Frank. But his wealth is of no use to him. He don't do any good with it. He don't make himself comfortable with it. He hasn't the satisfaction of thinking—ha, ha, ha!—that he is ever going to benefit us with it!
Ladies. We have no patience with him!
Frank. But I have! I'm sorry for him! I couldn't be angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims? Himself! He loves a good dinner—pleasant moments, and pleasanter companions than he can find in his own thoughts, or in his mouldy chambers. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help thinking better of it, I defy him! If he finds me going there, year after year and saying, Uncle Scrooge, how are you? If it only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, that's something, and I think I shook him yesterday! (All laugh.) Well, he has given us plenty of merriment so here's his health. Uncle Scrooge!
Omnes. (Drinks.) Uncle Scrooge!
Frank. A merry Christmas and a happy new year to him wherever he is!
Scr. Spirit, their merriment has made me so bright and gay, that I could almost pledge them in return, and join in all their innocent mirth!
A servant enters, l. h. and gives a letter to Frank, then exits.
Frank. (Opens it and reads. Aside.) Ah! what do I see, the vessel lost at sea that bore my entire wealth within her! Then I'm a lost and ruined man! (His wife approaches him.)
Cheer. No ill news, I hope, Mr. Freeheart.
Frank. (Aside.) The stroke is sudden and severe but I will bear it like a man! Why should I damp the enjoyment of those around by such ill tiding? No, it is Christmas time—I will not broach such bad news now—no—at least to-night. All shall be happy—nor word of mine shall make any otherwise. (To his friends.) Come, friends, let's have a merry dance, shall we not?