"You go 'ome," suggested the constable, "I don't want to have to take you. This is one of my lenient nights, lucky for you."
"Wallabaloo," said the Clockwork man, faintly, "Wum—Wum—"
"Yes, we know all about that," said the constable, "but you take my tip and go 'ome. And I don't want any back answers neither."
The Clockwork man emitted a soft whistling sound from between his teeth, and rubbed his nose thoughtfully against the post.
"What is this?" he enquired, presently.
"Lamp-post," rejoined the other, clicking his teeth, "L.A.M.P.-P.O.S.T. Lamp-post."
"I see—curious, only one lamp-post, though. In my country they grow like trees, you know—whole forests of them—galaxy of lights—necessary—illuminate multiform world."
The constable laughed gently and stroked his moustache. His theory about the condition of the individual before him slowly developed.
"You get along," he persuaded, "before there's trouble. I don't want to be 'arsh with you."
"Wait," said the Clockwork man, without altering his position, "moment of lucidity—see things as they are—begin to understand—finite world—only one thing at a time. Now we've got it—a place for everything and everything in its place."