Neil is a truly compelling speaker and he often captures in words the feelings we all have. This poignant story of heroism is remarkable. And his remarks afterward about saving ourselves in this world of useless “leaders” resonates with how I feel.
Tag: Christmas
Christmas Day 2022
Christmas Eve with the grandsons at their home was great. They were in epic high spirits and we talked of various things. With the eldest it was nuclear fusion and robotics. With the youngest it was, of course, dinosaurs but also his latest pet, a bearded dragon with an inexhaustible appetite for “super worms.” With the others there was talk of soccer and what they would be doing on the Christmas holiday next week. Much food was eaten and the younger kids were occupied with happy mayhem. Something with plastic swords and shields.
But this morning, Camera Girl is at peak output with potatoes being mashed, lasagna, roast beast and ham cooking and side dishes being prepared. I can tell her patience is exhausted so I have to tread carefully around the outskirts of her kitchen or a carving knife might end up under my ribs. She does have Sicilian blood on her mother’s side. But I can tell all is going well. She’s in the zone. All of the desserts are already prepared and the meat courses are right on schedule. It will be a feast to remember. And the leftovers will be glorious. That ham will end up in at least a lentil soup and probably some breakfasts.
But after eating way too much food and way too much dessert I’ll spend the time with the grandkids. Now that Princess Sack of Potatoes is a full four years old, she’ll be right in the thick of it with her older cousins. I might even try to put on a showing of one of the “Christmas Carol” movies but Camera Girl frowns on television watching on the holidays. She prefers more sociable pursuits like cards. We’ll see.
The weather has cooperated. Although bitterly cold, the roads are in mostly good shape. Only a few curves of the hills have some large ice hazards but last night I noted that these had been treated with salt so my guests should be safe coming and going today.
Monday we can get back to the political nightmare our country has descended into but today will be “Peace on earth, good will toward men.” So, all of you have a great day and night and in Tiny Tim’s immortal words, “God bless us every one.”
Update:
I ruined my own surprise by hanging around the kitchen. Camera Girl had secretly bought me a boneless loin of lamb. She hates lamb and vociferously refused making it when I mentioned it last week. But after performing my duty of cutting an X on the raw chestnuts, I glanced over at the stove and there it was. My discovery angered her but what could I do? She should have hidden it. I did thank her heartily but she is pretty mad for me spoiling the surprise. Well, I’ll make it up to her later. Christmas just got a whole lot merrier. But, boy will I be groggy tonight.
24DEC2022 – OCF Update – Christmas Eve
I’ll be heading out for a Christmas Eve dinner a little before 3 pm. I intend to eat too much and spend as much time doing whatever the grandchildren want to do as circumstance allows. Their parents are hosting the party so they’ll have to do all the work and I’ll get to hang out with the kids.
I haven’t written a political post lately other than the odd comment on the headlines. It’s just too grim to do on the holiday. The only rational option is to ignore the horror for a few days to allow some joy in our lives before we have to face the wreckage that is waiting for us up ahead.
And that’s reasonable. Human beings require joy in their lives every once in a while just to survive. And Christmas is the prime example of how we attempt to make a recurring ritual of joy in our lives. So Biden and Pelosi and Schumer and the rest of the vampires will still be there when the holiday ends and we will still be up to our ears in dysfunction and depravity. But we will have had a few days to feel a little happiness in our lives and remind ourselves that there is good in the world.
So I hope everyone has a good day. And even if it’s just a day off, enjoy it and forget about the problems of the world for as long as you’re allowed. I’ll post as time allows and as the spirit moves me.
Merry Christmas.
Scrooge Makes Amends to Bob Cratchit
This scene shows us the day after Christmas and Scrooge putting his new found understanding of life into practice. But he demonstrates that he hasn’t become a humorless convert and has a little fun with Bob Cratchit before remaking their relationship immeasurably for the better. Happening as it does at the epicenter of Scrooge’s former evil life, his “money changing hole,” it convinces us that he is indeed a new man.
“But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his heart upon.
And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.
His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o’clock.
“Hallo!” growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. “What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?”
