Free The Last of the Spirits by Chris Priestley Page A

who was talking so fast that the man was having trouble understanding what he was saying. The torrent of words washed over Sam and Lizzie – until the name Scrooge was mentioned and they both turned to watch.
    ‘And you’re sure Mr Scrooge told you this?’ said the butcher suspiciously.
    ‘Oh yes,’ said the boy. ‘He called me a fine fellow.’
    The butcher arched an eyebrow. He had years of experience with Scrooge and none of them had resulted in anyone being called a ‘fine fellow’.
    ‘But what would he want with a turkey that big? There’s only the one of him, and there’s nothing but skin and bones on that. Maybe he meant the small one.’
    ‘No,’ said the boy. ‘He was very sure about that. “Not the little prize turkey,” he said. “The big one!”’
    The butcher shook his head as though still not convinced he was not being lured into a practical joke.
    ‘I’m to bring you back with me, with the turkey, and he’ll give me a shilling,’ said the boy.
    ‘A shilling? Scrooge?’
    ‘Aye. If we can get there in five minutes, he said he’d give me half a crown!’
    The butcher stared wide-eyed. Sam smiled. He could see the man’s thoughts as though his head were made of glass: If Scrooge is going to give this boy a half-crown for fetching me, what will he give me for bringing the bird?
    ‘Well, come on then,’ said the butcher, taking the turkey down from its hook and laying it in a barrow.
    The boy, butcher and turkey set off for Scrooge’s house, the barrow wheels squeaking away down the cobbled street. Sam and Lizzie set off after them, overtaking them easily.
    They came at length to the entrance of the yard in which stood Scrooge’s house, and Sam and Lizzie ducked back round the corner when they saw that Scrooge was standing on the doorstep, rubbing his hands expectantly.
    If Lizzie had thought the change in Sam remarkable, then this alteration was a thing of mythology and folklore. For there stood the crotchety old miser of the night before, sporting a giddy smile that would have marked him out as the kindest old grandfather that ever lived.
    Sam and Lizzie stared at each other for a moment and then turned back to Scrooge, who patted the door knocker as though it were a faithful old horse and chattered away to it so merrily they thought perhaps he had lost his mind.
    ‘Here’s the turkey!’ he cried, clapping his hands like an infant. ‘Hallo!’ he called, waving excitedly as the butcher and boy arrived with the cart and bird. ‘Whoop! How are you? Merry Christmas!’
    Scrooge danced round the cart, shaking his head at the size of the turkey and making the butcher gasp in good-humoured amazement.
    ‘Why, it’s impossible to carry that to Camden Town,’ said Scrooge, paying man and boy with a chuckle. ‘You must have a cab!’
    A cab was found and off went the butcher and the turkey alongside him – an odd couple indeed. The sight of them made old Scrooge laugh and hold his chest with the exertion of it, chuckling at the thought of what Bob Cratchit – and all the Cratchits – would make of it.
    Sam and Liz were fascinated to see what the old man would do next and they waited for him as he went inside and appeared half an hour later, clean-shaven and in his Sunday best.
    Scrooge set off and Sam and Liz fell in behind him on the other side of the street. Where days before his vicious appearance had caused all who saw him to step aside, now his smile was mirrored in everyone he passed.
    Several people wished him ‘Good morning’ and ‘Merry Christmas’, and on each occasion he seemed to be deeply moved by the words and stopped to tip his hat and shake their hands, much to the amusement of all around.
    Then Scrooge bumped into one of the charity men who had visited his office the day before and whom he had sent away so harshly. The man would clearly rather have avoided any contact, but Scrooge marched straight up to him and, after shaking his hand with a vigour that made the