The day of Mr. Clank begins at 5:15, when he rises from his cot in the boiler room, brushes his coat, and says good morning to the radiators. By 6:00 he has polished the great door. By 7:00 he has swept the steps. By 8:00 he has deflected three delivery lorries, two pigeons, and a persistent bishop.
At noon, he lunches upon a single sardine and a hard biscuit. At half past two, he rests, upright, on his stool by the door, perfectly still, like a statue of a statue. He has not, in thirty four years, been seen to blink. Many believe him to be an elaborate piece of furniture. He has never contradicted them.
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