Mr. Boolpin had driven the uproarious boys before him with his pestle,
administering smart taps to the reluctant ones. Tiffles suffered no
further annoyance from them that day, save an occasional "Boo! boo!"
shouted through the keyhole, and followed by an immediate scampering of
the perpetrators down stairs. This well-known sound always roused the
idiot to fury; and the peaceable persuasions, and even the gentle
violence of Tiffles, were needed to keep him from relinquishing his work
and springing to the door.
He was a most intelligent and useful idiot. He could measure distances
more accurately than either of the three, and could ply the saw, hammer,
plane, or hatchet (Tiffles brought all these tools with him) like a
carpenter. His strength and skill were so great, that Tiffles found
himself gratefully relieved from the necessity of lifting, or directing.
Marcus Wilkeson, who had also thrown off his coat with a manful
determination to do a hard day's work, in the hope of tiring out and
driving away the sadness that possessed him, put on the garment again,
and sat on a front bench, vacantly staring like an idiot at the idiot,
and all the while thinking, gloomily, of New York.
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