P. G. Wodehouse

“ And Pugsy, though he had made no verbal comment on the affair, had shown in many ways that he was not ungrateful.
"Bully for you, Pugsy!" he cried. "You're a little sport. Here"—he produced a dollar-bill—"go out and get some milk for the poor brute. She's probably starving. Keep the change."
"Sure thing," assented Master Maloney. He strolled slowly out, while Billy Windsor, mounting a chair, proceeded to chirrup and snap his fingers in the effort to establish the foundations of an entente cordiale with the rescued cat. ”

“ Billy had noticed earlier in the proceedings that a narrow leather collar encircled the cat's neck. He had not paid any particular attention to it. "What about it?" he said.
"Guess I know where dat kitty belongs. Dey all have dose collars. I guess she's one of Bat Jarvis's kitties. He's got a lot of dem for fair, and every one wit one of dem collars round deir neck."
"Who's Bat Jarvis? Do you mean the gang-leader?"
"Sure. He's a cousin of mine," said Master Maloney with pride.
"Is he?" said Billy. "Nice sort of fellow to have in the family. So you think that's his cat?" ”

“ All reporters dream of reaching New York. At last, after four years on the Kentucky paper, he had come East, minus the lobe of one ear and plus a long scar that ran diagonally across his left shoulder, and had worked without much success as a free-lance. ”