The boy shuffled over to mumble at the curious clock with its concave mirrored face at eye level; its ticking, almost a beating; and its hands, so human, balanced like scales. Without warning, it sounded, as though marking the hour, though its face did not change. The melody was vaguely familiar and yet cut off shortly before you could recognize it.
  "Oh, you're interested in that?" asked Mole.
  "Yeah, what is it?"
  "That's not a clock, if that's what your thinking--well, it is and it isn't."
  Then what could its purpose be, wondered Barry.
  "It's a scale, I guess, a measuring instrument, see?"   The man turned the tag around and it read. Alfanso's Continuous Reckoning Device.