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?"
Tramp just knocked on my door.
"What do you want?" i asked him.
"I haven't eaten for 3 days, have you any food to spare?" he begged.
"Can you eat cold rice pudding?" i asked.
He nodded, eagerly licking his lips.
"Well come back tomorrow, it's still hot" i said, closing the door on him.