Well, Marley was dead. The coroner signed all the papers and the judge signed all the papers, and so now Ebenezer Babbit was one of the wealthiest property owners in the state of California. Marley had been his business partner for more than thirty years, and when he died with no heirs everything had gone to Babbit. Now he owned property from the mountains to the beach shore, which he rented out at exorbitant rates.
Babbit, to put it mildly, was a mean, greedy, tight-fisted miser. Marley had been one as well, but Babbit's dealings often left him in the shade. Babbit kept a tight rein on his money and properties, making sure the rents were paid at the beginning of every month; and if someone was late, he would add heavy penalties to their payment, but more often than not, he would evict the hapless tenants.
Babbit would personally oversee that the rent notices were sent out every month (and never failed to complain about the postage rates) to his far-away properties, and went around himself to the beachfront homes to demand his rent. He lived in a big beachfront home by himself, but never wanted to spend the money to take care of it...well, that's getting ahead of the story a little.
Anyway, seven years have now passed since Jacob Marley passed away. In fact, the anniversary of his death fell on December 24th...Christmas Eve. Did Babbit do anything to commemorate the passing of the only person he could (barely) call a friend? Nope. If he did, he kept it hidden. In fact, Babbit spent the day as usual in his small office a few blocks from his home. A sign hung above the office door, "Babbit and Marley-real estate agency". Though Marley was long dead, Babbit never bothered to have the sign changed. If anybody came in asking for Mr. Marley, Babbit would usually answer to that name as well.
Just inside the door was a desk, which was occupied by Babbit's sole employee, a young man with curly hair, named Micky Dolenz. Micky slaved for Babbit from nine to five Monday through Friday, doing everything for him, from typing letters to getting his coffee, all for only fifteen dollars a week!
Still, Micky was glad for the job, since he and his three friends were always short on money, but more on that later.
Micky was busy typing a letter when two older gentlemen came inside the office. The young man quickly got up to greet them.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Micky said politely, "How may I help you?"
"We are looking for either Mr. Babbit or Mr. Marley." One of the gentlemen replied.
"Mister Marley has been dead seven years, but I'll get Mr. Babbit for you." Micky replied, and then started to walk towards Mr. Babbit's office. However, he was cut short by his employer's sharp voice.
"I can see we have visitors, Dolenz." Babbit snapped, "Just point the way and get back to work!"
"Yes, Mr. Babbit." Micky replied, and pointed the way to the two gentlemen. The men smiled at him and went over to Babbit's office. Babbit was sitting behind his huge desk, counting bank receipts as the two men walked in. Putting the pile of paper down, he stood up to greet his visitors.
"I am Ebenezer Babbit." He said stiffly, "How may I help you gentlemen?" Babbit neither offered his hand nor asked the men to sit down.
"I am John Smith and this is my partner Harry Wesson." Smith replied with a smile, "We represent the United Charities of California. Perhaps you've heard of us?"
"I have." Babbit said sourly, already knowing where this conversation was heading. He sat down heavily on his chair. "What do want of me?"
"At this time of year," Wesson continued, "It is customary to think of those less fortunate than ourselves."
"Really." Babbit replied dryly.
"Yes sir." Smith said, "So we of the U.C.C are asking people to donate to make Christmas time a little less bleak."
"Are there no homeless shelters?" Babbit asked sharply.
"Yes, there are..." Wesson began.
"Are there still soup kitchens?" Babbit interrupted rudely.
"Sadly, yes there are..." Smith started to say.
"And what about the sweatshops? Are they still in operation?" Babbit asked, getting angrier by the minute.
"Yes sir!" Wesson said, getting a bit annoyed by Babbit's interruptions.
"Then it seems the 'less fortunate' are taken care of." Babbit said smugly.
"But many poor people do not want to be in a homeless shelter or work in a sweatshop." Smith said emphatically, "In fact some people would rather die."
"Then let them die and decrease the surplus population!" Babbit replied with a smirk.
Smith and Wesson looked at Babbit in shock. Surely the man must be joking! Wesson cleared his throat.
"Still, Mr. Babbit, it is the season. What may we put you down for?"
"Nothing!" Babbit replied, almost shouting.
"You wish to remain anonymous?" Smith asked, not quite getting Babbit's meaning.
"I wish to be left alone!" Babbit said, this time shouting. "I pay very high taxes to help those services I have mentioned and that is quite enough! Now, good day to you gentlemen!"
Smith and Wesson looked at each other, than at Babbit. It was now obvious he wasn't going to part with a nickel.
"Good day to you, Mr. Babbit." Wesson said with a sigh, "And Merry Christmas to you."
"Good day...gentlemen." Babbit said slowly, then went back to counting his bank receipts.
Smith and Wesson slowly walked out of Babbit's office and back to where Micky was now filing some papers.
"Good day to you gentlemen." Micky said to them.
"Good day to you as well, young man, and Merry Christmas!" Smith said to Micky.
"Merry Christmas to you as well, Gentlemen." Micky replied.
"Get to work, Dolenz!" Babbit shouted from his office.
Smith and Wesson looked with sympathy at Micky and left the office.
Chapter 2
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