"You're there, are you?
Thank you, Mr.Guppy, I don't know but what I WILL take a marrow pudding." Three marrow puddings being produced, Mr.Jobling adds in a pleasant humour that he is coming of age fast.

To these succeed, by command of Mr.Smallweed, "three Cheshires," and to those "three small rums." This apex of the entertainment happily reached, Mr.Jobling puts up his legs on the carpeted seat (having his own side of the box to himself), leans against the wall, and says, "I am grown up now, Guppy.

I have arrived at maturity." "What do you think, now," says Mr.Guppy, "about--you don't mind Smallweed ?" "Not the least in the world.

I have the pleasure of drinking his good health." "Sir, to you!" says Mr.Smallweed.
"I was saying, what do you think NOW," pursues Mr.Guppy, "of enlisting ?" "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.