Now, being prepared for almost anything, Lotso was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and center of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, he began to think-as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too-at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door.
The moment Lotso's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.
It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Lotso, as he came peeping round the door.
"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in! and know me better, man! Well don't just stand there, get your fuzzy butt in here!"
Lotso entered timidly, and hung his head before this spirit.
"I'm Pete, the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the spirit with a heavy chortle.
The spirit was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.
"Haven't seen the likes of me before have ya?!" exclaimed Pete as he took a bite out of a giant drumstick.
"Nope, never," Lotso answered.
Pete dismounted from Lotso's couch and approached him. "Well that's probably because you've done spent a little too much time in that dern' countin' house of yers.' Constant dollar bills and coins in your eyes, ya can't even tell left from right," he said.
"A good business man always seeks good profit," said Lotso.
"Yeah, but what about the profit of others, hmmm? Especially around this time of year, there are lots of people who need lots and lots of profit!" said Pete.
"And I guess you're here to show me that," Lotso said.
"Nothin' gets past you, does it, fuzzball, AHAHAHAAAA!" Pete exclaimed.
"Well," Lotso said submissively, "Lead the way."
"Grab a hold of my robe and let's get-a-goin'" said Pete.
Lotso did as he was told, and held it fast.
Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms.
The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that crossed and re-crossed each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts' content. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.
For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball-better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest- laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squat and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement.
The Grocers'! oh, the Grocers'! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.
But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of bye-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers' shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the spirit very much, for he stood with Lotso beside him in a baker's doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!
In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker's oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.
"What is that you're sprinkling from your torch?" asked Lotso.
"Why, Christmas spirit of course," answered Pete.
"And you sprinkle it on any kind of dinner?" asked Lotso.
"To any kindly given. But to a poor one most of all," answered Pete.
"Why?" asked Lotso.
"Because the needs it most, ya dummy!" Pete answered before knocking Lotso on the head with his torch.
"Well if the poor need it most, why do you deny them their happiness?" asked Lotso.
"I?!" cried Pete.
"Well there must be many others who are in need. Do you leave them miserable as well?" asked Lotso.
"I?!" Pete repeated. "Many things are done in the name of good will, but acts made out of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness, must be attributed to those who are truly responsible. But enough of that for now, we've got more things to do, more places to see. One place in particular."
Pete led Lotso straight to the home of his clerk, Le Fou.
It wasn't much, but with what Lotso had paid him, it was really all he could afford.
Then up rose the Queen of Hearts, Le Fou's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by one of Le Fou's daughters, also brave in ribbons; while one of Le Fou's sons plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller kids of Le Fou's, a boy and a girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young kids danced about the table, and exalted Le Fou to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.
Then in came Le Fou, the father, with at least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Sid upon his shoulder who had a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame.
As he set Little Sid on the floor, he was immediately grabbed by the Queen who hugged him tightly to the point of almost suffocation and drowned him with an array of kisses.
"Good to see you, my darling husband!" the Queen exclaimed.
"You...too...dear..." Le Fou said, regaining his breath.
"And how did our little Sid behave in church?" asked the Queen, when Le Fou hugged his sons and daughters to his heart's content.
"Like an angel," said Le Fou, "He was a little mischievous from time to time, but overall, a complete angel. You know, somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see."
Le Fou's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Sid was growing strong and hearty.
His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool before the fire; and while Le Fou, turning up his cuffs-as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby-compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer; his two ubiquitous young sons went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.
Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course-and in truth it was something very like it in that house. The Queen of Hearts made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Le Fou mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; the Queen sweetened up the apple-sauce; Le Fou dusted the hot plates then took Tiny Sid beside him in a tiny corner at the table; his two young sons set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as the Queen, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Sid, excited by Le Fou's two young children, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!
There never was such a goose. Le Fou said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as the Queen of Hearts said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and Le Fou's youngest son in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, after cleaning the plates, the Queen of Hearts left the room alone-too nervous to bear witnesses-to take the pudding up and bring it in.
Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose-a supposition at which two of Le Fou's young kids became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.
Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute the Queen entered-flushed, but smiling proudly-with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.
Oh, a wonderful pudding! Le Fou said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by the Queen of Hearts since their marriage. The Queen of Hearts said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family.
At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all of Lef Fou's family drew round the hearth, in what he called a circle, meaning half a one; and at his elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.
These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Le Fou served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then he proposed:
"Merry Christmas, everybody! God bless us all!"
Which all the family re-echoed.
"Yeah, yeah, God bless us every one!" said Tiny Sid, the last of all.
