A Christmas Carol in Prose : Being a Ghost Story of Christmas.
Autograph manuscript signed, December 1843
Purchased by Pierpont Morgan before 1900
The hand in which he wrote the address, was not a steady one, but write it he did, somehow, and went down stairs to open the street door, ready for the coming of the Poulterer's man. As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye.
"I shall love it, as long as I live!" cried Scrooge, patting it with his hand. I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face! It's a wonderful knocker!—Here's the turkey. Hallo! Whoop! How are you! Merry Christmas!"
It was a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped 'em, short off, in a minute, like sticks of sealing wax.
"Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town," said Scrooge. "You must have a cab."
The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless on his chair again, and chuckled 'till he cried.
Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaister over it, and been quite satisfied.
He dressed himself "all in his best," and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him Scrooge regarded everyone with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said "Good morning Sir! a Merry Christmas to you!" And Scrooge said often afterwards that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, these were the blithest in his ears.
He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld the portly gentleman who had walked into his counting House the day before, and said "Scrooge and Marley's I believe?" It sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
"My Dear Sir," said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands. "How do you do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you Sir!"
"Yes," said Scrooge, "that's my name, and, I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness—" here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
"Lord bless me!" cried the gentleman, as if his breath were gone. "My dear