The Man Who Invented Christmas Page #3

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not much of a market

for Christmas books, what?

It is a Christmas book because Christmas

is, or ought to be, the one time of year

when men and women

open their shut-up hearts

and think of people below them as if they

really were fellow passengers to the grave

and not another race

of creatures altogether.

We are already

halfway through October.

Even if you had already written it, we

couldn't possibly get it illustrated,

typeset, printed and bound,

advertised and distributed to shops

in only six weeks.

Well...

thank you

for your opinion.

Mr. Dickens!

Tie it off now.

That's it.

Scaly-headed vultures.

Money-grubbing, scum-sucking...

- But, Charles...

- I'll do it myself.

- What?

- I'll pay for it myself... all of it.

Illustrations, everything.

I'll distribute it myself.

But, Charles, this is madness.

Think of your finances, huh?

Come on. We'll go back.

We'll renegotiate.

No shame in it.

It's just business.

Why throw everything away

for a minor holiday?

No, I've never felt so strongly

about anything in my life, John.

You can help me or not,

as you wish.

- Where are you off to?

- Going to raise some capital.

One thing I've learned

from my father...

people will believe anything

if you're properly dressed.

[Charles] Mr. Trabb!

Your finest cravats!

[whistle blows]

Ah.

Nothing like the air

of the metropolis

to put color in your cheeks,

eh, Mother?

[inhales, exhales]

[laughs]

[squawking]

There you are, sir. Best quality.

A-1 condition.

And look inside.

Autographed

by the author.

"To Papa. Love, Charles."

- Five bob.

- [scoffs, chuckles]

Hello, old dog.

[squawks]

Perhaps we could,

um, strike a bargain.

- [raven] Hello.

- Good with children, is it?

Too much?

Aha! Mr. Dickens

and Mr. Forster.

How do you?

Very well, thank you,

Mr. Haddock.

Mittens.

[purring]

You are a bad boy.

[growling]

- [Mittens yowls]

- [Haddock exhales, chuckles]

[cracking]

Now, how may I be

of service to you?

Well, sir,

it's about the loan.

There was something I wanted to tell you.

What was it?

It was some rather good news,

if I recall correctly.

What, uh...

Ah.

Biscuit?

Well... thank you.

Mmm.

Ah! Uh, yes.

Now, what was I, uh...

What...

Uh, you said something

about good news?

Possibly

about the lawsuit?

Ah, the lawsuit.

Yes, the copyright

infringement.

Oliver Twisted. "As re-originated

from the original."

Yes! Ha!

I have it here.

Uh... Ah, yes.

Good news indeed.

We won.

The fine was set

at 2,200.

2,200!

The bad news is,

the defendants have no money.

- Ah.

- Bankrupt.

Disappointing, I know.

But we'll have them arrested,

throw them into debtor's prison.

No. No, no.

No?

As you wish.

In the meantime,

if you would be

so good...

here's my bill.

No rush.

Next week will be fine.

Hmm.

Tell you what. Why don't we

defer this until... January?

And while we're at it, perhaps

you might add a little bit more.

I'll make it

worth your while.

More?

You wish to borrow more?

Not very much.

Just...

300...

till January.

I think we can

increase your loan

at, shall we say,

25 percent?

God's teeth!

Thank you.

Charles.

Charles.

- Are you all right?

- Yeah.

Never better.

Now find me

an illustrator.

He was a tight-fisted,

hand to the grindstone

old... Scratch.

[grumbles]

Scrounger.

He was a...

covetous old sinner.

[grumbling]

- Name!

- [giggling]

Shh.

Screwpull! Scrabbly.

Name! Ah!

[whispering] Well, go on.

He won't bite.

Screwpull.

[muttering, grunting]

- [loud thump]

- Aah!

[knocking]

- Scrimple!

- [screams]

Aah!

You're... What are you

doing in here?

I've just come to see

to the fire, sir.

I'm not to be interrupted under

any circumstances! Do you hear?

I beg your pardon, sir.

It won't happen again.

Wait. What's that

in your pocket?

Varney the Vampire,

or The Feast of Blood.

You won't tell Mrs. Fisk, will ya?

She'll think I was shirkin'.

- Where did you learn to read?

- My mum taught me.

But then she died

and I had to go

to the Grubber.

The workhouse?

- Is it any good?

- Well, yes, sir. Thrilling.

Tell you what.

I'll make you a trade.

Varney the Vampire

for...

Uh, where is it?

[humming] Ah!

Aladdin

and His Magic Lamp.

Oh, my.

Read it.

Let me know what you think.

Thank you, sir.

[clock chiming]

Hmm.

Who is Scrimple?

Hmm? Scrimple?

- When I come in, you were saying...

- Oh!

It's just a name

for a story I'm concocting.

Get the name right and then, if you're

lucky, the character will appear.

Hmm.

He's not here yet.

Scrantish?

Scrarmer.

- [snapping fingers]

- Come on.

[rolling "R"]

Scrunge.

Aw, come on!

Come on,

you old sinner!

Scrooge!

Shut the window! Do you

think I'm made of money?

Mr. Scrooge.

- How delightful to meet you, sir.

- Sorry I can't say the same.

Come now. Don't be standoffish.

We ought to be friends.

- Don't have friends. Don't need 'em.

- Ah.

Naturally.

- I know. Let's play a game.

- Don't like games.

Well, humor me.

What do you think of when I

say the word... "darkness"?

Cheap.

- Love.

- Swindle.

- Money.

- Security.

- Children.

- Useless.

- Workhouse.

- Useful.

Christmas.

Christmas?

That's right.

- [Mrs. Fisk] Help! Help! Get it away!

- [children squealing, chattering]

- [groans]

- [Mrs. Fisk] Away!

[grunts]

- [screams]

- What is going on?

Get it away,

the filthy thing.

Come on, Grip, old chap.

Back in the cage.

- Father?

- Ah. Charles.

- Good day.

- What are you doing here?

Well, we were

in the neighborhood

and we thought we'd drop by with

a present for the children.

[Charley] His name is Grip.

He talks!

- Can we keep him?

- [Grip] Hello, old girl.

It's bad luck, a bird in the house.

It means death.

- Hello!

- Father, in here.

- [squawking]

- Of course.

Charles? Charles?

What are you doing

back in London?

[sighs]

My dear Charles.

I will not disguise from you

that this is not the ardor

with which a loving father

might be expected...

- You are supposed to be in Devon.

- [scoffs]

Banishment!

Be merciful

and say "death,"

for exile has more

terror in its look.

Father,

we had an agreement.

Hmm?

I bought you a house.

I gave you an allowance.

For which

I am very grateful.

As for me, I'm happy

wherever the weather.

But your mother is of

a more delicate sensibility.

Charles,

the mere sight of cows

causes her

actual physical pain.

Father.

And I have research to do

in the London Library.

- Research?

- Oh, yes.

Yeah.

I have a commission

from The Spectator

to write a feature

on the Bank Charter Act.

The editor

was very impressed

with my series

on marine insurance.

Good for you, Father. I do hope that

you and Mother will stay here with us.

The children and I will so enjoy

having some company in the evenings.

The Spectator.

Well, that's, um...

That's most impressive.

[chuckles]

Thank you, dear boy.

Oh, by the way,

you couldn't lend me

a tenner, could you?

That blighter took my last

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