"I could have you up for that," said Jeremiah, edging away from Tom. "Assault and battery, you know. If you give me any of your cheek I'll land you at the station-house."
"Give me any of yours," retorted Tom, "and I'll break every bone in your body!"
Jeremiah deemed it best to walk away, which he did rather swiftly, and with decided nervousness. Upon making his appearance before his mother he worked himself up into a great passion, and said that Tom Barley had set upon him with a knife, and had threatened his life. She soothed him, and advised him to inform Miser Farebrother, which he promised to do; and being further mollified by a draught of ale and a plate of cold meat and pickles, he condescended to be in a better humour.
"You haven't kissed me, Jeremiah," said Mrs. Pamflett.
"Oh, bother!" he said, brushing her cheek with his lips. "I like to kiss girls. I say, mother, how pretty Phœbe's grown!"
"Miss Farebrother?" asked his mother, somewhat startled.
"I said 'Phœbe,' didn't I? She's about as pretty as they make 'em. I met her in the village, and she took my arm. A little stuck-up at first, but I soon brought her to her senses. Mother, what do you think of me?"
"You are the best son in the world," she replied, readily, "and the cleverest man in England."
"Yes, I think I can show them a trick or two. Are you proud of me, mother?"
"Indeed I am, Jeremiah?"