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Bob. “I am behind my time.”
“You are?” repeated Scrooge. “Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please.”
“It’s only once a year, sir,” pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. “It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.”
“Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend,” said Scrooge, “I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,” he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again; “and therefore I am about to raise your salary!”
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.
“A merry Christmas, Bob!” said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you, for many a year! I’ll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!”
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!”
Wampanoag Lasagna
It is reputed that at the Pilgrims’ first Christmas dinner the main course was lasagna. Apparently, some of the Wampanoag Indians learned how to make this dish from Christopher Columbus or one of his friends back in the late 1400’s when they were on a Caribbean vacation and upon returning home it became traditional in the New England area. Admittedly some scholars reject this time line. These dissidents claim it came into vogue in the 1900’s with a later wave of Italian influence.
Regardless of which camp you find yourself in it’s obvious that lasagna is a very interesting choice for a Christmas menu. Now Camera Girl had asked my opinion about the Christmas menu. I had recommended a roast beast after the Italian wedding soup and she added a ham and then as an afterthought I asked about lasagna as a course. Surprisingly there was resistance to this reasonable recommendation. Something about not everyone liking lasagna. I can’t remember if I pounded my fist on the table and shouted some strangled syllables that might have been, “Heresy!” Later I calmed down and just swallowed my disappointment.
But Camera Girl is a mysterious creature and without my knowledge or permission she bought the ingredients for lasagna and today she is doing the assembly for later cooking. There are fragments of sausage and meatball, sauce and various cheeses that go into the layers between the pasta layers. Of course, I forgave her for her treacherous silence and subterfuge. Just as Adam forgave Eve for that whole apple thing, I was the better person and put the whole treacherous story behind me and gave my blessing to this lasagna conspiracy.
But this does create an awkward situation for my meal. I really like roast beef and I like ham. But lasagna is enormously delicious and infrequently available. How do I do justice to this dinner without ending up in the hospital emergency room? Ah, heavy is the head that wears the crown. Well, I’ll figure it out. And of course, left over lasagna is a very pleasant situation and I’m sure Camera Girl will distribute it to the households that have children to feed. Maybe the real concern is that some of it remains for me on December 26th and 27th.
Here is a photo of the intermediate stage of the lasagna assembly process.
And one of the end product.
And here’s one of the Italian cheesecake she’s also got going.
Well, I have to say, Christmas 2022 is shaping up to be pretty remarkable. It seems that the crazier the world becomes the more special become the personal moments that we share with our friends and family. In fact, that’s probably why they’re that way. It’s a defense mechanism to keep our sanity and concentrate on the things within our control and keep the awfulness at arm’s length. Well even if that’s so it doesn’t detract from the greatness of these special things we do. Tomorrow we’ll be away at Christmas Eve most of the day so I’ll say Merry Christmas to everyone here. May you enjoy your time and make the most of it.
Merry Christmas
19DEC2022 – Scrooge Reborn
When Scrooge awakens and embraces his new life we feel the electric thrill he feels at everything around him. He rediscovers life and the joy it contains.
“What’s to-day!” cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
“Eh?” returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
“What’s to-day, my fine fellow?” said Scrooge.
“To-day!” replied the boy. “Why, Christmas Day.”
“It’s Christmas Day!” said Scrooge to himself. “I haven’t missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow!”
“Hallo!” returned the boy.
“Do you know the Poulterer’s, in the next street but one, at the corner?” Scrooge inquired.
“I should hope I did,” replied the lad.
“An intelligent boy!” said Scrooge. “A remarkable boy! Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there?—Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?”
“What, the one as big as me?” returned the boy.
“What a delightful boy!” said Scrooge. “It’s a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck!”
“It’s hanging there now,” replied the boy.
“Is it?” said Scrooge. “Go and buy it.”
“Walk-er!” exclaimed the boy.
“No, no,” said Scrooge, “I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell ’em to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I’ll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I’ll give you half-a-crown!”
The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.
“I’ll send it to Bob Cratchit’s!” whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. “He sha’n’t know who sends it. It’s twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob’s will be!”
