Christmas 1843
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!
======
As the scribe lay down his pen and leaned back in his chair a satisfied smile spread slowly across his face, until quite suddenly he was jolted awake from his reverie.
‘Merry Christmas Charles!’
‘Why, Sir John! How are you keeping? It is good to see you after so long! I trust the family are well? What brings you here?’
‘Our Annual General Meeting is today – The Sebright Club – I am expecting my good friends any time now. We used to hold it in Brick Lane, but come to the Gray’s Inn Coffee House now – a fine and congenial meeting place, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed sir! I have just penned the final part of my latest work – need a bit more money to support Kate and our fifth child that she is soon expecting! Why Mr Garle! How are you sir?’ A gentleman sporting a bright and snug scarf walked across to them.
‘Very well Boz, thank you kindly. Hello Sir John – you are looking well. A warm and welcoming hostelry on this dark, wintry night, with good company is most acceptable.’
Another gentleman made his way over to the three. ‘Good evening dear fellows! I trust you have reserved your Christmas Card! I hear Henry Cole has commissioned an artist to design a card – with a group of people around a dinner table and a Christmas message on the front cover. At one shilling – not going to be that many around!’ Mr Hollingworth quipped.
They drank a toast to the Christmas season and were soon joined by Mr Stevens and several other members, who all shared the same passion for the perfection of the Sebright bantam. They left Charles Dickens musing over the work that had taken him just six weeks to write and moved to a back room in order to hold their meeting.
==========
Co-incidentally the 200th anniversary of Charles Dickens' birth was celebrated on February 7th 2012. The very same year that the Sebright Club celebrated their 200th anniversary.
[Francis Jeffrey "Chickenstalker" Dickens, their third son, was born to Charles and Catherine on January 15th 1844.]
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!
======
As the scribe lay down his pen and leaned back in his chair a satisfied smile spread slowly across his face, until quite suddenly he was jolted awake from his reverie.
‘Merry Christmas Charles!’
‘Why, Sir John! How are you keeping? It is good to see you after so long! I trust the family are well? What brings you here?’
‘Our Annual General Meeting is today – The Sebright Club – I am expecting my good friends any time now. We used to hold it in Brick Lane, but come to the Gray’s Inn Coffee House now – a fine and congenial meeting place, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed sir! I have just penned the final part of my latest work – need a bit more money to support Kate and our fifth child that she is soon expecting! Why Mr Garle! How are you sir?’ A gentleman sporting a bright and snug scarf walked across to them.
‘Very well Boz, thank you kindly. Hello Sir John – you are looking well. A warm and welcoming hostelry on this dark, wintry night, with good company is most acceptable.’
Another gentleman made his way over to the three. ‘Good evening dear fellows! I trust you have reserved your Christmas Card! I hear Henry Cole has commissioned an artist to design a card – with a group of people around a dinner table and a Christmas message on the front cover. At one shilling – not going to be that many around!’ Mr Hollingworth quipped.
They drank a toast to the Christmas season and were soon joined by Mr Stevens and several other members, who all shared the same passion for the perfection of the Sebright bantam. They left Charles Dickens musing over the work that had taken him just six weeks to write and moved to a back room in order to hold their meeting.
==========
Co-incidentally the 200th anniversary of Charles Dickens' birth was celebrated on February 7th 2012. The very same year that the Sebright Club celebrated their 200th anniversary.
[Francis Jeffrey "Chickenstalker" Dickens, their third son, was born to Charles and Catherine on January 15th 1844.]