The boy walked past a scrapyard, where a Robot sat down slumped, rusty, with a dented head - and most down in the dumps.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked, "Just you look a little sad. Me, I've lost my name - it seems we're both feeling quite bad."
"It's my joints," the Robot said, "you hear that awful squeak? My knees, my elbows, even my back - all they do is creak! I might as well be melted down, into a roll of foil."
"No!" the boy said, "Don't be daft - you only need some oil."
"Oil!" the Robot cried, "That's it! My brain had seized up too!"
And looking in the scrapheap it found a can or two. A couple of squirts later it was dancing merrily,
"Oh happy days, I'm good as new! Now then, let me see..."
A Whizz! A click! A Rat-a-tat-tat! It hammered out an R
"Which stands for Robot, keep it! What a clever boy you are!"