A Christmas Carol

- Yeah.
- Well, all right.

Boys! Sliding in front of the church?
Now run away home.
And a merry Christmas to you all.

- Run home.
- See?

But, darling, he has no soul.
He's simply acting like a grownup.
I still say he has no soul.
He just doesn't appreciate the qualities
of a good slide.

Come on.
One, two, three.
- Giddyap.
- Merry Christmas, Tom.

And a merry Christmas to you, Bob.
- And to you, too, Tiny Tim.
- Thank you. Merry Christmas, sir.

Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live.
If the shadows remain unaltered
by the future, the child will die.

Surely he'll be spared.
With the kind of care that money can buy,
who could tell?

But Bob Cratchit has no money.
Not even a position, I've heard.

If all this remains unaltered by the future...
the next Christmas
will not find Tiny Tim here.

But what of it?
If he be like to die, he'd better do it
and decrease the population.

Mother! The goose, we smelled it.
Outside the baker's.
- We did, didn't we?
- It was ours. We knew.

Because of the smell.
Young, sharp noses. Out you go.