Mr. Trout's voice was the voice of one who, putting his fate to the touch to win or lose it all, has found himself a winner. Its volume made that plain. No man, Joe felt, to whom the adored object had handed the pink cashier's slip could so nearly have fractured his eardrum, and forgetting his own troubles for the moment he rejoiced in the other's good fortune. Mr. Trout might be the sort of man whose morning post was never without its quota of attractive offers from lunatic asylums, but he wished him well.
(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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