P. G. Wodehouse

“ Jimmy went on smoking in silence for a while. He saw what was passing in his adversary's mind, and it seemed to him that it would do no harm to let the thing sink in.
“Look here, Mr. McEachern,” he said, at last, “I wish you could listen quietly to me for a minute or two. There's really no reason on earth why we should always be at one another's throats in this way. We might just as well be friends, as we should be if we met now for the first time. Our difficulty is that we know too much about each other. You knew me in New York, and you know what I did there. ”

“ If it came to blows, the younger man could not hope to hold his own with the huge policeman.
“You!” roared McEachern. Jimmy fancied he could feel the wind of the moving fist. “You marry me daughter! A New York crook. The sweepings of the Bowery. A man who ought to be in jail. I'd like to break your face in.”
“I noticed that,” said Jimmy. “If it's all the same to you, will you take your fist out of my mouth? It makes it a little difficult to carry on a conversation. ”

“ Outwardly calm, inwardly very much alive to the fact that at any moment the primitive man in him might lead his prospective father-in-law beyond the confines of self-restraint, Jimmy sat still in his chair, his eyes fixed steadily on those of his relative-to-be. ”