Bob. The same to you, and many of them.
Scro. There's another fellow, my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking about a Merry Christmas. I'll retire to the lunatic asylum.
Enter Mr. Mumford and Mr. Barnes with subscription book and paper, ushered in by Bob.
Mr. Mumford. Scrooge & Marley's. I believe (referring to paper). Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?
Scro. Mr. Marley his been dead these seven years. He died seven years ago this very night.
Mr. M. We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner. (Presents list. Scrooge frowns, shakes his head, and returns it.) At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir.
Scro. Are there no prisons?
Mr. M. Plenty of prisons.
Scro. And the union work-houses—are they still in operation?
Mr. M. They are. I wish I could say they were not.