[reacting to soup splashed on his uniform from a dinner roll that Tuppy tossed to draw Bertie's attention] This is not the sort of behavior we allow on this ship!
[to the captain, with affected upper-class accent] Eh, look, I'm terribly sorry, señor. Quel fromage and all that. [to Bertie, apparently not registering that the captain also speaks English] That'll hold him. They love it when you speak the old lingo.
Exactly, Jeeves. Well, this blasted Pershore seems to be noted for adhering tightly to Woosters. Can't get rid of the blighter. Just as I'm about to click with some toothsome filly, up pops Motty Pershore to enliven proceedings by standing at my elbow like a wet weekend at Chalfont St. Giles.
Well, sir, it was partly because of the restricted size of Manhattan Island and partly because the island is solid granite and therefore capable of supporting such structures.
You, er, ate something last night that disagreed with you, did you?
WPWilmot Pershore
No. Nothing of the kind. I drank too much. Much too much. Lots and lots too much. And what's more, I'm going to do it again! I'm going to do it every night!
Yes, well... yes, right. You see, the thing is, Motty — I'm sort of responsible for you, so to speak, and if you carry on like this I'm liable to end up neck-deep in the soup with your mother.
WPWilmot Pershore
Well, I can't help your troubles, old thing. This is the first time in my life I've had the chance to yield to the temptations of a great city.
No, old thing. All my bally life I've been cooped up in the ancestral home in Much Middlefold in Shropshire. And until you've been cooped up in Much Middlefold in Shropshire, you don't know what cooping is. This is my only chance to assemble a disreputable past, and I'm going to take it!
What do you mean, "my peculiar scent"? Jeeves, I do not intend to hang about in my bedroom while life slips by, in the hope that one of these days some dratted animal will decide that I smell all right!
Because, Jeeves, of all places on this great planet of ours, West Neck, Long Island, has been chosen to be the most unexciting. The last time anything remotely interesting happened here was in 1842, when a tree fell over. They still talk about it in the village.
Good Lord, I'd have to dress for dinner every night! I won't do it. I can't do it! Do you realize, I don't usually get out of my pajamas till five in the afternoon, and then I just put on a sweater, like this?
Well, I shall certainly bear your generous invitation in mind if I am in the vicinity. Good afternoon, madam. [tips his hat, and he and Bertie hurry up the stairs]
