It was a long day at work, and George decided to leave his London office and walk to the pub across the street to get a few drinks. The rain was pouring as he stepped out, and there was a big puddle in front of the pub. As he crossed the street, he noticed a ragged old man was standing there with a rod and hanging a string into the puddle. His curiosity piqued, he stopped next to the old man and asked what he was doing. "Fishing." The old man said simply without looking at George. "Poor old fool." George thought, and he invited the ragged old man to a drink in the pub. He felt he should start some conversation while they were sipping their whiskey, so he thought he'd humor the old man and asked, "Well... how many have you caught?" "You're the eighth."