“Say what you will, there is something fine about our old aristocracy. I'll bet Trotsky couldn't hit a moving secretary with an egg on a dark night.”

“You must meet old Rowbotham, Bertie. A delightful chap. Wants to massacre the bourgeoisie, sack Park Lane and disembowel the hereditary aristocracy. Well, nothing could be fairer than that, what?”

“He's quite a bit of a snob, you know, and when he hears I'm going to marry the daughter of an earl - ""I say, old man," I couldn't help saying, "aren't you looking ahead rather far?""Oh, that's all right. It's true nothing's actually settled yet, but she practically told me the other day she was fond of me.""What!""Well, she said that the sort of man she liked was the self-reliant, manly man with strength, good looks, character, ambition, and initiative.""Leave me, laddie," I said. "Leave me to my fried egg.”

“I've been through a bad time, Bertie, these last weeks. The sun ceased to shine - ""That's curious. We've had gorgeous weather in London.""The birds ceased to sing.""What birds?""What the devil does it matter what birds?" said young BIngo, with some asperity. "Any birds. The birds round about here. You don't expect me to specify them by their pet names, do you? I tell you, Bertie, it hit me hard at first, very hard.""What hit you?" I simply couldn't follow the blighter."Charlotte's calculated callousness.”

“They pointed out that the friendship between the two artistes had always been a by-word or whatever you called it. A well-read Egg summed it up by saying they were like Thingummy and what's-his-name”

“But, Ed! Say! Are you going to let him get away with it?""Am I going to let him get away with it!" said Mr. Cootes, annoyed by the foolish question. "Wake me up in the night and ask me!" "But what are you going to do?""Do!" said Mr. Cootes. "Do! I'll tell you what I'm going to..." He paused, and the stern resolve that shone in his face seemed to flicker. "Say, what the hell am I going do?" he went on somewhat weakly.”

“Betting!" he gargled. "Betting! You don't mean that they're betting on this holy, sacred - Oh, I say, dash it all! Haven't people any sense of decency and reverence? Is nothing safe from their beastly, sordid graspingness? I wonder," said young Bingo thoughtfully, "if there's a chance of my getting any of that seven-to-one money? Seven to one! What a price! Who's offering it, do you know? Oh, well, I suppose it wouldn't do. No, I suppose it wouldn't be quite the thing.”