Old Scrooge: A Christmas Carol in Five Staves.. Dickens Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?

      Scro. Good afternoon.

      Fred. I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?

      Scro. Good afternoon!

      Fred. 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 humor to the last. So a Merry Christmas, uncle.

      Scro. Good afternoon!

(As Fred goes out he exchanges greetings with Bob.)

      Fred. A merry Christmas.

      Bob. The same to you, and many of them.

      Scro. There's another fellow, my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking about a Merry Christmas. I'll retire to the lunatic asylum.

Enter Mr. Mumford and Mr. Barnes with subscription book and paper, ushered in by Bob

      Mr. Mumford. Scrooge & Marley's. I believe (referring to paper). Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?

      Scro. Mr. Marley his been dead these seven years. He died seven years ago this very night.

      Mr. M. We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner. (Presents list. Scrooge frowns, shakes his head, and returns it.) At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge, 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.

      Scro. Are there no prisons?

      Mr. M. Plenty of prisons.

      Scro. And the union work-houses – are they still in operation?

      Mr. M. They are. I wish I could say they were not.

      Scro. The tread-mill and the poor law are in full vigor, then?

      Mr. M. Both very busy, sir.

      Scro. Oh! I was afraid from what you said at first that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course. I'm very glad to hear it.

      Mr. M. Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We chose 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?

      Scro. Nothing.

      Mr. M. You wish to be anonymous?

      Scro. I wish to be left alone. 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.

      Mr. B. Many can't go there; and many would rather die.

      Scro. If they had rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Besides, excuse me, I don't know that.

      Mr. B. But you might know it.

      Scro. It's not my business. It's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen.

      Mr. M. It is useless, we may as well withdraw. [Exeunt. As they go out Bob is seen to hand them money.]

(Voice at door R. singing.)

      God bless you, merry gentlemen.

      May nothing you dismay —

      Scro. (Seizes ruler and makes a dash at the door.) Begone! I'll have none of your carols here. (Makes sign to Bob, who extinguishes his candle and puts on his hat and enters.) You'll want all day to morrow, I suppose?

      Bob. If quite convenient, sir.

      Scro. It's not convenient, and its not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound? (Bob smiles faintly.) And yet you don't think me ill-used when I pay a day's wages for no work.

      Bob. It's only once a year, sir.

      Scro. A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December. (Buttoning up his great coat to the chin.) But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning. (Exit C.)

      Bob. I will, sir. You old skinflint. If I had my way, I'd give you Christmas. I'd give it to you this way (Dumb show of pummelling Scrooge.) Now for a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honor of Christmas Eve, and then for Camden Town as hard as I can pelt. (Exit C., with sliding motions, closing doors after him.)

      SCENE II. —Scrooge's apartments. Grate fire, L. 2, Window, R. C. Door, L. C. in flat. Table, L. 4. Spoon and basin on table. Saucepan on hob. Two easy chairs near fire. Lights down.

[Scrooge in dressing gown and night-cap, discovered, with candle, searching the room.]

      Scro. Pooh! pooh! Marley's dead seven years to night. Impossible. Nobody under the table, nobody under the couch, nobody in the closet, nobody nowhere (Yawns). Bah, humbug! (Locks door R. and seats himself in easy chair; dips gruel from saucepan into basin, and takes two or three spoonsful. Yawns and composes himself for rest.)

      [One or two stanzas of a Christmas carol may be sung outside, at the close of which a general ringing of bells ensues, succeeded by a clanking noise of chain.]

      Enter Jacob Marley's ghost. R., with chain made of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, purposes, etc. Hair twisted upright on each side to represent horns. White bandage around jaws.

      Scro. It's humbug still! I won't believe it. [Pause, during which Ghost approaches the opposite side of the mantel.] How now. What do you want with me?

      Ghost. Much.

      Scro. Who are you?

      Gho. Ask me who I was.

      Scro. Who were you then? You're particular, for a shade.

      Gho. In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.

      Scro. Can you – can you sit down?

      Gho. I can.

      Scro. Do it, then.

      Gho. You don't believe in me?

      Scro. I don't.

      Gho. What evidence do you require of my reality beyond that of your senses?

      Scro. I don't know.

      Gho. Why do you doubt your senses?

      Scro. Because a little СКАЧАТЬ