Month: December 2021
08DEC2021 – Quote of the Day – A Christmas Carol – Part 4
A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)
by Charles Dickens
(OCF editing – Part 4)
Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual
melancholy tavern; and having read all the newspapers, and
beguiled the rest of the evening with his
banker’s-book, went home to bed. He lived in
chambers which had once belonged to his deceased
partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a
lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so
little business to be, that one could scarcely help
fancying it must have run there when it was a young
house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses,
and forgotten the way out again. It was old enough
now, and dreary enough, for nobody lived in it but
Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices.
The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew
its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands.
The fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway
of the house, that it seemed as if the Genius of
the Weather sat in mournful meditation on the
threshold.
Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all
particular about the knocker on the door, except that it
was very large. It is also a fact, that Scrooge had
seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence
in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what
is called fancy about him as any man in the city of
London, even including–which is a bold word–the
corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be
borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one
thought on Marley, since his last mention of his
seven years’ dead partner that afternoon. And then
let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened
that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door,
saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate
process of change–not a knocker, but Marley’s face.
Marley’s face. It was not in impenetrable shadow
as the other objects in the yard were, but had a
dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark
cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked
at Scrooge as Marley used to look: with ghostly
spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The
hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air;
and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly
motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it
horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the
face and beyond its control, rather than a part of
its own expression.
As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it
was a knocker again.
To say that he was not startled, or that his blood
was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it
had been a stranger from infancy, would be untrue.
But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished,
turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
He did pause, with a moment’s irresolution, before
he shut the door; and he did look cautiously behind
it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the
sight of Marley’s pigtail sticking out into the hall.
But there was nothing on the back of the door, except
the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he
said “Pooh, pooh!” and closed it with a bang.
The sound resounded through the house like thunder.
Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant’s
cellars below, appeared to have a separate peal
of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to
be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and
walked across the hall, and up the stairs; slowly too:
trimming his candle as he went.
You may talk vaguely about driving a coach-and-six
up a good old flight of stairs, or through a bad
young Act of Parliament; but I mean to say you
might have got a hearse up that staircase, and taken
it broadwise, with the splinter-bar towards the wall
and the door towards the balustrades: and done it
easy. There was plenty of width for that, and room
to spare; which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge
thought he saw a locomotive hearse going on before
him in the gloom. Half-a-dozen gas-lamps out of
the street wouldn’t have lighted the entry too well,
so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with
Scrooge’s dip.
Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that.
Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But before
he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms
to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection
of the face to desire to do that.
Sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room. All as they
should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under
the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon and basin
ready; and the little saucepan of gruel (Scrooge had
a cold in his head) upon the hob. Nobody under the
bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his dressing-gown,
which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude
against the wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard,
old shoes, two fish-baskets, washing-stand on three
legs, and a poker.
Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked
himself in; double-locked himself in, which was not his
custom. Thus secured against surprise, he took off
his cravat; put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and
his nightcap; and sat down before the fire to take
his gruel.
It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a
bitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it, and
brood over it, before he could extract the least
sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel.
The fireplace was an old one, built by some Dutch
merchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint
Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures.
There were Cains and Abels, Pharaoh’s daughters;
Queens of Sheba, Angelic messengers descending
through the air on clouds like feather-beds, Abrahams,
Belshazzars, Apostles putting off to sea in butter-boats,
hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts;
and yet that face of Marley, seven years dead, came
like the ancient Prophet’s rod, and swallowed up the
whole. If each smooth tile had been a blank at first,
with power to shape some picture on its surface from
the disjointed fragments of his thoughts, there would
have been a copy of old Marley’s head on every one.
“Humbug!” said Scrooge; and walked across the
room.
After several turns, he sat down again. As he
threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened
to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the
room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten
with a chamber in the highest story of the
building. It was with great astonishment, and with
a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he
saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in
the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it
rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.
This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute,
but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had
begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking
noise, deep down below; as if some person were
dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the
wine-merchant’s cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have
heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as
dragging chains.
The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound,
and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors
below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight
towards his door.
“It’s humbug still!” said Scrooge. “I won’t believe it.”
