"You are!" repeated Scrooge. "Yes, I think you are. Step this way, sir,
if you please."

"It's only once a year, sir," pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. "It
shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir."

"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge, "I am not going to
stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," he continued,
leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in his waistcoat that
he staggered back into the Tank again,--"and, therefore, I am about to
raise your salary!"

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary
idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the
people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.

"A Merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could
not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "A Merrier Christmas,
Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise
your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we'll
discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of
smoking bishop. Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another scuttle of coal
before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;
and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was second father. He became as
good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city
knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old
world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them
laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know nothing