An 18th-century vagabond in England, exhausted and famished, came to a roadside inn with a sign reading, “George and the Dragon.” He knocked. The innkeeper’s wife stuck her head out a window.
“Could ye spare some victuals?” he asked.
The woman glanced at his shabby, dirty clothes.
“No!” she shouted.
“Could I have a pint of ale?”
“No!” she shouted.
“Could I at least sleep in your stable?”
“No!” she shouted again.
The vagabond said, “Might I please…”
“What now?” the woman screeched, not allowing him to finish.
“D’ye suppose,” he asked, “that I might have a word with George?”
“Could ye spare some victuals?” he asked.
The woman glanced at his shabby, dirty clothes.
“No!” she shouted.
“Could I have a pint of ale?”
“No!” she shouted.
“Could I at least sleep in your stable?”
“No!” she shouted again.
The vagabond said, “Might I please…”
“What now?” the woman screeched, not allowing him to finish.
“D’ye suppose,” he asked, “that I might have a word with George?”
Thanks to MadPriest!
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