For twenty years or more, he had not once failed to read "The Carol"
on Christmas Eve. He knew the book by heart. Is it any wonder, then,
that he was a gentle, sweet-natured man in whom not the faintest
symptom of guile existed? And, on the other hand, is it any wonder
that he remained a bookkeeper in a bank while other men of his
acquaintance went into business and became rich and arrogant? Of
course, it is necessary to look at the question from both directions,
and for that reason I mention the fact that he remained a bookkeeper
while those who scorned "The Christmas Carol" became drivers of men.
Experience--and some sage conclusions on the part of his wife--had
taught him, after years of unsatisfactory practice, that it was best
to read the story BEFORE giving out presents to the immature guests.
On a great many occasions, the youngsters--in those early days they
were waifs--either went sound asleep before he was half way through or
became so restless and voracious that he couldn't keep his place in
the book, what with watching to see that they didn't choke on the
candy, break the windows or mirrors with their footballs, or put some
one's eye out with a pop-gun.
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