As he drew nearer, Arthur's impression of an unearthly being was
sobered a little by the discovery that the strange figure wore a wig.
It was a very red wig, and over the top of it was jammed a brown
bowler hat. The face underneath was crimson and flabby. Arthur decided
that it was not a very interesting face. Its features seemed to melt
into each other in an odd sort of way, so that you knew that you were
looking at a face and that was about all. He was about to turn his head
politely and pass on, when he was suddenly rooted to the ground by the
observation of a most singular circumstance.
The strange figure was flapping his ears--flapping them violently
backwards and forwards, with an almost inconceivable rapidity!
Arthur felt a sudden clutching sensation in the region of his heart. Of
course, he had heard of people being able to move their ears slightly.
That was common knowledge. But the ears of this man positively
vibrated. They were more like the wings of some strange insect than
human ears. It was a ghastly spectacle--unbelievable, yet obvious.
Arthur tried to walk away; he looked this way and that, but it was
impossible to resist the fascination of those flapping ears. Besides,
the strange figure had seen him. He was fixing him with eyes that did
not move in their sockets, but stared straight ahead; and Arthur had
placed himself in the direct line of their vision. The expression in
the eyes was compelling, almost hypnotic.
"Excuse me," Arthur ventured, huskily, "did you wish to speak to me?"
The strange figure stopped flapping his ears and opened his mouth. He
opened it unpleasantly wide, as though trying to yawn. Then he shut
it with a sharp snap, and without yawning. After that he shifted his
whole body very slowly, as though endeavouring to arouse himself from
an enormous apathy. And then he appeared to be waiting for something to
happen.
Arthur fidgeted, and looked nervously around him. It was an awkward
situation, but, after all, he had brought it on himself. He did not
like to move away. Besides, having started the conversation, it was
only common politeness to wait until the stranger offered a remark. And
presently, the latter opened his mouth again. This time he actually
spoke.
"Wallabaloo--Wallabaloo--Bompadi--Bompadi--Wum. Wum--Wum--Nine and
ninepence--" he announced.
"I beg your pardon," said Arthur, hastily.
"Wallabaloo," replied the other, eagerly. "Walla--Oh, hang it--Hulloa,
now we've got it--Wallabaloo--No, we haven't--Bang Wallop--nine and
ninepence--"
Arthur swallowed several times in rapid succession. His mind relapsed
into a curious state of blankness. For some minutes he was not aware
of any thinking processes at all. He began to feel dizzy and faint,
from sheer bewilderment. And then the idea of escape crept into his
consciousness. He moved one foot, intending to walk away. But the
strange figure suddenly lifted up a hand, with an abrupt, jerky
movement, like a signal jumping up. He said "nine and ninepence" three
times very slowly and solemnly, and flapped his right ear twice. In
spite of his confusion, Arthur could not help noticing the peculiar
and awful synchronisation of these movements. At any rate, they seemed
to help this unfortunate individual out of his difficulties. Still
holding a hand upright, he achieved his first complete sentence.
"_Not_ an escaped lunatic," he protested, and tried to shake his head.
But the attempt to do so merely started his ears flapping again.
And then, as though exhausted by these efforts, he relapsed altogether
into a sort of lumpiness and general resemblance to nothing on earth.
The hand dropped heavily. The ears twitched spasmodically, the right
one reversing the action of the left. He seemed to sink down, like a
deflated balloon, and a faint whistling sigh escaped his lips. His face
assumed an expression that was humble in the extreme, as though he were
desirous of apologising to the air for the bother of keeping him alive.
Arthur stared, expecting every moment to see the figure before him fall
to the ground or even disappear through the earth. But just when his
looseness and limpness reached to the lowest ebb a sudden pulse would
shake the stranger from head to foot; noises that were scarcely human
issued from him, puffings and blowings, a sort of jerky grinding and
grating. He would rear up for a moment, appear alert and lively, hitch
his whole body firmly and smartly, only to collapse again, slowly and
sadly, his head falling to one side, his arms fluttering feebly like
the wings of a wounded bird.
Arthur's chief sensation now was one of pity for a fellow creature
obviously in such a hopeless state. He almost forget his alarm in his
sympathy for the difficulties of the strange figure. That struggle to
get alive, to produce the elementary effects of existence, made him
think of his own moods of failure, his own helplessness. He took a step
nearer to the hurdle.
"Can I _do_ anything for you?" he enquired, almost in a whisper.
Suddenly, the strange figure seemed to achieve a sort of mastery of
himself. He began opening and shutting his mouth very rapidly, to the
accompaniment of sharp clicking noises.
"Its devilish hard," he announced, presently, "this feeling, you
know--Click--All dressed up and nowhere to go--Click--Click--"
"Is that how you feel?" Arthur enquired. He came nearer still, as
though to hear better. But the other got into a muddle with his
affirmative. He flapped an ear in staccato fashion, and Arthur hastily
withdrew.