In Hera’s Kitchen
Today is the highest of solemnities in Camera Girl’s kitchen calendar. I, even I, am banned from encroaching on the rituals being performed. And I’m no fool. Interfering with the magic going on risks the spoiling of those spells and the blighting of the baked goods being produced; a horror not to be imagined.
Today Camera Girl and her daughters and now her granddaughter will gather like a coven of witches and take their magic ingredients and hover around the stove and drink coffee (or hot chocolate in the case of Princess Sack of Potatoes) and knead dough and add vanilla extract and hand shape the grandma cookies and the chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies and whichever new variants they decide on.
And wondrous aromas will waft through the house and when they’re through there will be a pile of cookies to get us through to New Year’s Day. Splendiferous confections that turn a coffee break into a feast. And make watching an old movie into a special event.
But even ignoring the practical results of this activity, this is a primary ritual of our domestic calendar. The hand written recipes are coming on fifty years. The paper is beginning to crumble and the writing is fading from exposure to ingredients and wear and tear. I’ve warned Camera Girl that they need to be copied and digitized, printed out and distributed to her daughters to preserve them from loss. But if it’s going to be done, I’ll have to take on the project.
I look at some of the recipes and the notes on them and see the names of friends and relatives from long ago. Only one or two living women are represented. Most are from our parents’ and grandparents’ generation. A few go even farther back.
And that’s a comforting legacy. In these times when fools are trying to deconstruct the meaning of man and woman and sever the traditions that have given meaning to our lives, there still exist people and rituals that ground our lives and make them human and pleasant. Baking cookies may seem to some people to be a trivial and possibly harmful activity in a world of obese people. But it’s exactly opposite. Christmas cookies are a special and specific part of the year. Once they’re done, we don’t make more. We move onto the winter months when we subsist on meager fare, far removed from the bounty of summer and fall. Christmas is a celebration and an ending of the year and needs to be treated as such.
So, I will withdraw from the kitchen and keep myself busy with other things while the women commune with their flour and butter. From time to time, I’ll find an excuse to walk by the kitchen and see how things are going. And maybe my granddaughter will come visit with me for a game of Candy Land. But for the most part I’ll leave them to their industry and their talk. And before I go to bed there will be the hoard of golden and white and brown cookies in various cookie jars and containers. And of course, there will be a big mug of coffee and one or two (or even three) cookies waiting for me to enjoy during a holiday movie. God bless you Camera Girl and long may you bake.
17DEC2022 – Marley’s Ghost
The 1984 version of A Christmas Carol has I think the best portrayal of Marley’s Ghost
“But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,” faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.
“Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing his hands again. “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”
Mankind is the business of us all. And today the priority is to preserve what makes us human. Protecting the young from the lies and perversions of the nihilists must be our focus.
With Visions of Sugar Plums Dancing Over Their Heads
The last week before Christmas. Now Camera Girl must marshal all her powers to coordinate the schedule of buying and cooking the feast. Today she came home with a ham, chopped meat, escarole and some of the other ingredients of the various courses. The roast beast won’t arrive until the end of the week. And the pies and cakes won’t be baked or bought for a few days more. I was explicit that there must be a good quality vanilla ice cream in copious quantity to complement the pies. And very good coffee to wash it down.
The mashed potatoes, corn, crescent rolls and the stuffed mushrooms are all last-minute items that won’t be started until Christmas Eve but they’ll add their dimension to the meal. And finally, I demanded chestnuts and that rope of dried figs that no one ever eats. Camera Girl, being the frugal woman that she is, complained bitterly that chestnuts now cost $8 a pound. But I was adamant. I never liked them as a kid but my father-in-law always had some out at Christmas and after trying them a few times I actually developed a taste for them. As for the dried figs, they’re so hard that they’re almost inedible but somehow it wouldn’t be Christmas without them lying around on the table so I demanded them too.