His colour changed though, when, without a pause,
it came on through the heavy door, and passed into
the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the
dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, “I know
him; Marley’s Ghost!” and fell again.
The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail,
usual waistcoat, tights and boots; the tassels on
the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts,
and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew was
clasped about his middle. It was long, and wound
about him like a tail; and it was made (for Scrooge
observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks,
ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel.
His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him,
and looking through his waistcoat, could see
the two buttons on his coat behind.
Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no
bowels, but he had never believed it until now.
No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he
looked the phantom through and through, and saw
it standing before him; though he felt the chilling
influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very
texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head
and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before;
he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.
Charles Dickens
07DEC2021 – OCF Update – Pearl Harbor Day
I’m sure the mainstream media will celebrate Pearl Harbor Day with endless recriminations about Japanese Americans being interred in California. But I think it’s important for us in post-America to remember what a united nation can accomplish when its enemies give it no choice. We may have the courage to unite against the enemies within who are determined to destroy us and our way of life.
Sergeant York (1941) – An OCF Classic Movie Review
“Sergeant York” stars Gary Cooper as the eponymous WWI hero. The story relates his pre-war life and shows how he overcame a wild youth to “find religion.” He lives in a log cabin with his mother and younger brother and sister. Being hillbillies, the soil of his family land is very poor. When he finds a girl, he wants to marry he sets his mind to buying some “bottom land.” But a rival in love frustrates this ambition and it was when he was set to settle this feud with his rifle that divine intervention steps in. Lightning knocks him off his horse and damages his rifle and Alvin ends up at the church where Pastor Rosier Pile played by Walter Brennan, welcomes Alvin back to the Lord’s flock.
But when America enters World War I Alvin York has to somehow square his biblical aversion to killing with his duties as an American citizen. This conflict and how the reality of the modern battlefield affects him is the climax of the film. As was stated in his Congressional Medal of Honor citation Alvin single-handedly killed 28 German soldiers with his rifle and pistol and in doing so forced the surrender of 132 Germans and 35 machine guns. In the movie York explains to the investigators of his actions that he killed the Germans to stop the guns. As he explains it his actions were meant to save lives.
After the war Alvin returns home and to his great surprise a grateful nation hails him as a hero with a ticker tape parade down Wall Street in New York City. But even more importantly his home state of Tennessee presents him with a beautiful house on fertile land in his hometown.
Sergeant York was made on the eve of America’s entry into WW II. In fact, Pearl Harbor was attacked while the movie was still in the theaters. It is claimed that thousands of young men went directly from the movie theater to the enlistment station. It could be defensibly claimed that it is a propaganda film for the war effort. Nevertheless, York’s war time actions were not exaggerated in any way. Obviously, the supernatural basis of his religious conversion is pure Hollywood but doubtless the portrayal of Alvin York as a simple backwoods man was quite accurate. The reality of poverty in the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee was real and the importance of family and religion was true.
Gary Cooper’s portrayal of York is somewhat broad and even comical at times but I find that is one of the charms of the film. The other actors in the Tennessee scenes equally play up the hillbilly stereotypical behaviors. But recognizing those characteristics I still recommend this movie as a fascinating personal story that shows the collision of an older world with the 20th century. Sergeant York was an American original.
07DEC2021 – Photo of the Day
07DEC2021 – Quote of the Day – A Christmas Carol – Part 3
A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)
by Charles Dickens
(OCF editing – Part 3)
This lunatic, in letting Scrooge’s nephew out, had
let two other people in. They were portly gentlemen,
pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off,
in Scrooge’s office. They had books and papers in
their hands, and bowed to him.
“Scrooge and Marley’s, I believe,” said one of the
gentlemen, referring to his list. “Have I the pleasure
of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?”
“Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years,”
Scrooge replied. “He died seven years ago, this very
night.”
“We have no doubt his liberality is well represented
by his surviving partner,” said the gentleman, presenting
his credentials.
It certainly was; for they had been two kindred
spirits. At the ominous word “liberality,” Scrooge
frowned, and shook his head, and handed the credentials
back.
“At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,”
said the gentleman, taking up a pen, “it is more than
usually desirable that we should make some slight
provision for the Poor and destitute, who suffer
greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in
want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands
are in want of common comforts, sir.”
