A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)<\/p>\n
by Charles Dickens<\/p>\n
(OCF editing – Part 20)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part<\/strong><\/p>\n of the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before,<\/strong><\/p>\n although he recognised its situation, and its bad repute. The<\/strong><\/p>\n ways were foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched;<\/strong><\/p>\n the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys and<\/strong><\/p>\n archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of<\/strong><\/p>\n smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the<\/strong><\/p>\n whole quarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed,<\/strong><\/p>\n beetling shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags,<\/strong><\/p>\n bottles, bones, and greasy offal, were bought. Upon the floor<\/strong><\/p>\n within, were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges,<\/strong><\/p>\n files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of all kinds. Secrets<\/strong><\/p>\n that few would like to scrutinise were bred and hidden in<\/strong><\/p>\n mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and<\/strong><\/p>\n sepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a<\/strong><\/p>\n charcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal,<\/strong><\/p>\n nearly seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the<\/strong><\/p>\n cold air without, by a frousy curtaining of miscellaneous<\/strong><\/p>\n tatters, hung upon a line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury<\/strong><\/p>\n of calm retirement.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this<\/strong><\/p>\n man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the<\/strong><\/p>\n shop. But she had scarcely entered, when another woman,<\/strong><\/p>\n similarly laden, came in too; and she was closely followed by<\/strong><\/p>\n a man in faded black, who was no less startled by the sight<\/strong><\/p>\n of them, than they had been upon the recognition of each<\/strong><\/p>\n other. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which<\/strong><\/p>\n the old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three<\/strong><\/p>\n burst into a laugh.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Let the charwoman alone to be the first!” cried she who<\/strong><\/p>\n had entered first. “Let the laundress alone to be the second;<\/strong><\/p>\n and let the undertaker’s man alone to be the third. Look<\/strong><\/p>\n here, old Joe, here’s a chance! If we haven’t all three met<\/strong><\/p>\n here without meaning it!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “You couldn’t have met in a better place,” said old Joe,<\/strong><\/p>\n removing his pipe from his mouth. “Come into the parlour.<\/strong><\/p>\n You were made free of it long ago, you know; and the other<\/strong><\/p>\n two an’t strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop.<\/strong><\/p>\n Ah! How it skreeks! There an’t such a rusty bit of metal<\/strong><\/p>\n in the place as its own hinges, I believe; and I’m sure there’s<\/strong><\/p>\n no such old bones here, as mine. Ha, ha! We’re all suitable<\/strong><\/p>\n to our calling, we’re well matched. Come into the<\/strong><\/p>\n parlour. Come into the parlour.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. The<\/strong><\/p>\n old man raked the fire together with an old stair-rod, and<\/strong><\/p>\n having trimmed his smoky lamp (for it was night), with the<\/strong><\/p>\n stem of his pipe, put it in his mouth again.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n While he did this, the woman who had already spoken<\/strong><\/p>\n threw her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flaunting<\/strong><\/p>\n manner on a stool; crossing her elbows on her knees, and<\/strong><\/p>\n looking with a bold defiance at the other two.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “What odds then! What odds, Mrs. Dilber?” said the<\/strong><\/p>\n woman. “Every person has a right to take care of themselves.<\/strong><\/p>\n He always did.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “That’s true, indeed!” said the laundress. “No man<\/strong><\/p>\n more so.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Why then, don’t stand staring as if you was afraid,<\/strong><\/p>\n woman; who’s the wiser? We’re not going to pick holes in<\/strong><\/p>\n each other’s coats, I suppose?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “No, indeed!” said Mrs. Dilber and the man together.<\/strong><\/p>\n “We should hope not.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Very well, then!” cried the woman. “That’s enough.<\/strong><\/p>\n Who’s the worse for the loss of a few things like these?<\/strong><\/p>\n Not a dead man, I suppose.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “No, indeed,” said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “If he wanted to keep ’em after he was dead, a wicked old<\/strong><\/p>\n screw,” pursued the woman, “why wasn’t he natural in his<\/strong><\/p>\n lifetime? If he had been, he’d have had somebody to look<\/strong><\/p>\n after him when he was struck with Death, instead of lying<\/strong><\/p>\n gasping out his last there, alone by himself.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “It’s the truest word that ever was spoke,” said Mrs.<\/strong><\/p>\n Dilber. “It’s a judgment on him.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I wish it was a little heavier judgment,” replied the<\/strong><\/p>\n woman; “and it should have been, you may depend upon it,<\/strong><\/p>\n if I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open that<\/strong><\/p>\n bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out<\/strong><\/p>\n plain. I’m not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them to<\/strong><\/p>\n see it. We know pretty well that we were helping ourselves,<\/strong><\/p>\n before we met here, I believe. It’s no sin. Open the bundle,<\/strong><\/p>\n Joe.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this;<\/strong><\/p>\n and the man in faded black, mounting the breach first,<\/strong><\/p>\n produced his plunder. It was not extensive. A seal or two,<\/strong><\/p>\n a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve-buttons, and a brooch of no<\/strong><\/p>\n great value, were all. They were severally examined and<\/strong><\/p>\n appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed<\/strong><\/p>\n to give for each, upon the wall, and added them up into a<\/strong><\/p>\n total when he found there was nothing more to come.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “That’s your account,” said Joe, “and I wouldn’t give<\/strong><\/p>\n another sixpence, if I was to be boiled for not doing it.<\/strong><\/p>\n Who’s next?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing<\/strong><\/p>\n apparel, two old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of<\/strong><\/p>\n sugar-tongs, and a few boots. Her account was stated on the wall<\/strong><\/p>\n in the same manner.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I always give too much to ladies. It’s a weakness of mine,<\/strong><\/p>\n and that’s the way I ruin myself,” said old Joe. “That’s<\/strong><\/p>\n your account. If you asked me for another penny, and made<\/strong><\/p>\n it an open question, I’d repent of being so liberal and knock<\/strong><\/p>\n off half-a-crown.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “And now undo my bundle, Joe,” said the first woman.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience<\/strong><\/p>\n of opening it, and having unfastened a great many knots,<\/strong><\/p>\n dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark stuff.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n