answered to both names. He did not care what na th called him. The only thing that mattered to him was the business, and making money. Oh! He was a hard, clever, mean old man, Scrooge was There was nothing warm or open about him. He lived secretive, lonely life, and took no interest in other people at all. The cold inside him made his eyes red, and his thin lips blue, and his voice high and cross. It put white frost his old head, his eyebrows and his chin. The frost in his heart made the air around him cold, too. In the hottest days of summer his office was as cold as ice, and it was just as cold in winter. Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with a happy smile, "My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will