And this year I’ll show my little granddaughter the trick with the mandarin orange skin and a lighted match. The oils in the skin are flammable and she’ll be amazed to see it ignite around the match when I squeeze the skin near it. And this year I think I’ll try to get the kids to join in a penny ante poker game with me. Camera Girl has an old bucket of pennies. There must be a thousand of them and we can play for hours without any serious money changing hands.
I’ve got my favorite Christmas DVDs at the ready and several albums of Christmas music on tap. And no one should be sick this year because everyone has already been stricken with the Chinese Bioweapon recently. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a sugar plum but I’m pretty sure there’ll be all kinds of chocolates and mints on the table.
Sure, everything is about twice as expensive as normal and that old dimwit Biden keeps gassing off every few days about Ukraine or gay marriage or trans-something-or-other but I’m satisfied that this will be a good Christmas despite him and the rest of the grifters who run the crime family that fleeces us.
It’s still Christmas, friends, family and food and that’s a pretty good combination. I can no longer feel any community with the degenerates that surround us and plot bigger and uglier ways to degrade the good things in the world. But I feel kinship with the normal people that work hard and raise their kids and try to make the world go round. With them I can hope for a Merry Christmas and we’ll worry about the New Year later. Where’s that sweet potato pie?
27DEC2021 – Quote of the Day – A Christmas Carol – Part 23
A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)
by Charles Dickens
(OCF editing – Part 23)
STAVE V: THE END OF IT
YES! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own,
the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time
before him was his own, to make amends in!
“I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!”
Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. “The Spirits
of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley!
Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this! I say
it on my knees, old Jacob; on my knees!”
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions,
that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his
call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the
Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.
“They are not torn down,” cried Scrooge, folding one of
his bed-curtains in his arms, “they are not torn down, rings
and all. They are here–I am here–the shadows of the
things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will
- I know they will!”
His hands were busy with his garments all this time;
turning them inside out, putting them on upside down,
tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every
kind of extravagance.
“I don’t know what to do!” cried Scrooge, laughing and
crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoön of
himself with his stockings. “I am as light as a feather, I
am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I
am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to
everybody! A happy New Year to all the world. Hallo
here! Whoop! Hallo!”
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing
there: perfectly winded.
“There’s the saucepan that the gruel was in!” cried
Scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fireplace.
“There’s the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley
entered! There’s the corner where the Ghost of Christmas
Present, sat! There’s the window where I saw the wandering
Spirits! It’s all right, it’s all true, it all happened.
Ha ha ha!”
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so
many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh.
The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs!
“I don’t know what day of the month it is!” said
Scrooge. “I don’t know how long I’ve been among the
Spirits. I don’t know anything. I’m quite a baby. Never
mind. I don’t care. I’d rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop!
Hallo here!”
He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing
out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang,
hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang,
clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!
Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his
head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold;
cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight;
Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious!
Glorious!
“What’s to-day!” cried Scrooge, calling downward to a
boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look
about him.
“EH?” returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
“What’s to-day, my fine fellow?” said Scrooge.
“To-day!” replied the boy. “Why, CHRISTMAS DAY.”
“It’s Christmas Day!” said Scrooge to himself. “I
haven’t missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night.
They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of
course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow!”
“Hallo!” returned the boy.
“Do you know the Poulterer’s, in the next street but one,
at the corner?” Scrooge inquired.
“I should hope I did,” replied the lad.
“An intelligent boy!” said Scrooge. “A remarkable boy!
Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that
was hanging up there?–Not the little prize Turkey: the
big one?”
“What, the one as big as me?” returned the boy.
“What a delightful boy!” said Scrooge. “It’s a pleasure
to talk to him. Yes, my buck!”
“It’s hanging there now,” replied the boy.
“Is it?” said Scrooge. “Go and buy it.”
“Walk-ER!” exclaimed the boy.
“No, no,” said Scrooge, “I am in earnest. Go and buy
it, and tell ’em to bring it here, that I may give them the
direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and
I’ll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than
five minutes and I’ll give you half-a-crown!”
The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady
hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.
“I’ll send it to Bob Cratchit’s!” whispered Scrooge,
rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. “He sha’n’t
know who sends it. It’s twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe
Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob’s
will be!”
