Mr. Pott seemed wounded. "That's a nasty thing to say."
"It was meant to be. Because," said Ricky, becoming frank, "if ever there was a pot-bellied little human louse who needed to have the stuffing kicked out of him and his remains jumped on by strong men with hobnailed boots, it is you, Mr. Pott. The next time I see a mob in the street setting on you, I shall offer to hold their coats and stand by and cheer."
(from Uncle Fred in the Springtime, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
No comments:
Post a Comment