“Are there no prisons?” asked Scrooge.
“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down
the pen again.
“And the Union workhouses?” demanded Scrooge.
“Are they still in operation?”
“They are. Still,” returned the gentleman, “I wish
I could say they were not.”
“The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour,
then?” said Scrooge.
“Both very busy, sir.”
“Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first,
that something had occurred to stop them in their
useful course,” said Scrooge. “I’m very glad to
hear it.”
“Under the impression that they scarcely furnish
Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude,”
returned the gentleman, “a few of us are endeavouring
to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink,
and means of warmth. We choose this time, because
it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt,
and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down
for?”
“Nothing!” Scrooge replied.
“You wish to be anonymous?”
“I wish to be left alone,” said Scrooge. “Since you
ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer.
I don’t make merry myself at Christmas and I can’t
afford to make idle people merry. I help to support
the establishments I have mentioned–they cost
enough; and those who are badly off must go there.”
“Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.”
“If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had
better do it, and decrease the surplus population.
Besides–excuse me–I don’t know that.”
“But you might know it,” observed the gentleman.
“It’s not my business,” Scrooge returned. “It’s
enough for a man to understand his own business, and
not to interfere with other people’s. Mine occupies
me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!”
Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue
their point, the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed
his labours with an improved opinion of himself,
and in a more facetious temper than was usual
with him.
Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that
people ran about with flaring links, proffering their
services to go before horses in carriages, and conduct
them on their way. The ancient tower of a church,
whose gruff old bell was always peeping slily down
at Scrooge out of a Gothic window in the wall, became
invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the
clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if
its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there.
The cold became intense. In the main street, at the
corner of the court, some labourers were repairing
the gas-pipes, and had lighted a great fire in a brazier,
round which a party of ragged men and boys were
gathered: warming their hands and winking their
eyes before the blaze in rapture. The water-plug
being left in solitude, its overflowings sullenly congealed,
and turned to misanthropic ice. The brightness
of the shops where holly sprigs and berries
crackled in the lamp heat of the windows, made pale
faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers’ and grocers’
trades became a splendid joke: a glorious pageant,
with which it was next to impossible to believe that
such dull principles as bargain and sale had anything
to do. The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the
mighty Mansion House, gave orders to his fifty cooks
and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor’s
household should; and even the little tailor, whom he
had fined five shillings on the previous Monday for
being drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets, stirred up
to-morrow’s pudding in his garret, while his lean
wife and the baby sallied out to buy the beef.
Foggier yet, and colder. Piercing, searching, biting
cold. If the good Saint Dunstan had but nipped
the Evil Spirit’s nose with a touch of such weather
as that, instead of using his familiar weapons, then
indeed he would have roared to lusty purpose. The
owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and mumbled
by the hungry cold as bones are gnawed by dogs,
stooped down at Scrooge’s keyhole to regale him with
a Christmas carol: but at the first sound of
“God bless you, merry gentleman!
May nothing you dismay!”
Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action,
that the singer fled in terror, leaving the keyhole to
the fog and even more congenial frost.
At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house
arrived. With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his
stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant
clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out,
and put on his hat.
“You’ll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?” said
Scrooge.
“If quite convenient, sir.”
“It’s not convenient,” said Scrooge, “and it’s not
fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you’d
think yourself ill-used, I’ll be bound?”
The clerk smiled faintly.
“And yet,” said Scrooge, “you don’t think me ill-used,
when I pay a day’s wages for no work.”
The clerk observed that it was only once a year.
“A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every
twenty-fifth of December!” said Scrooge, buttoning
his great-coat to the chin. “But I suppose you must
have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next
morning.”
The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge
walked out with a growl. The office was closed in a
twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his
white comforter dangling below his waist (for he
boasted no great-coat), went down a slide on Cornhill,
at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in
honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home
to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play
at blindman’s-buff.
Charles Dickens
Fredo Sleeps with the Fish
Fredo went against the Family. No not the Cuomo Crime Family. He went against the #MeToo family. So, they took him out on the lake and now he sleeps with the fish. Don Lemon will now be the sole contestant for the title “Stupidest Human on Television.” Without Fredo CNN will lose a whole demographic of viewers. The short attention span viewer will permanently tune CNN out. They’ll drift away to reality tv or possibly watch shiny spinning objects. They’ve lost their man.
