"Why don't he go?" he muttered, peevishly. "He can't have anything to do with me. Nobody ever comes here. He's mistaken the house."
His reflections were here interrupted by a volley of knocks, each apparently louder than the last.
"Oh dear, what shall I do?" exclaimed the miser with a ludicrous mixture of terror and perplexity. "It's some desperate ruffian, I know it is. I wish the police would come. I shall be robbed and murdered."
Peter went to the window and put his head out, hoping to discover something of his troublesome visitor. The noise of opening the window attracted his attention.
"Hilloa!" he shouted. "I thought I'd make you hear some time or other. I began to think you were as deaf as a post, or else had kicked the bucket."
"Who's there?" asked Peter, in a quavering voice.
"Who's there! Come down and see, and don't leave a fellow to hammer away all night at your old rat-trap. Come down, and open the door."
"This ain't the house," said Peter. "You've made a mistake. Nobody ever comes here."
"No more I should think they would, if you always keep 'em waiting as long as you have me. Come along down, and let me in."