# Speaking Out (December 1972) **URL:** **By** Dave Walter **Published:** December 1, 1972 --- “The State Board limited the number of applicants it passed in order to protect the virtual monopoly enjoyed by the major existing firms.” Ebeneezer Scrooge \& Co. was a well-known accounting firm whose founder, Ebeneezer Scrooge, was universally beloved. Well, not quite universally. Bob Cratchit hated his guts. Cratchit was a junior accountant who had been with the firm for two years, and was already in a rut. His work was good and he felt ready to strike out on his own. Problem was, he couldn’t pass his CPA exam. The State Board limited the number of applicants it passed in order to protect the virtual monopoly enjoyed by the major existing firms. Scrooge found Cratchit’s competence and thoroughness useful for routine assignments. At the same time, he didn’t want to give Cratchit a chance to get anywhere in accounting because, quite simply, Bob Cratchit bugged the hell out of him. He was too confident. He cared more about the accuracy of his work than about the image of the firm. And he consistently refused to indulge in all the little irregularities which major clients expected when their books didn’t look as good as they would have liked. But, in addition to exploiting Cratchit’s ability and thwarting his ambition, Scrooge had an even more pressing reason for keeping him around. That reason was very much on his mind one winter morning as he pressed his buzzer to signal his secretary that she could show Mr. Cratchit into his plush office. As Cratchit walked in, Scrooge put down his copy of _The Nation_, being careful to expose the Galbraith article featured in that issue. He knew Cratchit thought Galbraith a dangerous fool, and he loved to remind his employees that Scrooge \& Company adhered to the latest and most fashionable collectivist economics. “How is your son Tim doing these days?” he asked, trying to sound casual. Cratchit knew his boss had been keenly interested in Tim ever since the tragic hit-and-run accident. “He’s back in the hospital for another operation,” he replied, “and won’t be out until Christmas Eve.” “Ah, what a pity.” Scrooge’s voice fairly oozed with sympathy. “Tell you what. I’d like to stop by your place on Christmas. I want to have a talk with the lad and bring him a present.” Cratchit swallowed his disgust, regretting that he couldn’t afford to antagonize his employer. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll expect you.” When the day came, Scrooge easily identified Cratchit’s house as the only one on the block without any Christmas decorations. He greeted Mrs. Cratchit briskly and rushed to Tim’s bedside, carrying with him a big, conspicuously-wrapped package. He lost no time getting into his prepared speech. “Tim,” said Scrooge, “I know it’s hard to bear your affliction. But you must try to understand how lucky you are....and what a blessing to society. There are two kinds of men in this world. One kind is forever pushing out the limits of man’s knowledge, caring little who gets hurt in the process. Men of this kind are selfish to the core and ignore the suffering of others while they pursue their own happiness. Even their few useful achievements are done for their own ends, not to help the disadvantaged. “The other kind of man is the altruist. That’s what I am, Tim, and I’m proud of it. Since I am successful in this world, I have a great responsibility to redistribute as much money as I can to the people who really deserve it. I work with other moral men and women to force the capitalists and other self-seekers to support my charitable projects. It’s easy to value productive people, but only we altruists value the truly worthless! You must understand what an opportunity you give people like me to help you! “Stop dreaming of becoming productive, Tim. Think how much more you can do for the world by showing others your poor, crippled limbs and begging them for alms. If they refuse, you will know they are your moral inferiors. Be a beggar, my lad, a daily streetcorner reminder of man’s low nature and of the altruist imperative!” Scrooge paused for breath. Then he dramatically ripped the wrappings from his package. “Merry Christmas, Tim,” he proclaimed proudly. “Here’s a brand-new crutch to start you on your new career.” “I live for myself,” said Tiny Tim, “and I’ll buy my own goddamn crutches.” Ⓧ _Dave Walter is a national director of the Society for Individual Liberty and is employed as a cost accountant in Philadelphia._