Old Man Potter wheeled his chair down the street to the bridge, muttering how that damned George Bailey had gotten the best of him.
His lawyers were losing the battle with the bank examiners.
If only he’d burned Uncle Billy’s money instead of putting it in his personal safe.
A wheel got caught in the pavement, and he was stuck.
Just then, a strange fat man in a shabby coat walked up to Potter.
“My name’s Clarence,” said the man. “Let me help you.”
And he lifted the old man from his chair, and threw him into the freezing water.