An extract from Murder Must Advertise, for your edification and enjoyment.
"“I like to be agreeable with everybody,” said Mr. Smayle, “but reelly, when it comes to shoving your way past a person into the lift as if one wasn't there and then telling you to keep your hands off as if a person was dirt, a man may be excused for taking offence. I suppose Tallboy thinks I'm not worth speaking to, just because he's been to a public school and I haven't.”
“Public school,” said Mr. Bredon, “first I've heard of it. What public school?”
“He was at Dumbleton,” said Mr. Smayle, “but what I say is, I went to a Council School and I'm not ashamed of it.”
“Where's Dumbleton?” demanded Ingleby. “I shouldn't worry, Smayle. Dumbleton isn't a public school, within the meaning of the act.”
“Isn't it?” said Mr. Smayle, hopefully. “Well, you and Mr. Bredon have had college educations, so you know all about it. What schools do you call public schools?”
“Eton,” said Mr. Bredon, promptly, “—and Harrow,” he added, magnanimously, for he was an Eton man.
“Rugby,” suggested Mr. Ingleby.
“No, no,” protested Bredon, “that's a railway junction.”
Ingleby delivered a brisk left-hander to Bredon's jaw, which the latter parried neatly.
“And I've heard,” Bredon went on, “that there's a decentish sort of place at Winchester, if you're not too particular.”
“I once met a man who'd been to Marlborough,” suggested Ingleby.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Bredon. “They get a terrible set of hearty roughs down there. You can't be too careful of your associates, Ingleby.”