He remembered his Shakespeare.
My kingdom for a ... horse? Six horses. Maybe, just maybe, at the Inn of Six Horses....
A short man at the bar, composing one half of the clientele, was calling the bartender's attention to the fact that the six horses outside outnumbered the customers.
"Go to blazes," the bartender commented on the short man's observation.
"I should," said the short one. "Then George here would be Uncas, the last of the Mohicans, riding your six old white stallions."
"How do you know they're stallions?" George said. He was lean, mean and weary, looking as if he had just returned from a hard day of peddling vacuum cleaners.
The door banged shut and three pairs of eyes focused on a dirty man.
"Here comes a touch," said Pete.
"Please," said the man, his voice shaky and weak.
"Before you go into your act, pal," Pete said, "understand this: Nobody gets nothing free here, this ain't no mission or nothing. This is a business like any place else."