Max Beerbohm

“ A back-hander from Judlip's left caused me to hop quickly aside. The prisoner was squealing and whimpering. He didn't like the feel of Judlip's knuckles at his cervical vertebræ.
"Wot wos yer doin' hup there?" asked Judlip, tightening the grip.
"I'm S-Santa Claus, Sir. P-please, Sir, let me g-go"
"Hold him," I shouted. "He's a German."
"It's my dooty ter caution yer that wotever yer say now may be used in hevidence against yer, yer old sinner. Pick up that there sack, an' come along o' me."
The captive snivelled something about peace on earth, good will toward men.
"Yuss," said Judlip. ”

“ As fine, upstanding, square-toed, bullet-headed, clean-living a son of a gun as ever perjured himself in the box. There was nothing of the softy about Smithers. I took off my billicock to Smithers' memory. ”

“ Judlip looked up at the stars. "Over above 'im's We Dunno Wot. Somethin' wot issues its horders an' regulations an' divisional injunctions, inscrootable like, but p'remptory; an' we 'as ter see as 'ow they're carried out, not arskin' no questions, but each man goin' about 'is dooty.'"
"' 'Is dooty,'" said I, looking up from my note-book. "Yes, I've got that."
"Life ain't a bean-feast. It's a 'arsh reality. An' them as makes it a bean-feast 'as got to be 'arshly dealt with accordin'. That's wot the Force is put 'ere for from Above. Not as 'ow we ain't fallible. We makes our mistakes. ”