Seriously, as much as I despise the people who fired him, I’m delighted to hear that the last of the Cuomos are now unemployed. From Mario to Fredo they have infested New York politics and embarrassed Italian Americans for over fifty years. To never have to see Fredo’s “deer in the headlights” expression again on the television is a blessing.
Of course, I haven’t considered whether Fredo might find something outside of news. Maybe something in the entertainment industry. I know it’s probably beyond him but maybe he could become a rodeo clown. It’s honest work and his face would be an asset. He wouldn’t need makeup and I’m sure the bulls and bucking broncs will be fascinated by his dim-witted stare. Or possibly he could become a carny. Not one of the barkers. That’s too skilled. Maybe he could throw sawdust on the beer barf. That’s not so hard. That’s it! His next gig will be beer barf sawdust guy. And if he studies hard and applies himself, one day, he could become the cotton candy guy. Only in America.
Really my only worry is the possibility of a next generation. Could Andrew and Chris have progeny that might one day show up in the public space? I tend to think this is unlikely. Based on the drop off in intelligence between Mario and his sons I assume the next generation will fall right out of the human spectrum and end up with IQ’s in the single digits. That would put them in a class with planaria and other flatworms. Even CNN couldn’t employ them.
So, I guess this is it. Farewell Fredo. We hardly knew ye. Or we hardly wanted to know ye. Or something.
Good riddance.
Room for One More (1952) – A Movie Review
A couple of weeks ago I reviewed “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” and said at the time that it was Camera Girl’s favorite movie. Well, her second favorite movie is “Room for One More.” And years ago, as a husband, this was a cause for concern because it gave her ideas about fostering orphan children. Now I have great respect for folks who bring homeless children into their lives. It’s an enormous accomplishment. But we were up to our elbows in family and I just thought it was too much for me!
Nevertheless, it is a very appealing movie and well worth reviewing. The plot revolves around George and Anna Rose (played by real life husband and wife Cary Grant and Betsy Drake). The Roses have three children, Teenie and Tim and their sister Trot. Anna lost her fourth child at birth and has wanted to adopt. When she goes to the orphanage the Director Miss Kenyon puts in a strong pitch to foster an older child rather than adopt an infant. And being a good-hearted woman, she agrees to take one of their least adoptable children, Jane. She’s an adolescent who’s been abused and has grown surly and embittered.
George is dead set against the fostering even as a two-week trial and his antagonism doesn’t smooth Jane’s arrival. There are a number of incidents that flare into crises when Jane’s easily offended feelings are triggered into anger by innocent remarks. But Anna goes above and beyond to sooth Jane and make her feel welcome and loved. At the end of two weeks Jane has learned to love her new home and the whole family is plunged into sadness when Miss Kenyon arrives to pick up Jane. As Jane says her sad but polite good byes Miss Kenyon asks where Jane’s suitcase is and the camera cuts to George heading up the stairs to return Jane’s suitcase to her now permanent room.
Next Anna decides to adopt another problem child. This time the problem is an adolescent boy named Jimmy John. He has braces on his legs from polio and he has been back and forth between hospitals so often that he hasn’t even learned how to read. Jimmy John is even more of a challenge than Jane. He has a bad temper and proceeds to sucker punch Trot while the family is driving to a vacation at the beach. Other incidents include Jimmy John trying to ride Tim’s bicycle. But after falling he becomes so frustrated that he smashes the back wheel completely with his heavy steel brace. By the end of the vacation Anna wants to extend Jimmy John’s stay with her family but George insists that the four other children “vote” on his fate. The children write down their votes and after seeing that all four say, “leave” Tim gives the votes to Jimmy John to read. But Jimmy John sadly admits he can’t read. Overwhelmed by that revelation Tim tells Jimmy John that the decision was unanimous for him to stay.
