thor
Well-known member
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2007
- Messages
- 268
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?”
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?”
