P. G. Wodehouse

“ Perhaps it was a certain subtle familiarity in his manner of speaking to Molly that annoyed him. Jimmy objected strongly to any one addressing her as if there existed between them some secret understanding. Already the mood of the old New York days was strong upon him. His instinct then had been to hate all her male acquaintances with an unreasoning hatred. He found himself in much the same frame of mind, now.
“So you're Spennie's friend,” said Mr. Wesson, “the man who's going to show us all how to act, what?” ”

“ Rich uncle. Poor nephew. Deceased uncle. Rich nephew. I'm a man with money now. Lots of money.”
“How nice for you, Jimmy. Father came into money, too. That's how I come to be over here. I wish you and father had got on better together.”
“Your father, my dear Molly, has a manner with people he is not fond of which purists might call slightly abrupt. Perhaps things will be different, now.”
The horse gave a sudden whinny.
“I wish you wouldn't do that sort of thing without warning,” said Jimmy to it plaintively. ”

“ A boy doesn't want to forget things if he's going to make his way in the world. I told Spencer so in the automobile.”
Jimmy had noticed that Spennie was not in the room. He now understood his absence. After the ride he had probably felt that an hour or two passed out of his aunt's society would not do him any harm. He was now undergoing a rest cure, Jimmy imagined, in the billiard room. ”