t got no money,” said his bewildered friend.

Mr. Blows turned and eyed him haughtily; then he confronted the staring
president again.

“I’ve come for—my money,” he said, impressively—“one ’under-eighty
pounds.”

“But look ’ere,” said the scandalised Bill, tugging at his sleeve; “you
ain’t dead, Jack.”

“You don’t understan’,” said Mr. Blows, impatiently. “They know wharri
mean; one ’undereighty pounds. They want to buy me a tombstone, an’ I
don’t want it. I want the money. Here, stop it! D’ye hear?” The words
were wrung from him by the action of the president, who, after eyeing
him doubtfully during his remarks, suddenly prodded him with the
butt-end of one of the property spears which leaned against his chair.
The solidity of Mr. Blows was unmistakable, and with a sudden
resumption of dignity the official seated himself and called for
silence.

“I’m sorry to say there’s been a bit of a mistake made,” he said,
slowly, “but I’m glad to say that Mr. Blows has come back to support
his wife and family with the sweat of his own brow. Only a pound or two
of the money so kindly subscribed has been spent, and the remainder
will be handed back to the subscribers.”

“Here,” said the incensed Mr. Blows, “listen me.”

“Take him away,” said the president, with great dignity. “Clear the
room. Strangers outside.”

Two of the members approached Mr. Blows and, placing their hands on his
shoulders, requested him to withdraw. He went at last, the centre of a
dozen panting men, and becoming wedged on the narrow staircase, spoke
fluently on such widely differing subjects as the rights of man and the
shape of the president’s nose.

He finished his remarks in the street, but, becoming aware at last of a
strange lack of sympathy on the part of his audience, he shook off the
arm of the faithful Mr. Carter and stalked moodily home.
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