They pointed out that the friendship between the two artists had always been a byword or whatever you called it. A well-read Egg summed it up by saying that they were like Thingummy and what's-his-name.
P. G. WodehouseHe was a long, stripy policeman, who flowed out of his uniform at odd spots, as if Nature, setting out to make a constable, had had a good deal of material left over which she had not liked to throw away but hardly seemed able to fit into the general scheme.
P. G. WodehouseThere are three things in the world that he held in the smallest esteem - slugs, poets and caddies with hiccups.
P. G. Wodehouse