The Code of the Woosters (1)

by P.G. Wodehouse

I sat up in bed with that rather unpleasant feeling you get sometimes that you’re going to die in about five minutes.

His whole attitude recalled irresistibly to the mind that of some assiduous hound who will persist in laying a dead rat on the drawing-room carpet, though repeatedly apprised by word and gesture that the market for same is sluggish or even non-existent.

It was as if Nature had intended to make a gorilla, and had changed its mind at the last moment.

And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pitch and moment in this regard their currents turns awry and lose the name of action.”

I mean, imagine how some unfortunate Master Criminal would feel, on coming down to do a murder at the old Grange, if he found that not only was Sherlock Holmes putting in the week-end there, but Hercule Poirot, as well.

One so frequently finds in girls a disinclination to stick to the important subject.

You know, the more I see of women, the more I think that there ought to be a law. Something has got to be done about this sex, or the whole fabric of Society will collapse, and then what silly asses we shall all look.

Didn’t you tell me once that the Code of the Woosters was ‘Never let a pal down’?”