Incidentally #6: Wodehouse Edition
Why don’t you get a haircut? You look like a chrysanthemum.
I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.
The fishy glitter in his eye became intensified. He looked like a halibut which had been asked by another halibut to lend it a couple of quid till next Wednesday.
The right hon. was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and forgotten to say “When!”
“Here,” said Murgatroyd, “wake up. Sir Jasper’s calling you.”
“Calling me what?” asked Wilfred, coming to himself with a start.
“Calling you very loud,” growled the butler.
Mike nodded. A somber nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebody had met him in 1812 and said, “So, you’re back from Moscow, eh?”
I suppose I’m one of those fellows my father always warned me against.
“...Have you ever had a what-do-you-call-it? What’s the word I want? One of those things fellows get sometimes.”
“Headaches?” hazarded George.
“No, no. I don’t mean anything you get—I mean something you get, if you know what I mean.”
“Measles?”
“Anonymous letter. That’s what I was trying to say.”
It was obvious that only the fact of his having no soul prevented the iron from entering into it.
“I remember years ago, Bertie,” said Aunt Dahlia, “when you nearly swallowed your rubber comforter and started turning purple. And I, ass that I was, took it our and saved your life. Let me tell you, it will go very hard with you if you ever swallow a rubber comforter again when only I am by to aid.”
Jeeves lugged my purple socks out of the drawer as if he were a vegetarian fishing a caterpillar out of his salad.
Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is best not to stir them.
There was a howl of fury which caused the local policeman, who had just been about to turn into the street, to stop and tie his bootlace.
He uttered a sound much like a bulldog swallowing a pork chop whose dimensions it has underestimated.
“There is a method by which Mrs. Travers may be extricated from her sea of troubles. Shakespeare.”
I didn’t know why he was addressing me as Shakespeare, but I motioned him to continue. “Proceed, Jeeves.”
She had a penetrating sort of laugh. Rather like a train going into a tunnel.
“...He’s got... what is it that Frenchman have?”
“Beards?”
“No, not beards, something else. Begins with a journey. Ha!” said Mr. Clutterbuck, memory returning to its throne. “Journey say quar.”
Gussie, a glutton for punishment, stared at himself in the mirror.
He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life, and found a dead beetle at the bottom.
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BIG DADDY said...
What I enjoy the most about “Wodehouse” humor is that it can accomplish its goal without profanity. Profanity and crassness (if that is a word) dominates today’s humor, even so-called “Christian” humor. It is very refreshing to read (or listen to) his work.
Thursday, September 22, 2011 12:03 PM
HANDMAIDEN said...
Wodehouse is wonderful!
Friday, September 23, 2011 07:47 AM
Tuesday, September 20, 2011