Reginald

Saki

I found everyone talking nervously and feverishly of the weather and the war in South Africa, except Reginald, who was reclining in a comfortable chair with the dreamy, far-away look that a volcano might wear just after it had desolated entire villages.

Reginald is certainly one of the more witty works I've read in a while. I do not mean witty in the sense of using puns, or witty in the sense of the comics, but instead simple, crushing wit--the type the British are famous for, the type my grandfather can bring down upon any one at a moment's notice.
Reginald is a sort of British high society tale, full of cynicism (especially when the preposterous pretensions of high society are involved) which reminded me very much of P. G. Wodehouse. Of course, Wodehouse is much jollier and never quite so sarcastic, but I got the feeling that Wodehouse drew heavily on this sort of thing in creating his own stories.
If you find yourself entertained by half-whimsical, half-cynical romps through society life, in which many of the more biting witticisms are not explained, but worth understanding, I think you might like Saki.