“A Merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew.
“Bah!” said Scrooge, “Humbug!”
“Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge's nephew. “You don't mean that I am sure.”
“I do,” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry?”1
Scrooge was a mean fellow. A “tight-fisted, squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous” fellow, in fact. But he was right about Christmas. Christmas is a humbug.
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Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol ↩
