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 thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an under-done potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are. You see this tooth-pick?

Gho. I do.

Scro. You are not looking at it.

Gho. But I see it, notwithstanding.

Scro. Well! I have but to swallow this, and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of gobblins, all of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you; humbug. (Ghost rattles chain, takes bandage off jaws, and drops lower jaw as far as possible.)

Scro. (Betrays signs of fright.) Mercy! dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?

Gho. Man of the worldly mind, do you believe in me, or not?

Scro. I do. I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?

Gho. It is required of every man that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow men and travel far and wide, and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world – oh, woe is me – and witness what it can not share, but might have shared on earth, turned to happiness. [Shakes chain and wrings his hands.]

Scro. You are fettered; tell me why?

Gho. I wear the chain I forged in life; I made it link by link and yard by yard. I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you? Or would you know the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself. It was full as heavy and as long as this seven Christmas-eves ago. You have labored on it since. It is a pondrous chain!

Scro. Jacob, old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Jacob.

Gho. I have none to give. It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers to other lands of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is all that is permitted to me. I can not rest, I can not stay, I can not linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting house, mark me! – in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me.

Scro. You must have been very slow about it, Jacob.

Gho. Slow?

Scro. Seven years dead. And traveling all the time.

Gho. The old time. No rest, no peace. Incessant tortures of remorse.

Scro. You travel fast?

Gho. On the wings of the wind.

Scro. You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years, Jacob.

Gho. (Clinking his chain.) Oh! captive, bound and double-ironed, not to know that ages of incessant labor by immortal creatures; for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused. Yet, such was I. Oh, such was I!

Scro. But you were always a good man of business Jacob.

Gho. Business! [wringing his hands and shaking chain.] Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business. Charity, mercy, forbearance and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business. [Holds up chain at arm's length, and drops it.] At this time of the rolling year I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them, to that blessed Star which led the wise men to a poor abode? Were there no poor houses to which its light would have conducted me? Hear me! my time is nearly gone.

Scro. I will; but don't be hard upon me. Don't be flowery, Jacob, pray.

Gho. How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day. That is no light part of my penance. I am here to-night to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.

Scro. You were always a good friend to me. Thank 'er.

Gho. You will be haunted by three spirits.

Scro. Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?

Gho. It is.

Scro. I – I think I'd rather not.

Gho. Without their visits you can not hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls one.

Scro. Couldn't I take'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?

Gho. Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third on the night following, when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us. [Ghost replaces bandage around jaws, rises, winds chain about his arm, walks backward to window, beckoning Scrooge, who rises and follows. As soon as Ghost walks through window, which opens for him, he motions for Scrooge to stop, and disappears through trap. Window closes as before.]

CURTAIN

STAVE TWO

SCENE I. —Scrooge's bed room. A small, four-post bedstead with curtains at L. E., bureau R. E. Bell tolls twelve. Scrooge pulls curtains aside and sits on side of bed. Touches spring of his repeater, which also strikes twelve.

Scro. Way, it isn't possible that I can have slept through a whole day, and far into another night. It isn't possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is twelve o'clock at noon.

(The Spirit of Christmas Past rises from the hearth as Scrooge finishes his Speech.)

Scro. Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?

Spirit. I am.

Scro. Who, and what are you?

Spir. I am the ghost of Christmas Past.

Scro. Long past?

Spir. No; your past.

Scro. I beg you will be covered.

Spir. What! would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow?

Scro. I have no intention of offending you. May I make bold to enquire what business has brought you here?

Spir. Your welfare.

Scro. I am much obliged, but I think a night of unbroken rest would be more conducive to that end.

Spir. Your reclamation, then. Take heed! observe the shadows of the past, and profit by the recollection of them.

Scro. What would you have me do?

Spir. Remain where you are, while memory recalls the past.

SCENE II. —The spirit waves a wand, the scene opens and displays a dilapidated school-room. Young Scrooge discovered seated at a window, reading.

Scro. (Trembling) Good heavens! I was a boy! It's the old school; and its the Christmas I was left alone.

Spir. You remember it?

Scro. Yes, yes; I know! I was reading all about Ali Baba. Dear old honest Ali Baba. And Valentine and his wild brother, Orson; and the Sultan's groom turned upside down by the Geni. Served him right, I'm glad of it; what business had he to be married to the Princess! [In an earnest and excited manner, and voice between, laughing and crying.] There's the parrot: green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is! Poor Robin Crusoe, where have you been, Robin Crusoe? There goes Friday, running for his life to the little Creek. Halloo! Hoop! Halloo! [Changing to a pitiful tone, in allusion to his former self.] Poor boy.

Spir. Strange to have forgotten this for so many years.

Scro. (Putting his hand in his pocket and drying his eyes on his cuff) I wish – but it's too late now.

Spir. What is the matter?

Scro. Nothing; nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas carol at my door, last night, I should like to have given him something, that's all.

[Young Scrooge rises and walks up and down. Door opens and Fanny Scrooge darts in and puts her arms about his neck and kisses him.]

Fanny. Dear, dear brother! I have come to bring you home, dear brother. (Clapping her hands and laughing gleefully.) To bring you home, home, home!

Young S. Home, little Fan?

Fan. Yes! Home for good, and all. Home for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that home is like Heaven. He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home; and he said yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring you. And you're to be a man, and never to come back here; but first we're to be together all the Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world.

Young S. You're quite a woman, little Fan! [She claps her hands and laughs, tries to touch his head, but being too little, laughs again. Stands on tip-toe to embrace him, and in childish eagerness and glee, drags him willingly towards the door. Exeunt.]

Voice [outside]. Bring down Master Scrooge's box, there.

[Scene Closes]

Spir. Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered. But she had a large heart.

Scro. So she had. You're right. I will not gainsay it, Spirit. Lord forbid.

Spir. She died a woman, and had, as I think, children.

Scro. One child.

Spir. True; your nephew.

Scro. [uneasily] Yes.

Spir. Let us see another Christmas. (Waves wand.)

SCENE III. —Fezziwig's Ball, full depth of stage, representing a wareroom. Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig L., the former standing and clapping his hands, and the latter seated in an arm-chair, manifesting delight. Old bald-headed fiddler, on an elevated seat, at the back. Dick Wilkins, with two Miss Fezziwigs, forward to right and back. Scrooge's former self advances and retires to the partners, with fancy steps: hands around; right and left; ladies change; balance; promenade. Other characters to fill up the picture. Laughter and merriment to follow Scrooge's speech.

Spir. Do you know it?

Scro. Know it! I was apprenticed here. Why, its old Fezziwig. Bless his heart; its Fezziwig alive again, and Mrs Fezziwig, too. Dick Wilkins, to be sure, with Fezziwig's two daughters. Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick. And see me, cutting the pigeon-wing. Dear, dear, dear!

(Dance comes to an end amid general hilarity and merriment, and the scene closes in.)

Spir. A small matter to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.

Scro. Small! Why, old Fezziwig was one of the best men that ever lived. He never missed giving his employees a Christmas ball.

Spir. Why, is it not! He spent but a few pounds of money – three or four pounds, perhaps – . Is that so much that he deserves your praise?

Scro. It isn't that, Spirit. He had the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our services light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lives in words and looks; in things so light and unsignificant that it is impossible to add and count 'em up; what then? The happiness he gives is quite as great if it cost a fortune – oh, dear.