P. G. Wodehouse

“ The last of the series struck the wooden edge of my racquet, and soared over the back net into the shrubbery, after the manner of a snick to long slip off a fast bowler.
"Game," said Mr. Chase, "we'll look for that afterwards."
I felt a worm and no man. Phyllis, I thought, would probably judge my entire character from this exhibition. A man, she would reflect, who could be so feeble and miserable a failure at tennis, could not be good for much in any department of life. She would compare me instinctively with my opponent, and contrast his dash and brilliance with my own inefficiency. ”

“ Furthermore, by judicious questioning, I found that Hawk was once in the Navy, and stationed at Malta. Now, who's going to drag in Sherlock Holmes?"
"You don't really think—?" I said, feeling like a criminal in the dock when the case is going against him.
"I think friend Hawk has been re-enacting the joys of his vanished youth, so to speak."
"He ought to be prosecuted," said Phyllis, blazing with indignation.
Alas, poor Hawk!
"Nobody's safe with a man of that sort, hiring out a boat." Oh, miserable Hawk!
"But why on earth should he play a trick like that on Professor Derrick, Chase?" ”

“ I walked slowly out across the fields. That same star, in which I had confided on a former occasion, was at its post. It looked placid and cheerful. It never got beaten by six games to love under the very eyes of a lady-star. ”