Perhaps a standing ovation?

 This came under the head of tidings of great joy. Too often at these binges the Brass Hats in charge tell you off to render the "Yoeman's Wedding Song," which for some reason always arouse the worst passions of the tough eggs who stand behind the back row. But no rustic standees have ever been known not to eat a knockabout cross-talk act. There is something about the spectacle of Performer A sloshing Performer B over the head with an umbrella and Performer B prodding Performer A in the midriff with a similar blunt instrument that seems to speak to their depths. Wearing a green beard and given adequate assistance by my supporting cast, I could confidently anticipate that I should have the clientele rolling in the aisles.

(from The Mating Season, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Happy days again

 Even as his lips parted, there was a noise like a rising pheasant from the outskirts, and some solid object left the ranks and hurled itself on Constable Dobbs's chest. Closer inspection showed this to be Queenie. She was clinging to the representative of the Law like a poultice, and from the fact that she was saying, "Oh, Ernie!'" and bedewing his uniform with happy tears I deduced, being pretty shrewd, that what she was trying to convey was that all was forgiven and forgotten and that she was expecting the prompt return of the ring, the letters, and the china ornament with "A Present From Blackpool" on it. And as it did not escape my notice that he, on his side, was covering her upturned face with burning kisses and saying, "Oh, Queenie!" I gathered that Tortured Souls Preferred had taken another upward trend and that one could chalk up to the slate two more sundered hearts reunited in the springtime.

(from The Mating Season, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

In short, he is a brat

 This Thos is one of those tough, hardboiled striplings, a sort of juvenile James Cagney with a touch of Edward G. Robinson. He has carroty hair and a cynical expression, and his manner is supercilious. You would think that anyone conscious of having a mother like my Aunt Agatha and knowing it could be proved against him, would be crushed and apologetic, but this is not the case. He swanks about the place as if he'd bought it, and in conversation with a cousin lacks tact and is apt to verge on the personal.

(from The Mating Season, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Entirely too cheerful

 Though howling hurricanes and driving rainstorms would have been a more suitable accompaniment to the run of the action, the morning - or morn, if you prefer to string along with Aunt Charlotte - was bright and fair. My nervous system was seriously disordered, and one of God's less likeable creatures with about a hundred and fourteen legs had crawled down the back of my neck and was doing its daily dozen on the sensitive skin, but did Nature care? Not a hoot. The sky continued blue, and the fatheaded sun which I have mentioned shone smilingly throughout.

(from The Mating Season, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

The next Baby Ruth

 "Always," he sighed, when John Quincy finished, "I have unlimited yearning for travel." He paused to watch another car draw up before the hotel. "But it are unavailable. I am policeman on small remuneration. In my youth, rambling on evening hillside or by moonly ocean, I dream of more lofty position. Not so now. But that other American citizen, my eldest son, he are dreaming, too. Maybe for him dreams eventuate. Perhaps he become second Baby Ruth, home run emperor, applause of thousands making him deaf. Who knows it?"

(from The House Without a Key, by Earl Derr Biggers)

A bullet doesn't need to have courage

 "He's a friend of Captain Hallet's. Dick Kaohla.

"What do you mean he's a friend of mine?" flared Hallet.

"Well, you certainly treated him pretty tenderly the other night."

I knew what I was doing," said Hallet grouchily. 

"I hope you did. But if he puts a bullet in me some lovely evening, I'm going to be pretty annoyed with you."

"Oh, you're in no danger," Hallet answered. "Only a coward writes anonymous letters."

"Yes, and only a coward shoots from ambush. But that isn't saying he can't take a good aim."

(from The House Without a Key, by Earl Derr Biggers)

Ah, that Hawaiian moonlight!

     The moon, of course, was shining. The cocoa-palms turned their heads away at the suggestion of the trades. The warm waters of Waikiki murmured nearby. John Quincy Winterslip, from Boston and immune, drew the girl to him and kissed her. Not a cousinly kiss, either - but why should it have been? She wasn't his cousin.

(from The House Without a Key, by Earl Derr Biggers)