“Bertie," he said, "I want your advice.""Carry on.""At least, not your advice, because that wouldn't be much good to anybody. I mean, you're a pretty consummate old [prat], aren't you? Not that I want to hurt your feelings, of course.""No, no, I see that.""What I wish you to do is put the whole thing to that fellow Jeeves of yours, and see what he suggests.”

“Bertie," he said, "I want your advice.""Carry on.""At least, not your advice, because that wouldn't be much good to anybody. I mean, you're a pretty consummate old ass, aren't you? Not that I want to hurt your feelings of course.""No, no, I see that.”

“I read the paragraph again. A peculiar feeling it gave me. I don't know if you have ever experienced the sensation of seeing the announcement of the engagement of a pal of yours to a girl whom you were only saved from marrying yourself by the skin of your teeth. It induces a sort of -- well, it's difficult to describe it exactly; but I should imagine a fellow would feel much the same if he happened to be strolling through the jungle with a boyhood chum and met a tigress or a jaguar, or what not, and managed to shin up a tree and looked down and saw the friend of his youth vanishing into the undergrowth in the animal's slavering jaws. A sort of profound, prayerful relief, if you know what I mean, blended at the same time with a pang of pity. What I'm driving at is that, thankful as I was that I hadn't had to marry Honoria myself, I was sorry to see a real good chap like old Biffy copping it. I sucked down a spot of tea and began brooding over the business.”

“I don't want to seem always to be criticizing your methods of voice production, Jeeves, I said, but I must inform you that that 'Well, sir' of yours is in many respects fully as unpleasant as your 'Indeed, sir?”

“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!”

“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.”