Stingy Jack

Shrugging, Jack turned from the stranger to address the pub owner.  “Bar keep.  One of your finest ales, please.”

“You know the rules, Jack.  Cash only.”

“Me credits always been good before.”

“Not anymore, Jack.  No money.  No ale.”  The pub owner turned and walked away.

“Why, the Saints preserve us,” Jack declared.  He turned to the stranger.  “Can ye believe such a thing?  What strange Devilry is at work here that a thirsty man can’t even get a pint of drink on a cold night such as this?”

“Devilry?” the stranger finally said.

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