e-angielski

stave5

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
Laocoon 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 them 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 shan’t know who sent 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 them 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–plaster
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
munificence.’

‘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 you,’ 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 you. 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, wonderful
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!

THE END