To begin with, Ebenezer Scrooge was a mean-spirited old fellow. As a result, he had few friends and even those who could be so described had no interest in spending time with him outside of matters of business. As a young man, Scrooge had been a taller-than-average, fairly decent-looking individual. The passing of time, along with his attitude and character, had worked serious change in his appearance. Though he still moved about with an intense nervous energy, he was stooped and arthritic and was no longer what anyone would call handsome. He had become, on the exterior, the very image of what he carried in his heart. He viewed life through suspicious, jaundiced eyes that peered out from beneath bushy, tangled brows. Suiting his habit of looking down it, his nose had grown long and nearly met his chin when he set his jaw in defiance of any obstruction to his purposes. His mouth was drawn down at its corners in almost constant disapproval of the world around him. His features were pinched and lined like the skin of a dried apple. Having never married, he had no children, which suited him well. Children irritated him by their very presence. They, in turn, instinctively avoided any proximity to the unpleasant, old man. All in all, Scrooge was undesirable company.
Scrooge owned and ran a counting house and made his living by making small loans to people who tended to skirt the edges of poverty and who occasionally made actual forays into that barren and cheerless territory.
His life consisted of little else than his work. His partner, a man of similar temperament named Jacob Marley, was dead and had been in that condition for seven years. As a business associate, Marley had served Scrooge well. He was not much missed, however, since Scrooge was no longer obligated to share any profits. His money was his and his alone and that was exactly the way he wanted it.
Our story begins on a cold day in December in the city of London. The sky was its usual gray and a hint of snow was in the air. The streets were filled with people greeting one another as they went from shop to shop. Smiles and happy shouts were all around and children ran and played among the bustle. It was the day before Christmas.
Scrooge was at home getting ready for the day. For him, the approaching holiday was nothing more than a nuisance. Mrs. Cobbler, his housekeeper, was doing her best to look busy and, at the same time, attempting to avoid notice.
Mrs. Cobbler was an industrious woman of middle age and was slightly overweight. She was plump enough to show no wrinkles and her bright blue eyes missed nothing. Her hair was red, with gray beginning to show through. Her husband worked in the butcher shop near their home and her children were grown and gone. Her employment as Scrooge’s housekeeper was necessary to her household income so she did her best to keep the old man happy; a task that was not, in any way, easy. Her efforts in that direction did not extend to liking him, but she tried to tolerate his foul humor as best she could. She did, however, maintain an air of independence that kept her from allowing him to abuse her out of hand.
Scrooge stumped around the room in his usual bad temper. “Bah!” he growled. “Humbug! That wretched season has arrived once more. ‘Peace on earth, good will towards men;’ detestable, puerile nonsense!” He peered into the mirror and tied his scarf. “There’s nothing for it but to grit one’s teeth and suffer through it,” he mused. “It’ll be over and done in good time and then a new year in which to do one’s business unmolested!” he grated, a grim look of satisfaction on his pinched features. “But why must I put up with it at all?” he whined waspishly. “Who needs Christmas?” He turned and focused his unwanted attention on his housekeeper. “If I had my way,” he said, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips should be boiled with his own plum pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart!” He turned away dismissively and said again, “Bah! ... Humbug!”
Mrs. Cobbler stood, stiff and disapproving by the door; his coat in her hands. “And a Merry Christmas to you too, sir,” she said sarcastically.
Scrooge cocked his head and squinted appraisingly in her direction, noting her tone of voice. “Mrs. Cobbler,” he asked, “is your position with me of value to you?”
She