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?"
Funny you should mention that I've been told that the landlord at the George and Dragon in Wentworth was called George (don't know if he's still there) and that his wife was known as the dragon because she was rather ferocious.
