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Bond © Oxford University Press, 2015
“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 tomorrow.”
(Adapted from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens)
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