"Of course," he said, slowly, "you don't understand. It isn't to be expected that you would understand. Why, you haven't even got a clock! That was the first thing I noticed about you."
He came a little nearer to Arthur, walking with a hop, skip and jump, rather like a man with his feet tied together.
"And yet, you look an intelligent sort of being," he continued, "even though you are an anachronism."
"Arthur was not sure what this term implied. In spite of his confusion he couldn't help feeling a little amused. The figure standing by his side was so exactly like a wax-work come to life, and his talk was faintly reminiscent of a gramophone record.
"What year is it?" enquired the other suddenly, and without altering a muscle of his face.
"Nineteen hundred and twenty-three," said Arthur, smiling faintly.
The Clockwork man lifted a hand to his face, and with great difficulty lodged a finger reflectively against his nose. "Nineteen hundred and twenty-three," he repeated, "that's interesting. Very interesting, indeed. Not that I have any use for time, you know."
He appeared to ruminate, still holding a finger against his nose. Then he shot his left arm out with a swift, gymnastic action and laid the flat palm of his hand upon Arthur's shoulder.
"Did you see me coming over the hill?" he enquired.