Now, the afternoon was very warm and very still. Where they stood the
only sounds that could reach them were the slight crack of the batted
ball, and the soft padding of the fielders. That was why the thing
that happened next could hardly be mistaken. It began by the strange
figure suddenly putting both hands upon the top of the hurdle and
raising himself up about an inch off the ground. He looked all at once
enormously alive and vital. Light flashed in his eyes.
"Eureka!" he clicked, "I'm working!"
"What's that?" shouted Arthur, backing away. "What's that you said?"
"L-L-L-L-L-L-Listen," vibrated the other.
Still pressing his hands on the hurdle, he leaned upon them until the
top part of his body hung perilously over. His face wore an expression
of unutterable relief.
"Can't you _hear_," he squeaked, red in the face.
And then Arthur was quite sure about something that he had been vaguely
hearing for some moments. It sounded like about a hundred alarum clocks
all going off at once, muffled somehow, but concentrated. It was a
sort of whirring, low and spasmodic at first, but broadening out into
something more regular, less frantic.
"What's that noise?" he demanded thoroughly frightened by now.
"It's only my clock," said the other. He clambered over the hurdle, a
little stiffly, as though not quite sure of his limbs. Except for a
general awkwardness, an abrupt tremor now and again, he seemed to have
become quite rational and ordinary. Arthur scarcely comprehended the
remark, and it certainly did not explain the origin of that harassing
noise. He gaped at the figure--less strange now, although still
puzzling--and noticed for the first time his snuff-coloured suit of
rather odd pattern, his boots of a curious leaden hue, his podgy face
with a snub nose in the middle of it, his broad forehead surmounted
by the funny fringe of the wig. His voice, as he went on speaking,
gradually increased in pitch until it reached an even tenor.
"Perhaps I ought to explain," he continued. "You see, I'm a clockwork
man."
"Oh," said Arthur, his mouth opening wide. And then he stammered
quickly, "that noise, you know."
The Clockwork man nodded quickly, as though recollecting something.
Then he moved his right hand spasmodically upwards and inserted it
between the lapels of his jacket, somewhere in the region of his
waistcoat. He appeared to be trying to find something. Presently he
found what it was he looked for, and his hand moved again with a sharp,
deliberate action. The noise stopped at once. "The silencer," he
explained, "I forgot to put it on. It was such a relief to be working
again. I must have nearly stopped altogether. Very awkward. Very
awkward, indeed."
He appeared to be addressing the air generally.
"The fact is, I need a thorough overhauling. I'm all to pieces. Nothing
seems right. I oughtn't to creak like this. I'm sure there's a screw
loose somewhere."
He moved his arm slowly round in a circle, as though to reassure
himself. The arm worked in a lop-sided fashion, like a badly shaped
wheel, stiffly upwards and then quickly dropping down the curve. Then
the Clockwork man lifted a leg and swung it swiftly backwards and
forwards. At first the leg shot out sharply, and there seemed to be
some difficulty about its withdrawal; but after a little practice it
moved quite smoothly. He continued these experiments for a few moments,
in complete silence and with a slightly anxious expression upon his
face, as though he were really afraid things were not quite as they
should be.
Arthur remained in stupefied silence. He did not know what to make of
these antics. The Clockwork man looked at him, and seemed to be trying
hard to remould his features into a new expression, faintly benevolent.
Apparently, however, it was a tremendous effort for him to move any
part of his face; and any change that took place merely made him look
rather like a caricature of himself.
"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.
Arthur nodded.
"Where did you think I came from?"
"To tell the truth," said Arthur, after a moment's consideration, "I
thought you came out of the sky."
The Clockwork man looked as though he wanted to smile and didn't know
how. His eyes twinkled faintly, but the rest of his face remained
immobile, formal. "Very nearly right," he said, in quick, precise
accents, "but not quite."
He offered no further information. For a long while Arthur was puzzled
by the movements that followed this last remark. Apparently the
Clockwork man desired to change his tactics; he did not wish to prolong
the conversation. But, in his effort to move away, he was obviously
hampered by the fact that his hand still rested upon Arthur's shoulder.
He did not seem to be able to bend his arm in a natural fashion.
Instead, he kept on making a half-right movement of his body, with the
result that every time he so moved he was stopped by the impingement
of his hand against Arthur's neck. At last he solved the problem. He
took a quick step backwards, nearly losing his balance in the process,
and cleared his arm, which he then lowered in the usual fashion. Then
he turned sharply to the left, considered for a moment, and waddled
away. There was no other term, in Arthur's estimation, to describe
his peculiar gait. He took no stride; he simply lifted one foot up
and then the other, and then placed them down again slightly ahead of
their former positions. His body swayed from side to side in tune with
his strange walk. After he had progressed a few yards he turned to the
right, with a smart movement, and looked approximately in Arthur's
direction. His mouth opened and shut very rapidly, and there floated
across the intervening space some vague and very unsatisfactory human
noise, obviously intended as an expression of leave-taking. Then he
turned to the left again, with the same drill-like action, and waddled
along.