“My name's Bassington-Bassington, and the jolly old Bassington-Bassingtons - I mean the Bassington-Bassingtons aren't accustomed - "Old Blumenfeld told him in a few brief words pretty much what he thought of the Bassington-Bassingtons and what they weren't accustomed to. ..."You got to work good for my pop!" said the stout child, waggling his head reprovingly at Cyril."I don't want any bally cheek from you!" said Cyril, gurgling a bit."What's that?" barked old Blumenfeld. "Do you understand that this boy is my son?""Yes, I do," said Cyril. "And you both have my sympathy!""You're fired!" bellowed old Blumenfeld, swelling a good bit more. "Get out of my theatre!”

“I am familiar with the name Bassington-Bassington, sir. There are three branches of the Bassington-Bassington family - the Shropshire Bassington-Bassingtons, the Hampshire Bassington-Bassingtons, and the Kent Bassington-Bassingtons.""England seems pretty well stocked up with Bassington-Bassingtons.""Tolerably so, sir.""No chance of a sudden shortage, I mean, what?""Presumably not, sir.""And what sort of a specimen is this one?""I could not say, sir, on such short acquaintance.""Will you give me a sporting two to one, Jeeves, judging from what you have seen of him, that this chappie is not a blighter or an excrescence?""No, sir. I should not care to venture such liberal odds.”

“How does he look, Jeeves?""Sir?""What does Mr Bassington-Bassington look like?""It is hardly my place, sir, to criticize the facial peculiarities of your friends.”

“The Little Boy and the Old ManSaid the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."Said the old man, "I do that too."The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."I do that too," laughed the little old man.Said the little boy, "I often cry."The old man nodded, "So do I."But worst of all," said the boy, "it seemsGrown-ups don't pay attention to me."And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.I know what you mean," said the little old man.”

“What would Jeeves do that for?""It struck me as rummy, too."..."I mean to say, it's nothing to Jeeves what sort of a face you have!""No!" said Cyril. He spoke a little coldly, I fancied. I don't know why. "Well, I'll be popping. Toodle-oo!”

“How old are you?" said the girl. "What are you doing here? Do you live here? What's your name?" "I don't know," said Bod. "You don't know your name?" said the girl. "Course you do. Everybody knows their own name. Fibber." "I know my name," said Bod. "And I know what I'm doing here. But I don't know the other things you said.”