Mr. Boolpin broke out with a laugh, which made the building reverberate.  “It’s the village idiot,” said he.  “He goes by the name of Stoop, which is short for Stupid.  Ha! ha!  Come, now, clear out, Stupid, and don’t be bothering the gentleman.”

The boy-man began to whimper, when Tiffles, recollecting an allusion to a semi-idiot in one of the postmaster’s letters, said: 

“Stay, my lad; I believe I owe you something.”

“For pastin’ up two hundred posters, fifty cents; and distributin’ five hundred bills, twenty-five cents.  Totale, seventy-five cents.”  The idiot did not hold out his hand for the pay, and Tiffles conceived an instant esteem for him.  An idea came to Tiffles.  This idiot, as he was called, had shown intelligence in reckoning.  He might have a deal of good sense under that dull exterior.  Tiffles had observed, in his travels, that the idiot which Providence assigns to every town and village, is not always the biggest fool in it.  This idiot might have sufficient intellect to turn the crank of the panorama, and render muscular aid in other respects.  At any rate, he was able-bodied enough.

“My lad,” said Tiffles.

“Stoop, if you please, sir.”

“Very good.  Stoop, I think I can find some work for you behind the scenes to-night.  Can you turn a crank?”

“I’ve done it to grindstones, sir.”

“It’s the same principle,” said Tiffles, laughing.  “I’ll engage you.”

The idiot took off his greasy cap, and swung it in the air with joy.  A smile irradiated his great, coarse face, and his small eyes twinkled.  “Gosh golly!” he cried; “I’m goin’ to be one of the performers.  I’m so glad!”

He said this, in a spirit of juvenile exultation, to the dozen boys who stood gaping in at the doorway.  This innocent bit of boasting provoked their derisive laughter, and a quantity of playful epithets and nicknames, which the idiot endured with marvellous patience, until one dirty little boy put the thumb of his left hand to his nose, twirled the fingers, and said, “Boo! boo! boo!” This act had the same effect on poor Stoop as the shaking of a red handkerchief at a bull.  It enraged him.  He sprang at the youth, and, but for the sudden closing of the door by the offender, who had judiciously kept a hand on the knob, would have chastised him on the spot.

The door not only arrested his progress, but suddenly checked his wrath.  “I’m very sorry, indeed, Professor,” said he; “but Gorrifus! it makes me so mad!”

Messrs. Boolpin and Persimmon laughed heartily.  “He’s a perfect idiot, you see,” remarked the former.  “Coming the nose system at him always makes him mad.”

Tiffles did not understand how that was any proof of idiocy; but, to prevent the recurrence of any difficulty between his new assistant and the populace of small boys, he thought it best to take possession of the hall, and lock the door.  He therefore signified to Mr. Boolpin that they would at once proceed to put up the panorama.  Tiffles threw off his coat, thereby intimating that he would go to work at once.