Meanwhile Miser Farebrother and Tom Barley were "having it out" upstairs in the miser's room. Jeremiah Pamflett had put a very strong case before Miser Farebrother. He said that every time he came down to Parksides, Tom Barley laid wait for him and threatened to take his life. "It's no fault of mine," said Jeremiah, "that I'm not as strong as that hulking vagabond, who makes any amount of money by robbing you. If you like to be robbed, I've nothing to say to it. Nobody loses anything but yourself. But I can't be coming regularly down here in fear of my life. You couldn't expect me to." In short, Jeremiah indirectly gave Miser Farebrother to understand that if he retained Tom Barley in his employ he would have to come more often to London to look through the books and papers; and that he, Jeremiah Pamflett, would have to come less often to Parksides. Jeremiah was cunning enough to know that he was on safe ground in making this declaration. He had felt his way before he had arrived at it, and the miser was furious. It was impossible for him to go more often to London; there was no one he could trust but Jeremiah, and, in the light of a possible rupture, he placed an exaggerated value upon his clerk's services. "He drew a knife upon me," said Jeremiah, "as I was coming here, because he saw me escorting Miss Farebrother home. She was in the village making purchases, and I thought it my duty to protect her." "Quite right, quite right," said Miser Farebrother. "She ought to be much obliged to you." "She was," said Jeremiah. "Making purchases, eh?" exclaimed Miser Farebrother. "What was she purchasing--eh? You don't know? What's that you say? Oh, Tom Barley! I'll soon settle with him. They all rob me--everybody, everybody! You are the only one I can trust--the only one, the only one!" "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," said Jeremiah, fervently. "I'd work my fingers off----" "There, there!" said Miser Farebrother, fretfully. "Don't make protestations. I hate them. It is your interest to do your duty. I pay you well for it." "You do; and I am grateful," said Jeremiah, feeling in his heart as if he would like to strangle his master. "But you don't care for that sort of thing, and I'll not say anything more." "No; don't, don't!" groaned the miser. "Go; and send Tom Barley up to me." Jeremiah nodded, and went out of the room. Miser Farebrother's eyes followed him; and when the door was closed, he groaned: "He's as bad as the rest, I believe; but I've not been able to find him out. Is he cunninger and cleverer than I am? Curse my bones! Why can't I buy a new set? There isn't an honest man in the whole world. If Phoebe had been a boy instead of a girl, I might have had a little peace of mind; but as it is, I'm robbed right and left--right and left! Who's that at the door? Come in, can't you? Oh, it's you, Tom Barley?" "Yes, it's me," said Tom. "What do you want of me?" "Speak respectfully," screamed the miser.