Love Among the Chickens. Пелам Гренвилл Вудхаус

      "My letter saying that I should arrive to-night. You did not get it?"

      "No, sir."

      "Now look here, Beale," said Ukridge, " I am certain that that letter was posted. I remember placing it in my pocket for that purpose. It is not there now. See. These are all the contents of my—well, I'm hanged!"

      He stood looking at the envelope he had produced from his breast pocket. Mr. Beale coughed.

      "Beale," said Ukridge, " you—er—there seems to have been a mistake."

      "Yes, sir."

      ​"You are not so much to blame as I thought."

      "No, sir."

      "Anyhow," said Ukridge, in inspired tones, "I'll go and slay that infernal dog. Where's your gun, Beale?"

      But better counsels prevailed, and the proceedings closed with a cold but pleasant little dinner, at which the spared mongrel came out unexpectedly strong with brainy and diverting tricks.