The Paddck was one of those medium-sized houses with a goodish bit of very tidy garden and a carefully rolled gravel drive curving past a shrubbery that looked as if it had just come back from the dry cleaner - the sort of house you take one look at and say to yourself, "Somebody's aunt lives here."
(from Carry On, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
I suppose everybody has had the experience of suddenly meeting smebody who reminded them frightfully of some fearful person. I mean to say, by way of an exaple, once when I was golfing in Scotland I saw a woman come into the hotel who was the living image of my Aunt Agatha. Probaby a very decnt sort, if I had only waited to see, but I didn't wait. I legged it that evening, utterly unable to stand the spectacle. And on another occasion I was driven out of a thoroughly festive night club because the head waiter reminded me of my Uncle Percy.
(from Carry On, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
About this particular binge, too, there seemed to me a lack of what you might call human interest. I mean to say, millions of people, no doubt, are so constituted that they scream with joy and excitement at the spectacle of a stuffed porcupine fish or a glass jar of seeds from Western Australia - but not Bertram. No, if you will take the word of one who would not deceive you, not Bertram.
(from Carry On, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
"He had lost the only girl he had ever loved, and you know what a man's like when that happens to him."
"How was that, sir?"
"Apparently he fell in love with some girl on the boat going over to Nw York, and they parted at the Customs sheds, arranging to meet next day at her hotel. Well, you know what Biffy's like. He forgets his own name half the time. He never made a note of the address, and it passed clean out of his mind. He went about in a sort of trance, and suddenly woke up to find that he was engaged to Honoria Glossop."
"I did not know of this, sir."
"I don't suppose anybody knows of it except me. He told me when I was in Paris."
"I should have supposed it would have been feasible to make inquiries, sir."
"That's what I said. But he had forgotten her name."
"That sounds remarkable, sir."
"I said that too. But it's a fact. All he remembered was that her Christian name was Mabel. Well, you can't go scouring New York for a girl named Mabel, what?"
"I appreciate the difficulty, sir."
(from Carry On, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
"A fellow told me one about Wembley yesterday," I said, to help on the cheery flow of conversation. "Stop me if you've heard it before. Chap goes up to deaf chap outside the exhibition and says, 'It this Wembley?' 'Hey?' says deaf chap. 'Is this Wembley?' says chap. 'No, Thursday,' says deaf chap. Ha, ha, I mean, what?"
The merry laughter froze on my lips. Sir Roderick sort of just waggled an eyebrow in my direction and I saw that it was back to the basket for Bertram. I never saw a man who had such a knack of making a fellow feel like a waste-product.
(from Carry On, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
Motty, the son, was about twenty-three, tall and thin and meek-looking. He had the same yellow hair as his mother, but he wore it plastered down and parted in the middle. His eyes bulged, too, but they weren't bright. They were a dull grey with pink rims. His chin gave up the struggle about half-way down, and he didn't appear to have any eyelashes. A mild, furtive, sheepish sort of blighter, in short.
(from Carry On, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
"It became more and more apparent to me that this infernal kid must somehow be turned out eftsoons or right speedily." (from Carry On, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
In case you heretofore had overlooked the word eftsoons, it is an archaic expression meaning "soon afterward."
The old killer instinct had awakened. Reloading with the swift efficiency of some hunter of the woods, Lord Emsworth went to the eindow. He was a little uncertain as to what he intended to do when he got there, except that he had a clear determination to loose off at something. There flitted into his mind what his grandson George had said about tickling up cows, and this served to some extent to crystallize his aims. True, cows are not plentiful on the terrace of Blandings Castle. Still, one might have wandered there. You never knew with cows.
There were no cows. Only Rupert Baxter. The ex-secretary was in the act of throwing away a cigarette.
Most men are careless in the matter of throwing away cigarettes. The world is their ashtray. But Rupert Baxter had a tidy soul. He allowed the thing to fall to the ground like any ordinary young man, it is true, but immediately he had done so his better self awakened. He stooped to pick up the object that disfigured the smooth flagged stones, and the invitation of that becklning trousers' seat would have been too powerful for a stronger man than Lord Emsworth to resist.
He pulled the trigger, and Rupert Baxter sprang into the air with a sharp cry. Lord Emsworth reseated himself and took up Whiffle on The Care of The Pig.
(from "The Crime Wave At Blandings, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse")
"Ah, I see Beach has brought it to you. I want you to lock that gun up somewhere, Clarence. George is not to be allowed to have it any more."
"Why not?"
"Because he is not to be trusted with it. Do you know what happened? He shot Mr. Baxter."
"What!"
"Yes. Out on the drive just now. I noticed that the boy's manner was sullen when I introduced him to Mr. Baxter, and said that he was going to be his tutor. He disappeared into the shrubbery, and just now, as Mr. Baxter was standing on the drive, George shot him from behind a bush."
"Good!" cried Lord Emsworth, then prudently added the word "gracious."
(from "The Crime Wave at Blandings," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
Presently Lord Emsworth left the potting shed and started to wander towards the house. He had never felt happier. All day his mood had been one of perfect contentment and tranquility, and for once in a way Angus McAllister had done nothing to disturb it. Too often, when you tried to reason with that human mule, he had a way saying "mphm" and looking Scotch and then saying "Grmph" and looking Scotch again, and after that just fingering his beard and looking Scotch without speaking, which was intensely irritating to a sensitive employer.
(from "The Crime Wave At Blandings," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
Those who read thrillers are an impatient race. They chafe at scenic rhapsodies and want to get on to the rough stuff. When, they ask, did the dirty work start? Who were mixed up in it? Was there blood, and, if so, how much? And - most particularly - where was everybody and what was everybody doing at whatever time it was? The Chronicler who wishes to grip must supply this information at the earliest possible moment.
(from "The Crime Wave at Blandings," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
Only one light showed in the ramshackle old house, a dim light from a front window. Neil Shannon hunched his shoulders inside the trench coat and looked up and down the street. There was only darkness and the slanting rain. He stepped out of the doorway of the empty building and crossed the street.
There was a short walk up to the unpainted house, and he went along the walkway and up the steps. Through the pocket of the trench coat, he could easily reach his .38 Colt automatic, and it felt good.
(from "The Vanished Blonde," by Louis L'Amour. And did you really expect that he would not be wearing a trench coat? Really?)
