Scrooge. You let my coals alone. Get back to work. I'm not complaining about the cold, am I? And I'm an older man than you are. Back to work!
Cratchit (sighs, pauses, then says meekly). Yes, sir. (Resumes work.)
Scrooge. You want to let my coals alone if you expect to keep your job. I'm not a millionaire. Understand? (Loudly.) Understand?
Cratchit. Yes, sir, I understand. (Shivers, wraps long white woolen muffler closer about throat and warms hands at candle.)
Scrooge. Here it is three o'clock, the middle of the afternoon, and two candles burning. What more do you want? Want me to end up in the poorhouse?
Fred (heard outside at L.). Uncle! Uncle! Where are you? Merry Christmas, uncle.
Fred enters from L. He is happy and bright and has a cheerful, loud laugh. He enters laughing and comes down C.
Scrooge (looking up from his work). Oh, it's you, is it?
Fred. Of course it is, uncle. Merry Christmas! God save you!
Scrooge (with disgust). Merry Christmas! Bah! Humbug!