A couple good ones from Wodehouse’s Psmith in the City:

“‘My father,’ Psmith had confided to Mike, meeting him at the station in
the family motor on the Monday, ‘is a man of vast but volatile brain.
He has not that calm, dispassionate outlook on life which marks your
true philosopher, such as myself. I–’

‘I say,’ interrupted Mike, eyeing Psmith’s movements with apprehension,
‘you aren’t going to drive, are you?”

–

“As Psmith sat in the library with a novel, the waiter entered, and
approached him.

‘Beg pardon, sir,’ he said. ‘Are you a member of this club?’

Psmith fumbled in his pocket and produced his eye-glass, through which
he examined the waiter, button by button.

‘I am Psmith,’ he said simply.

‘A member, sir?’

‘_The_ member,’ said Psmith. ‘Surely you participated in the
general rejoicings which ensued when it was announced that I had been
elected? But perhaps you were too busy working to pay any attention. If
so, I respect you. I also am a worker. A toiler, not a flatfish. A
sizzler, not a squab. Yes, I am a member. Will you tell Mr Bickersdyke
that I am sorry, but I have been elected, and have paid my entrance fee
and subscription.’”