By four o’clock in the afternoon the Panorama of Africa was all up, the rollers and the curtain in good working order, and everything ready for the eventful night.  Stoop had taken a lesson at the wheel, and turned it beautifully.  Tiffles had arranged a system of signals with him.  One cough was “Stop;” two coughs were “Go on;” one stamp was “Slower;” two, stamps were “Faster.”  Tiffles and Stoop rehearsed the system several times, the one being before the curtain, in the position of the lecturer, and the other behind it, at the crank.  Nothing could be more satisfactory.

“Only one thing puzzles me,” said Tiffles to his friends.  “Why do they call this smart fellow an idiot?”

CHAPTER V.

AN AUDIENCE ANALYZED.

The eventful night came on.  Tiffles and friends fortified themselves with a poor supper, including numerous cups of weak black tea, at the hotel, and repaired, full of anxiety and misgivings, to the hall.  The idiotic but intelligent Stoop had remained in charge of the panorama, and feasted himself, intellectually, upon the splendors of that work of Art, as disclosed by a single candle in front.

All the candles in the hall and the entry were then lighted up, and produced quite a gorgeous illumination of the four windows fronting on the main street.  This having been done, Marcus (who, having a more extensive acquaintance with the faces of bank bills than either of his friends, had kindly consented to act as money taker and cashier) took his seat in a little box with a pigeon hole in it, and his entire stock of loose change, amounting to seventy-five cents in silver, spread before him.  Tiffles stood within the door of the hall, to see that nobody came in (especially small boys) who had not paid.  Stoop remained behind the scenes, and was positively instructed to stay there.  Patching wandered up and down the hall, as if he were an early comer, and had paid his quarter, and had no personal knowledge of or interest in the panorama.

Performance was to commence at 8 o’clock.  Doors were open at 61/2.  Some time previous to that hour, the stairs leading from the street door to the hall were lined with the lads of the village, who amused themselves with making jocular remarks about “the man in the cage there” (meaning Marcus), and “t’other man at the door, whose shirt was out of jail” (meaning Tiffles).  Marcus smiled grimly at his assailants through the small pigeon hole; and Tiffles, who felt reckless in the sure view of a failure, laughed heartily at them, returned jokes as bad as they sent, but, in the height of his humor, begged them distinctly to understand that they could not get In without paying.  At which the juvenile chorus sarcastically replied, “P’r’aps not;” “Mebbe you’re right,” “You’ll have to stop up the keyhole, Mister;” “Mind I don’t get down the chimbley,” &c., &c.