By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Chaos!” moaned Lady Constance.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Just you start in joshing my poems and see how quick I’ll bean you with a brick.”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“You seem to imply that I am some sort of a criminal.”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Beetles. Always had a horror of beetles. Ever since I was a kid.”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Pals, pardner, pals! Pals till hell freezes!” cried Freddie, deeply moved.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“I forgot to mention, when asking you to marry me, that I can do card tricks.”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“But, Liz!” said the tree plaintively.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“I thought Lady Constance’s necklace was in one of the flowerpots,” he shrilled.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

Once, as a child, he had taken a dead pet rabbit, but never a flowerpot.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

No solicitude for his employer’s geraniums came to hamper Rupert Baxter’s researches.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

He took the entire staircase in one majestic, volplaning sweep.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Did someone steal Lady Constance’s necklace tonight?”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Ladies and gentlemen, I think the lights have gone out.”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Are you really choosing this moment to — to propose to me?”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Of course,” argued Mr. Keeble, “it isn’t really stealing.”