Scro. (sternly). Nephew, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.
Fred. Keep it! But you don't keep it.
Scro. Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you. Much good it has ever done you.
Fred. There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas-time, when it came round—apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that—as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And, therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it. (Cratchit applauds, but observing Scrooge, endeavors to be intent on something else.)
Scro. (to Bob). Let me hear another sound from you, and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation! (To Fred). You're quite a powerful speaker, sir, I wonder you don't go into Parliament.
Fred. Don't be angry, uncle. Come, dine with us to-morrow?
Scro. I'd see you in blazes first.
Fred. But why? Why?
Scro. Why did you get married?