The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady
one, but write it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to
open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer’s
man. As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker
caught his eye.
“I shall love it, as long as I live!” cried Scrooge, patting
it with his hand. “I scarcely ever looked at it before.
What an honest expression it has in its face! It’s a
wonderful knocker!–Here’s the Turkey! Hallo! Whoop!
How are you! Merry Christmas!”
It was a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his
legs, that bird. He would have snapped ’em short off in a
minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.
“Why, it’s impossible to carry that to Camden Town,”
said Scrooge. “You must have a cab.”
The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with
which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which
he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed
the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle
with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and
chuckled till he cried.
Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to
shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when
you don’t dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the
end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of
sticking-plaister over it, and been quite satisfied.
He dressed himself “all in his best,” and at last got out
into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth,
as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present;
and walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded
every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly
pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows
said, “Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!”
And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe
sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.
He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he
beheld the portly gentleman, who had walked into his
counting-house the day before, and said, “Scrooge and Marley’s, I
believe?” It sent a pang across his heart to think how this
old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he
knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
“My dear sir,” said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and
taking the old gentleman by both his hands. “How do you
do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of
you. A merry Christmas to you, sir!”
“Mr. Scrooge?”
“Yes,” said Scrooge. “That is my name, and I fear it
may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon.
And will you have the goodness”–here Scrooge whispered in
his ear.
“Lord bless me!” cried the gentleman, as if his breath
were taken away. “My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?”
“If you please,” said Scrooge. “Not a farthing less. A
great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you.
Will you do me that favour?”
“My dear sir,” said the other, shaking hands with him.
“I don’t know what to say to such munifi–“
“Don’t say anything, please,” retorted Scrooge. “Come
and see me. Will you come and see me?”
“I will!” cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he
meant to do it.
“Thank’ee,” said Scrooge. “I am much obliged to you.
I thank you fifty times. Bless you!”
He went to church, and walked about the streets, and
watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children
on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into
the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found
that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never
dreamed that any walk–that anything–could give him so
much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps
towards his nephew’s house.
He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the
courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and
did it:
“Is your master at home, my dear?” said Scrooge to the
girl. Nice girl! Very.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is he, my love?” said Scrooge.
“He’s in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I’ll
show you up-stairs, if you please.”
“Thank’ee. He knows me,” said Scrooge, with his hand
already on the dining-room lock. “I’ll go in here, my dear.”
He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door.
They were looking at the table (which was spread out in
great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous
on such points, and like to see that everything is right.
“Fred!” said Scrooge.
Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started!
Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting
in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn’t have done
it, on any account.
“Why bless my soul!” cried Fred, “who’s that?”
“It’s I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner.
Will you let me in, Fred?”
Let him in! It is a mercy he didn’t shake his arm off.
He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier.
His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he
came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did
every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful
games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!
But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was
early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob
Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his
heart upon.
And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No
Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen
minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his
door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.
His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter
too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his
pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o’clock.
“Hallo!” growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as
near as he could feign it. “What do you mean by coming
here at this time of day?”
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Bob. “I am behind my time.”
“You are?” repeated Scrooge. “Yes. I think you are.
Step this way, sir, if you please.”
“It’s only once a year, sir,” pleaded Bob, appearing from
the Tank. “It shall not be repeated. I was making rather
merry yesterday, sir.”
“Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend,” said Scrooge, “I
am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And
therefore,” he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving
Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into
the Tank again; “and therefore I am about to raise your
salary!”
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He
had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it,
holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help
and a strait-waistcoat.
“A merry Christmas, Bob!” said Scrooge, with an earnestness
that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the
back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I
have given you, for many a year! I’ll raise your salary, and
endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss
your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of
smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another
coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!”
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and
infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was
a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a
master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or
any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old
world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him,
but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was
wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this
globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill
of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these
would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they
should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in
less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was
quite enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon
the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was
always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas
well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that
be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim
observed, God bless Us, Every One!
Charles Dickens