“Talking of being eaten by dogs, there’s a dachshund at Brinkley who when you first meet him will give you the impression that he plans to convert you into a light snack between his regular meals. Pay no attention. It’s all eyewash. His belligerent attitude is simply—"Sound and fury signifying nothing, sir?"That’s it. Pure swank. A few civil words, and he will be grappling you . . . What’s the expression I’ve heard you use?"Grappling me to his soul with hoops of steel, sir?"In the first two minutes. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he has to put up a front because his name’s Poppet. One can readily appreciate that when a dog hears himself addressed day in and day out as Poppet, he feels he must throw his weight about. Is self-respect demands it."Precisely, sir."You’ll like Poppet. Nice dog. Wears his ears inside out. Why do dachshunds wear their ears inside out?"I could not say, sir."Nor me. I’ve often wondered.”

“Why do dachshunds wear their ears inside out?”

“Apparently that dog of hers joined you in the water.”Yes, that’s right, he took his dip with the rest of us. But what’s that got to do with it?”Wilbert Cream dived in and saved him.”He could have got ashore perfectly well under his own steam. In fact, he was already on his way, doing what looked like an Australian crawl.”That wouldn’t occur to a pinhead like Phyllis. To her Wilbert Cream is the man who rescued her dachshund from a watery grave. So she’s going to marry him.”But you don’t marry fellows because they rescue dachshunds.”You do, if you’ve got a mentality like hers.”

“He couldn’t have moved quicker if he had been the dachshund Poppet, who at this juncture was running round in circles, trying, if I read his thoughts aright, to work off the rather heavy lunch he had had earlier in the afternoon.”

“Brookfield, my correspondent, writes that last week he observed him in the moonlight at an advanced hour gazing up at his window.""Whose window? Brookfield's?""Yes, sir. Presumably under the impression that it was the young lady's.""But what the deuce is he doing at Twing at all?""Mr Little was compelled to resume his old position as tutor to Lord Wickhammersley's son at Twing Hall, sir. Owing to having been unsuccessful in some speculations at Hurst Park at the end of October.""Good Lord, Jeeves! Is there anything you don't know?""I couldn't say, sir.”

“He will lunch with you at your flat tomorrow at one-thirty. Please remember that he drinks no wine, strongly disapproves of smoking, and can only eat the simplest food, owing to an impaired digestion. Do not offer him coffee, for he considers it the root of half the nerve-trouble in the world.""I should think a dog-biscuit and a glass of water would about meet the case, what?""Bertie!""Oh, all right. Merely persiflage.""Now it is precisely that sort of idiotic remark that would be calculated to arouse Sir Roderick's worst suspicions.”

“Mr Little is certainly warm-hearted, sir.""Warm-hearted! I should think he has to wear asbestos vests.”