The Further Adventures of Ebenezer Scrooge by Charlie Lovett Page B

from his nephew’s desk and twirled it in the air about his head. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he pulled open the door to the assistant to the undersecretary’s office and bellowed, “Merry Christmas!” to that bureaucratic soul. And as his nephew tried in vain to quiet the old man, Scrooge skipped back into the street with a hearty “And a Happy New Year,” and was soon gone from view.
    An hour later, rounding the corner of Threadneedle Street, Scrooge caught sight of two gentlemen approaching. They were dressed in black from the glossy leather on the tips of their boots to the shiny silk at the tops of their hats. One swung a silver-handled walking stick in his right hand; the other, an identical stick in his left. In bearing they reminded Scrooge of nothing less than the figurehead on the prow of some ancient sailing ship—chests thrust proudly forward, they glided down the street towards him. In another moment they were upon him and Scrooge burst forth with a hearty “Merry Christmas.”
    â€œHave I the honour of addressing Mr. Pleasant or Mr. Portly?” asked Scrooge, for, you see, as both men were pleasant and portly, and as Scrooge could not, for his life, recalltheir surnames, he generally addressed the pair (and they were always seen as a pair) as the Messrs. Pleasant and Portly.
    â€œMr. Scrooge,” replied Mr. Portly (if it was not Mr. Pleasant), “it is fortuitous that we should meet.”
    â€œFortuitous indeed,” added Mr. Pleasant (if it was not Mr. Portly), who seemed almost to mouth the words that emerged from his companion’s lips. “We should very much like to confer with you, Mr. Scrooge. I am afraid your munificence is, once again, at odds with your account at the bank.”
    â€œYes, your account,” said Mr. Portly, reaching into a folio that he carried and presenting three cheques that bore the flourish with which Mr. Scrooge endorsed his generosity.
    â€œYou see, Mr. Scrooge,” said Mr. Pleasant, pulling a sheet of figures from the depths of a pocket, “your current balance is exactly . . .” He ran his finger down the column of numbers, but before it reached the bottom Mr. Portly interrupted.
    â€œTwopence. Which is not quite enough to cover these cheques. Fifty pounds to the Society for the Relief of Distress. Forty pounds for the . . .” And here Mr. Portly squinted, hesitating just long enough for Mr. Pleasant to continue.
    â€œFor the Metropolitan Sanitary Association. One hundred pounds for the Home for Deserted Destitute Children.”
    â€œYour largesse,” continued Mr. Portly, “though well intentioned, is not well supported by your means, Mr. Scrooge.”
    â€œLiberality, my good gentlemen, liberality,” responded Scrooge with his usual tone of good cheer. It was a word that brought a frown to the face of Mr. Portly and caused Mr. Pleasant to shake his head.
    â€œLiberality is not the business of a bank,” said Mr. Pleasant, who was beginning to look distinctly undeserving of his sobriquet.
    â€œMankind should be your business,” said Scrooge with a smile. “The common welfare should be your business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence should all be your business.”
    â€œSurely,” said Mr. Portly, “there are those who rightly make such things their business. There are charities and philanthropists all over London. The bank is a different sort of institution.”
    â€œYou of all people should know that, Mr. Scrooge,” said Mr. Pleasant.
    â€œIndeed,” added Mr. Portly, “there was a time when few in London understood the business of finance better than yourself.”
    Scrooge paid little attention to this allusion to his pecunious past, but instead returned to the theme he had attempted to introduce at the beginning of the conversation.
    â€œYou do not seem to have a Merry Christmas in your