Fred. Christmas a humbug, uncle? You don't mean that, I'm sure.
Scrooge. I don't, hey? Merry Christmas! What cause have you got to be merry? You're poor enough.
Fred (laughing good-naturedly). Come, then, what right have you got to be dismal? You're rich enough. So, merry Christmas, uncle.
Scrooge. Out upon your merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer? You keep Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine.
Fred. Keep it? But you don't keep it!
Scrooge. Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you! Much good has it ever done you!
Fred. Christmas is a good time, uncle; 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 in the social scale. 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, God bless Christmas!
Cratchit (who had been listening eagerly, claps his hands). Good!
Scrooge. Let me hear another sound from you and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your job. Get to work!
Cratchit. Yes, sir. (Resumes his work on the ledger.)