"Why, bless my soul!" cried Fred, "Who's that?"

"It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in,
Fred?"

Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in
five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same.
So did Topper when _he_ came. So did the plump sister when _she_ came.
So did everybody when _they_ came. Wonderful party, wonderful games,
wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!

But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If
he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That
was the first thing he had set his heart upon.

And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter
past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time.
Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the
Tank.

His hat was off, before he opened the door, his comforter, too. He was
on his stool in a jiffy, driving away with his pen, as if he were trying
to overtake nine o'clock.

"Hallo!" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could
feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"

"I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I _am_ behind my time."