. . . For my part I can always
hit it off with a commercial--it's the sort of mind that appeals to
me--and these French bagmen _do_ know something about eating and
drinking. That's how it happened. One of them started chaffing us
about the _ordinaire_ we were drinking--quite a respectable tap, by
the way. He had heard that Englishmen drank only the strongest wine,
and drank it in any quantities. Then another said: 'Ah, messieurs,
if you would drink for the honour of England, _justement_ you should
match yourselves here in this town against the famous Mont-Bazillac.'
'What is this Mont-Bazillac?' we asked: and they told us--well,
pretty much what you told me just now--adding, however, that the
landlord kept a few precious bottles of it. They were quite fair in
their warnings."
"Which, of course, you disregarded."
"For the honour of England. We rang for the landlord--a decent
fellow, Sebillot by name--and at first, I may tell you, he wasn't at
all keen on producing the stuff; kept protesting that he had but a
small half-dozen left, that his daughter was to be married in the
autumn, and he had meant to keep it for the wedding banquet.
Pages:
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63