The rest of the movie chronicles the evolving happiness of Jane and Jimmy John as members of the family. Jimmy John battles mightily against his physical disabilities to become a boy scout and at the end of the movie he achieves his ambition to be an Eagle Scout. Jane wants badly to go to the school formal dance but the family hasn’t the money for a formal dress until all the children tell their parents to return the Christmas gifts they just received to pay for the dress. But when the night of dance arrives Jane’s date is “sick.” Actually, it’s known that his mother has ordered him not to go because she considers Jane’s background too questionable. George responds by going to the boy’s house and appeals to the parents to think of the broken heart of a young girl. The father orders his son to go to the dance and shouts at his wife to shut up.
The movie ends with George and Anna granted a night of blessed solitude while the children are staying with friends.
As I’m sure you can tell from my description this is a wildly sentimental movie. But if this doesn’t terminally violate the viewer’s notion of what a movie consists of, then it is also an entertaining feel-good movie. Seeing good intentioned adults helping neglected and troubled children and reclaiming them from loneliness is pretty bracing stuff, especially if it’s done with humor and at least a little indication that problems will exist.
Well, if it’s good enough for Camera Girl then I’ll recommend it for good-hearted women and their much suffering husbands. Definitely a good husband-wife date movie.
06DEC2021 – Photo of the Day
06DEC2021 – Quote of the Day – A Christmas Carol – Part 2
A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)
by Charles Dickens
(OCF editing – Part 2)
“A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!” cried
a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge’s
nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was
the first intimation he had of his approach.
“Bah!” said Scrooge, “Humbug!”
He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the
fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge’s, that he was
all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his
eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
“Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge’s
nephew. “You don’t mean that, I am sure?”
“I do,” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas! What
right have you to be merry? What reason have you
to be merry? You’re poor enough.”
“Come, then,” returned the nephew gaily. “What
right have you to be dismal? What reason have you
to be morose? You’re rich enough.”
Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur
of the moment, said, “Bah!” again; and followed it up
with “Humbug.”
“Don’t be cross, uncle!” said the nephew.
“What else can I be,” returned the uncle, “when I
live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas!
Out upon merry Christmas! What’s Christmas
time to you but a time for paying bills without
money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but
not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books
and having every item in ’em through a round dozen
of months presented dead against you? If I could
work my will,” said Scrooge indignantly, “every idiot
who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips,
should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried
with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!”
“Uncle!” pleaded the nephew.
“Nephew!” returned the uncle sternly, “keep Christmas
in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.”
“Keep it!” repeated Scrooge’s nephew. “But you
don’t keep it.”
“Let me leave it alone, then,” said Scrooge. “Much
good may it do you! Much good it has ever done
you!”
“There are many things from which I might have
derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare
say,” returned the nephew. “Christmas among the
rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas
time, when it has come round–apart from the
veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything
belonging to it can be apart from that–as a
good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant
time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar
of the year, when men and women seem by one consent
to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think
of people below them as if they really were
fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race
of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore,
uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or
silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me
good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!”
The clerk in the Tank involuntarily applauded.
Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety,
he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark
for ever.
“Let me hear another sound from you,” said
Scrooge, “and you’ll keep your Christmas by losing
your situation! You’re quite a powerful speaker,
sir,” he added, turning to his nephew. “I wonder you
don’t go into Parliament.”
“Don’t be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow.”
Scrooge said that he would see him–yes, indeed he
did. He went the whole length of the expression,
and said that he would see him in that extremity first.
“But why?” cried Scrooge’s nephew. “Why?”
“Why did you get married?” said Scrooge.
“Because I fell in love.”
“Because you fell in love!” growled Scrooge, as if
that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous
than a merry Christmas. “Good afternoon!”
“Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before
that happened. Why give it as a reason for not
coming now?”
“Good afternoon,” said Scrooge.
“I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you;
why cannot we be friends?”
“Good afternoon,” said Scrooge.
“I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so
resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I
have been a party. But I have made the trial in
homage to Christmas, and I’ll keep my Christmas
humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle!”
“Good afternoon!” said Scrooge.
“And A Happy New Year!”
“Good afternoon!” said Scrooge.
His nephew left the room without an angry word,
notwithstanding. He stopped at the outer door to
bestow the greetings of the season on the clerk, who,
cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned
them cordially.
“There’s another fellow,” muttered Scrooge; who
overheard him: “my clerk, with fifteen shillings a
week, and a wife and family, talking about a merry
Christmas. I’ll retire to Bedlam.”
Charles Dickens