“Hallo, Bertie.""Hallo, old turnip. Where have you been all this while?""Oh, here and there! Ripping weather we're having, Bertie.""Not bad.""I see the Bank Rate is down again.""No, really?""Disturbing news from Lower Silesia, what?""Oh, dashed!"He pottered about the room for a bit, babbling at intervals. The boy seemed cuckoo."Oh, I say, Bertie!" he said suddenly, dropping a vase which he had picked off the mantelpiece and was fiddling with. "I know what it was I wanted to tell you. I'm married.”

“I say Bertie old man I am in love at last. She is the most wonderful girl Bertie old man. This is the real thing at last Bertie. Come here at once and bring Jeeves. Oh I say you know that tobacco shop in Bond Street on the left side as you go up. Will you get me a hundred of their special cigarettes and send them to me here. I have run out. I know when you see her you will think she is the most wonderful girl. Mind you bring Jeeves. Don't forget the cigarettes. - Bingo.”

“He looked at me like Lillian Gish coming out of a swoon."Is this Bertie Wooster talking?" he said, pained."Yes, it jolly well is!""Bertie, old man," said Bingo, patting me gently here and there, "reflect! We were at school - ""Oh, all right!”

“And you call yourself a pal of mine!""Yes, I know; but there are limits.""Bertie," said Bingo reproachfully, "I saved your life once.""When?""Didn't I? It must have been some other fellow then. Well, anyway, we were boys together and all that. You can't let me down.""Oh, all right," I said. "But, when you say you haven't nerve enough for any dashed thing in the world, you misjudge yourself.”

“Bertie old man I say Bertie could you possibly come down here at once. Everything gone wrong hang it all. Dash it Bertie you simply must come. I am in a state of absolute despair and heart-broken. Would you mind sending another hundred of those cigarettes. Bring Jeeves when you come Bertie. You simply must come Bertie. I rely on you. Don't forget to bring Jeeves. Bingo.For a chap who's perpetually hard-up, I must say that young Bingo is the most wasteful telegraphist I ever struck. He's got no notion of condensing. The silly ass simply pours out his wounded soul at twopence a word, or whatever it is, without a thought.”

“I say, Bertie," he said, after a pause of about an hour and a quarter."Hallo!""Do you like the name Mabel?""No.""No?""No.""You don't think there's a kind of music in the word, like the wind rustling gently through the tree-tops?""No."He seemed disappointed for a moment; then cheered up."Of course, you wouldn't. You always were a fat-headed worm without any soul, weren't you?""Just as you say. Who is she? Tell me all.”