It was raining hard and a big puddle had formed in front of the little Irish pub.
An old man stood beside the puddle holding a stick with a string on the end and jiggled it up and down in the water.
A curious gentleman asked what he was doing.
‘Fishing’, replied the old man.
Poor old fool, thought the gentlemen.
So, he decided he would invite the old man to have a drink in the pub.
Feeling he should start some conversation while they were sipping their whiskey, the gentleman asked, ‘And, how many have you caught today?’
‘You’re the eighth.’ 