""Oh, tut, tut, tut" I said. "Oh dear, dear, dear! Oh no,no,no,no,no! I dont think much of this," I said, curling and clicking freely. "All wrong."
"All wrong. Modern Dutch"
"Modern Dutch?" He may have frothed at the mouth, or he may not. I couldn't be sure. But the agony of spirit was obviously intense. "What do you mean, Modern Dutch? It's eighteenth-century English. Lood at the hall-mark?"
"I cant see any hall-mark."
"Are you blind? Here, take it outside in the street. It's lighter there."
"Right ho," I said, and started for the door, sauntering at first in a languid sort of way, like a connoisseur a bit bored at having his time wasted.
I say "at first," because I had only taken a couple of steps when I tripped over the cat, and you can't combine tripping over cats with languid sauntering. Shifting abruptly into high, I shot out of the door like someone wanted by the police making for the car after a smash-and-grab raid. The cow-creamer flew from my hands, and it was a lucky thing that I happened to barge into a fellow citizen outside, or I should have taken a toss in the gutter." (The Code of the Woosters, PG Wodehouse)