"Why, what I may think after dinner," returns Mr. Jobling, "is one thing, my dear Guppy, and what I may think before dinner is another thing. Still, even after dinner, I ask myself the question, What am I to do? How am I to live? Ill fo manger, you know," says Mr. Jobling, pronouncing that word as if he meant a necessary fixture in an English stable. "Ill fo manger. That's the French saying, and mangering is as necessary to me as it is to a Frenchman. Or more so."
Mr. Smallweed is decidedly of opinion "much more so."
"If any man had told me," pursues Jobling, "even so lately as when you and I had the frisk down in Lincolnshire, Guppy, and drove over to see that house at Castle Wold--"
Mr. Smallweed corrects him--Chesney Wold.

"Why, even after dinner, I ask myself, What am I to do? How am I to live? If any man had told me when you and I were down in Lincolnshire, Guppy, and drove over to see that house at Castle Wold-"
Mr. Smallweed corrects him - Chesney Wold.
