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.
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