A Christmas Carol Page #4

Bob, a merry Christmas to you.

This is my fiance, Bess.

This is Mr. Cratchit, and his son Tim.

How do you do?

Now, Tim, no secrets.

What were you saying?

I said, sir...

- I said she's very pretty.

- Tim!

- Thank you kindly, Tim.

- Don't you agree with him, Bob?

- Yes, sir. She is very pretty.

- Father!

Thank you kindly, Mr. Cratchit.

- Good morning.

- Goodbye.

- Merry Christmas.

- Merry Christmas.

Come on, darling. Let's have a slide.

But, Fred, you can't.

Can't I?

You should have seen me yesterday.

But in front of the church? It isn't right.

But, darling, it looks perfect.

It is perfect.

- It's as slippery as a codfish's tummy.

- No, Fred, no!

But, darling, just one slide. Only one.

- Yeah.

- Well, all right.

Boys! Sliding in front of the church?

Now run away home.

And a merry Christmas to you all.

- Run home.

- See?

But, darling, he has no soul.

He's simply acting like a grownup.

I still say he has no soul.

He just doesn't appreciate the qualities

of a good slide.

Come on.

One, two, three.

- Giddyap.

- Merry Christmas, Tom.

And a merry Christmas to you, Bob.

- And to you, too, Tiny Tim.

- Thank you. Merry Christmas, sir.

Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live.

If the shadows remain unaltered

by the future, the child will die.

No!

Surely he'll be spared.

With the kind of care that money can buy,

who could tell?

But Bob Cratchit has no money.

Not even a position, I've heard.

If all this remains unaltered by the future...

the next Christmas

will not find Tiny Tim here.

But what of it?

If he be like to die, he'd better do it

and decrease the population.

Come.

Mother! The goose, we smelled it.

Outside the baker's.

- We did, didn't we?

- It was ours. We knew.

Because of the smell.

Young, sharp noses. Out you go.

What's got into your father and Tim?

And Martha wasn't this late last Christmas

by half an hour.

Here's Martha, Mother.

Here she is, Mother. Here's Martha.

There's a goose for Christmas, Martha.

Bless your heart.

I was afraid you weren't coming.

We'd a deal of sewing to finish

up last night, and this morning...

we had to clear up the shop.

Just so long as you've come.

- You're cold, child.

- Not very.

Sit down by the fire and have a warm.

Father's here, Mama.

- Hide.

- Hide in here.

Here we come.

Whoa it is. Hello.

There we are.

Belinda.

- Where's our Martha?

- Not coming.

Not coming?

Not coming on Christmas day?

Martha girl.

Come, Tim, into the back.

Smell the pudding.

- Was it a good service, Bob?

- Beautiful. That's what it was.

I wish you'd been there.

So long as you and Tim were there,

I feel it did us all good.

- Here, I'll give that gravy what for.

- Thank you, dear.

Belinda, you sweeten up the applesauce.

- I have, Mommy. It's on the table.

- Good girl.

- Peter, take this chair inside.

- Yes, Mother.

Now, I'm going to take one last look

at the table.

What a Christmas!

There never was such a Christmas.

Here, Martha, taste this.

Sweet enough?

- Well, it's still a wee bit sour.

- So.

- Been working hard, Father?

- Yes.

How's old Scrooge?

- Same as ever.

- What's the matter?

Not a thing. Not a single blessed thing.

Something at the office?

No. Why, it was only yesterday

Mr. Scrooge came to me...

shook my hand and, "Cratchit,"

he says, "Cratchit, my lad"...

he calls me "my lad"...

"You're one in 1,000. You're..."

Something is wrong. What is it?

- I've been sacked, Martha.

- Father!

- When was it?

- Last night.

You haven't told Mother?

Bad luck.

Sorry I told you. I really shouldn't have.

I thought it might make me feel better.

Bob!

There's Mother. Come along. Cheer up.

Here we go.

Here we are!

How's that?

You know, I don't think there is anyone,

not anyone, who can touch my punch.

Nor do I, Bob.

- Do you like our table?

- It's beautiful, my dear.

- Peter.

- Yes, Mother?

You can go to the baker's now.

- And get the goose?

- Yes.

The goose!

There never was such a goose.

- It's a good bird, Bob.

- And reasonable, too.

- I'd like to stroke it.

- Tim.

- We haven't eaten it all at last.

- That we haven't.

And now the pudding.

Belinda and me'll clear, Mother.

- I'll help with the pudding, Mother.

- No, I'd rather do it alone.

- It might not turn out.

- Of course it will. It always has.

Unless someone's climbed into the back

and stolen it.

Stolen it?

Hurry, Mother, hurry!

Pass them over to this side.

It's there. The pudding's there.

- Hooray!

- Come along.

I smell it. Do you smell it, Peter?

That's the cloth coming off.

- The holly's in.

- It is?

It's blazing.

Here it comes! Here comes the pudding.

- Off with the lights.

- Off with the lights. Hurry.

Hurry up.

It did turn out, and it's not stolen.

- It looks so good.

- Tim.

It looks like the best you've ever made,

my dear.

Bob, you say that every year.

Every year they get better.

How that's possible, don't ask me.

But it's true.

So eat.

Mother, you haven't got any.

I don't want any, dear.

- You must. Here, have some of mine.

- Just a little spoonful.

I'm sure I'm going to burst.

Not in here, my lad.

If you want to burst, you go outside.

You've hardly any tummy at all.

Look at mine.

Now then, enough of that,

or there will be a calamity.

- Peter, put some chestnuts on the fire.

- Yes, sir.

Let's tidy the table, girls.

Such a smell.

Sweet enough?

Sweet as honey.

Obviously made by an expert.

And are only experts allowed to taste it?

My dear. Glasses all. Glasses.

Fill mine, Father. Thank you.

- Three, four.

- Thank you.

- Five.

- Thank you.

- Six.

- Thank you.

- Seven.

- Thank you.

Well, this is the largest,

but a merry Christmas to us, my dears.

And God bless us all.

And here's to next Christmas,

may it bring us luck.

And may Mr. Scrooge

give your father a raise.

And a merry Christmas to Mr. Scrooge.

I'll drink to that.

- Delicious.

- How lovely.

And now, Father, a story please.

Yes. Please, a story, Father.

Right you are. A story it is.

Come along, kids. Sit here.

Now let me see.

It seems that once upon a time,

there was a little boy...

about your size, Timmy...

- Come, Scrooge, we must go.

- Must we?

Just let me hear Bob's story.

It's about Aladdin and the magic lamp.

Please let me stay.

No, Scrooge.

And he said that Christmas was humbug.

As I live, he did.

As if anything that gave excuse for this

could be humbug.

- Your uncle should be ashamed.

- I'm sorry for him.

I couldn't be angry with him if I tried.

After all, he punishes himself.

And how does he do that, pray?

- Well, he has money, hasn't he?

- Yes.

And he makes no use of it, mark you,

no use of it whatsoever.

Therefore, he's a far more pathetic

and unhappy case...

than a man who has no money at all.

QED, he punishes himself.

Now, that's a wonderful idea.

Tom here suggests that we play a game.

Now what shall it be?

- Blindman's buff.

- Blindman's buff? Right.

But first, I want you to drink a toast.

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