He sat very close to his father's side upon his little stool. Le fou held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.
"Pete?" said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before. "What will happen to the kid? Will he make it?"
If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, I see a vacant seat where the child used to be. Pretty soon, Tiny Sid will die," said Pete.
"What? No!" said Lotso.
"But oh well," said Pete.
"'Oh well?! Is that all you can say?!" said Lotso.
"So what if he dies? It'll just decrease the surplus population," said Pete.
Lotso hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.
"Maybe the next time you go and flap those gums of yers, maybe you should take time and realize just what surplus population is!" said Pete.
Lotso bent before the ghost's rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own name.
"And now a toast to my boss, Mr. Lotso, the founder of this feast!"
"FOUNDER OF THE FEAST INDEED!" shouted the Queen of Hearts, reddening, which caused her husband to fly into the wall. "I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it."
"My dear," said Bob, "the children! Christmas Day."
"It should be Christmas Day, I am sure," said she, "on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!"
"But my dear, it's Christmas Day," said Le Fou.
"Bah! It would only be Christmas Day in which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling, despicable man as Mr. Lotso!" said the Queen
"I know. He is a bit rough around the edges, but he probably just acts that way because he's not good at acting nice," said Le Fou. "But let's toast to him anyway, for Christmas Day? Hmmmm?"
"Oh very well," said the Queen. "Since it is Christmas, I'll drink to him...BUT I DON'T HAVE TO LIKE IT! A Meery Christmas and a Happy New Year to Mr. Lotso. He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt!"
The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness. Tiny Sid drank it last of all. Lotso was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.
"Well, that just about does it. Time for us to get goin," said Pete.
Lotso grabbed onto Pete's robe and this time, the two teleported away and into another house, but this one was more elegant than Le Fou's abode, upon which he discovered his nephew, Hans, with a group of people gathered together, talking to them. During the conversation, they were poking fun at him, making jokes and whatnot.
"Yep, he said that Christmas was a humbug," said Hans. "And he meant it too!"
The other guests laughed at his words.
"Yeah, I tried to get him to come but he just wouldn't have any of it," said Hans. "But it's okay. I feel sorry for him. I couldn't be angry with him if I tried. Besides, what does he lose by not coming? Not much of a dinner."
After tea, they had some music. For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sung a Glee or Catch, I can assure you, which had been familiar to the two children who fetched Lotso from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the things that ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness with his own hands.
But they didn't devote the whole evening to music.
Lotso's niece was not one of the blind-man's buff party, but was made comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner, where the ghost and Lotso were close behind her. But she joined in the forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of the alphabet. Likewise at the game of How, When, and Where, she was very great, and to the secret joy of Lotso's nephew, beat her sisters hollow: though they were sharp girls too. There might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all played, and so did Lotso; for wholly forgetting in the interest he had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed quite right, too; for the sharpest needle, best Whitechapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was not sharper than Lotso; blunt as he took it in his head to be.
The shost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon him with such favor, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay until the guests departed. But this the spirit said could not be done.
"Just a few more minutes," said Lotso. "They're playing a new game."
It was a game called Yes and No, where Lotso's nephew had to think of something, and the rest must find out what; he only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was. The brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed, elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn't made a show of, and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last, Hans' wife cried out:
"I have found it out! I know what it is, Hans! I know what it is!"
"What is it?" cried Hans.
"It's your Uncle L-l-l-ots-s-s-o-o-o!" she cried.
Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though some objected that the reply to "Is it a bear?" ought to have been "Yes;" inasmuch as an answer in the negative was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts from Mr. Lotso, supposing they had ever had any tendency that way.
"He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure," said Hans, "And it would be ungrateful not to drink his health, so therefore I say, 'Uncle Lotso!'"
"Well! Uncle Lotso!" they cried.
"A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old bear, whatever he is!" said Lotso's nephew. "He wouldn't take it from me, but may he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Lotso!"
Uncle Lotso had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart, that he would have pledged the unconscious company in return, and thanked them in an inaudible speech, if the ghost had given him time. But the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew; and he and the spirit were again upon their travels.
It was a long night, but at last, the bell struck twelve.
"Well, that just about does it for me," said Pete.
"You're leaving already?" said Lotso.
"Yeah, I've got Christmas party to get to. All my close relatives are gonna be there. Plus, I gotta make sure Cousin Brute doesn't eat all the pudding again this year. The Ghost of Christmas Future should be comin' by anytime now. Keep your eyes open. Ta ta!" Pete said before he departed.
As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Claude Frollo, and lifting up his eyes, beheld the most terrifying sight his very eyes had ever seen.