Miser Farebrother (Vol. 1-3). B. L. Farjeon

and darted after Tom and Jeremiah. Phœbe, in terror, screamed, "Come back, Tom! come back!"

      Her voice reached Tom's ears, and he instantly turned back, followed by Toby. Arrived at his starting-point, he dropped Jeremiah to the ground, who slowly rose, in a woeful plight. His nice new clothes were disarranged; buttons were off; there was a rent here and there; he picked up his nice new hat, crushed and out of shape.

      "Why don't you hit one of your own size?" he cried, with his right elbow raised to protect his face.

      "I haven't hit you yet," said Tom. Phœbe was clinging to his arm. "And now I look at you, I am a little too big for you. But you've got to be hit by some one."

      "I'll have the law of you!" gasped Jeremiah, gazing ruefully at his hat. "You shall pay for it, or my name ain't Jeremiah Pamflett."

      "Oh! Jeremiah Pamflett, is it?" said Tom, in no wise diverted from his intention by the intelligence.

      "Come away, Tom," said Phœbe, imploringly. "Let us go home."

      If anything could have contributed to Jeremiah's escape, it was this; but Tom Barley's spirit was roused, also his sense of justice, and under such influences he could be firm.

      "In a minute or two," he said to her. "There's nothing to be frightened at. Look here," and he addressed the crowd, "this young London spark has insulted my mistress."

      "And he pinched me!" exclaimed a girl, light dawning upon her, and through her upon other of Jeremiah's victims.

      "He pinched me!" "He pinched me!" came in a chorus from half a dozen indignant girls.

      "That settles it," said Tom. "Is there any one here of his own size, or less, that'll tackle him for twopence and a brandy-ball?"

      "Couldn't speak fairer," said one of the show-men.

      Now among the crowd was a very small boy, several inches below Jeremiah Pamflett in height, but so renowned for his pluck that he had earned the cognomen of "The Bantam."

      Forth stepped the Bantam. "I will!" said he.

      "Hooray!" cried the other boys and girls. "Hooray for the Bantam!"

      "Bray-vo, little un!" said the show-man.

      "Here's your twopence," said Tom Barley, "and your brandy-ball. Fight him."

      "Make a ring," said the show-man, delightedly arranging the children in a circle. "I'll see that it's fair play."

      Jeremiah and the Bantam were already in the centre, the Bantam with his coat off and his shirt sleeves tucked up. Jeremiah, looking down upon him, inwardly congratulated himself.

      "Come on," he said, "and be made a jelly of!"

      Nothing daunted, the Bantam squared up, and the battle commenced. It looked "any odds on the long un," the show-man declared, as he inwardly determined to protect the little fellow from too severe a punishment. But a wonder was in store. Despite his size, Jeremiah found it impossible to reach the Bantam, who skipped about in the liveliest fashion, springing up and planting one on Jeremiah's nose, and another on his right eye, and another on his mouth, which puffed up his lips and set all his teeth chattering. In a short time he did not know exactly where he was, and he hit out more wildly. The audience cheered the little champion, and encouraged him by crying, "Go it, Bantam! Go it! Give him another on the nose!" and every now and then "Time!" was called by the show-man, who declared that the Bantam was "a chap after his own heart." At length, Jeremiah Pamflett, completely bewildered, stepping back, tripped and fell flat.

      "Any more?" cried the Bantam.

      Jeremiah remained on the ground, and did not attempt to rise. The show-man threw up his hat.

      "We gives in," he said. "Three cheers for the Bantam!"

      They were given with a will; and then a collection was made, and the champion was presented with fourpence half-penny, and, wiping his glory-covered brows, stalked off to the sweet-stuff shop, accompanied by his admirers. Tom and Phœbe took their departure, and the show-men shouldered their Punch and Judy, and walked away with Toby. Jeremiah picked himself up, and crawled to the railway station, shorn of his pride.

      CHAPTER VII.

       MISER FAREBROTHER ENVIES FAUST.

       Table of Contents

      By the time that Phœbe was eighteen years of age, Jeremiah Pamflett was firmly established in Miser Farebrother's office in London. In the miser's shrewd eyes he had justified the praise his mother had bestowed upon him. A slyer, smarter manager, Miser Farebrother could scarcely hope to have. Even the miser himself could not be more exacting with tardy borrowers or more grinding in the collecting of rents; for Miser Farebrother had now a great many houses in the poor localities of the metropolis, which, at the rents for which he let them, paid him a high rate of interest for his outlay. He had not, in the first instance, purchased these houses, nor had he ever drifted into the folly of building one. It was property he had advanced money upon, which had not been repaid, and as he had calculated all the chances beforehand, lending at exorbitant interest, and draining, so to speak, the hearts' blood of his customers, he made rare bargains in this line. Had he followed his own inclination he would have trusted no man to manage his business; but rheumatism and neuralgic pains were firmly settled in his bones, and frequently for days together he was unable to move out of Parksides. Then Jeremiah Pamflett would come down to him with papers and books, and they would remain closeted together for hours going over the accounts. He had his own private sets of books in Parksides, and he turned Phœbe to account in making them up and in writing for him. This was not a regular, but a fitful employment with the young girl, and her father was satisfied to spare her to go to London, to the house of Aunt Leth in Camden Town, to whom she paid long visits. In that house it may be truly said that Phœbe enjoyed the sunshine of life. Aunt Leth, who taught her own children at home—not caring to send them to school, and not being rich enough to afford a private governess or a tutor for them—taught Phœbe also, and the firmest bonds of love were cemented between them. When Mrs. Lethbridge had married, her house was not at all badly furnished; friends and relatives of her husband had made them many useful household presents, and Mr. Lethbridge had received from his father a special sum to be expended on house furniture. Although but little of a worldly man, Mr. Lethbridge had purchased furniture of a substantial description, and the care taken of it by his good wife made it quite respectable-looking, even after long years of wear and tear. Perhaps the most acceptable of all the wedding presents was a famous piano from a generous uncle, which she cherished and preserved. It was, indeed, to her almost as a living member of her family, and she grew to have a strong affection for it. This will be understood by those who love music as Mrs. Lethbridge did. More and more endeared to them did this treasure become with age, and numberless were the pleasant evenings it afforded them, especially in the spring-time of life, when the hearts of the young people were filled with sweet dreams. By its means they learnt to sing and dance, and poor and struggling as the home of the Lethbridges actually was—evidences of which, mind you, were never seen by others than themselves—there were hours spent in it which richer people might have envied.

      Miser Farebrother was content. Phœbe was obtaining an education which did not cost him a shilling, and the meals she ate in her aunt's house were a saving to him. Aunt Leth also was quite a skilful dress-maker, and she made all Phœbe's dresses. A cunning milliner too. Phœbe's hats and bonnets, albeit inexpensive, were marvels of prettiness. All this was worth a deal to Miser Farebrother, who grudged every shilling it cost him to live. He gave nothing to the Lethbridges in return, nor was he asked to give anything. Since Phœbe was fourteen years of age Aunt Leth had not set foot inside the gates of Parksides.

      "Let it be well understood," said Miser Farebrother to his daughter, "I am nothing to them, and they are nothing to me. If they expect me to do anything for them, they will be disappointed, and they will have only themselves to blame for it."

      "They don't expect you to do anything for them," said Phœbe, with a flush