"What did Mr. Heighington say?" asked Matthew. "Did he think that I had been drinking again?"
"He did not say anything," replied the old clerk.
"Oh! He did not say anything—did not even miss me, I suppose?" continued Matthew, with flushed cheeks, and eyes that glittered strangely. "Mr. Marshall, you know that old copying machine at the office?"
"The copying machine?—Yes, of course I know it. There have been several new ones invented, but it answers our purpose."
"What do they do when it gets wrong and won't work, as I have known it to do several times of late?" asked Matthew.
"Get it repaired and put right again," was the reply.
"And when it is worn-out and not worth repairing?"
"Send it away and get one of the new ones, I suppose," said Marshall, with a puzzled air.
"I thought so!" exclaimed Matthew. "As long as the copying machine suits your purpose—as long as it can be repaired and made to work, it is all very well. But the moment it becomes worn-out, and past mending, you send it away and get a new one. Don't you understand, old friend?" continued he, observing his companion's bewildered look. "Why, you're a copying machine, and I'm a copying machine, and we are both of us pretty near worn-out, I take it?"
"Is he often thus?" asked Marshall, as the sick man leant back exhausted.