It was pelting down with rain and a big puddle had formed out the front of a pub.

An old man stood beside the puddle holding a stick with a string on the end and began jiggling it up and down in the water. A young man, who was travelling through the town, stopped to ask what he was doing.

“Fishing,” replied the old man.

The young man felt sorry for the old man and invited him inside the pub to have a drink.

He decided to strike up a conversation while they sipped on their beer.

“How many have you caught?” he asked the old man.

“You’re the eighth,” the old man replied.

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