A
CHRISTMAS CAROL
PART 5
Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his
fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom’s hood and dress. It shrunk,
collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.
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 be. 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!
...a sentiment thoroughly endorsed by Philomathes your Editor...
The End
