Galahad at Blandings

an exerpt in part from the 12th page of said book containing the characters Tipton Plimsoll (the tall thin one) and Wilfred Allsop (pint-size and fragile and rather like the poet Shelley in appearance):

"The officer hurried off, and Tipton gazed after him, awed.

'What marlarkey people talk about the New York police being brutal,' he said. 'Brutal, my left eyeball. I never met a sweeter guy, did you?'

'Never.'

'You can hear the milk of human kindness sloshing about inside him.'

'Distinctly.'

'It wouldn't surprise me to find he'd started life as a Boy Scout.'

'Nor me.'

'It shows how silly it is to go by people's looks. It's not his fault that he's no oil painting.'

'Of course not.'

'And what is beauty, after all?'

'Exactly. Skin deep, I often say.'

'So do i, frequently.'

'It's the heart that counts.'

'Every time. And his is as big as the Yankee Stadium.'"

Posted by hill at December 14, 2006 09:44 AM