P. G. Wodehouse
Although nobody who had met him was likely to get George Cyril
Wellbeloved confused with the poet Keats, it was extraordinary on what
similar lines the two men's minds worked. ``Oh, for a beaker of the
warm South, full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene!'' sang Keats,
licking his lips, and ``Oh, for a mug of beer, with, if possible, a
spot of gin in it!'' sighed George Cyril Wellbeloved, licking his; and
in quest of the elixir he had visited in turn the Emsworth Arms, the
Wheatsheaf, the Waggoner's Rest, the Beetle and Wedge, the Stitch in
Time, the Jolly Cricketers and all the other hostelries at which
Market Blandings pointed with so much pride.
But everywhere the story was the same. Barmaids had been given
their instructions, pot boys warned to be on the alert. They had
placed at his disposal gingerbeer, ginger ale, sarsaparilla, lime
juice and on one occasion milk, but his request for the cup that
clears today of past regrets and future fears was met with a firm
nolle prosequi . Staunch and incorruptible, the barmaids and the pot
boys refused to serve him with anything that would have interested
Omar Khayyam, and he had come away parched and saddened.
To get another quote, update this page.
Brought to you by The Drones' Club.