(Dance comes to an end amid general hilarity and merriment, and the scene closes in.)
Spir. A small matter to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.
Scro. Small! Why, old Fezziwig was one of the best men that ever lived. He never missed giving his employees a Christmas ball.
Spir. Why, is it not! He spent but a few pounds of money—three or four pounds, perhaps—. Is that so much that he deserves your praise?
Scro. It isn't that, Spirit. He had the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our services light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lives in words and looks; in things so light and unsignificant that it is impossible to add and count 'em up; what then? The happiness he gives is quite as great if it cost a fortune—oh, dear.
Spir. What is the matter?
Scro. Nothing, particular.
Spir. Something, I think.
Scro. No, no. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk, just now, that's all.
Spir. My time grows short, let us hurry on. Do you remember this? (Waves wand.)