Exiting Scrooge's counting-house, two gentlemen walked dejectedly away from it. “Mr Fosdyke,” the first gentleman, a plump, grey-haired individual, said, “I am deeply saddened that anyone could be so cold of heart, especially so at this time of the year.” The second gentleman, sporting thinning, red hair and a ruddy-faced complexion, replied, “Indeed, Mr Hartwell. Imagine, wanting to put the poor and destitute into prisons, to punish them, so, just because of their bad luck. Mr Scrooge must surely be the coldest person in England, this Christmas.” “His clerk was suffering mightily, so cold that it was in his office,” Mr Hartwell said to his colleague. “Did you see the moribund fire they had set in the grate?” Nodding, Mr Fosdyke replied, “I did. Mr Scrooge could never be anything other than cold of heart, burning his coal one piece at a time.”
