The Apple Tree.
Mrs Pennington has an apple tree growing close to her neighbour’s fence. One day she spots him picking the apples from the overhanging branches …
“Mr. Robb, what are you doing?” she said, approaching the fence at surprising speed for her age. Mr. Robb placed another choice apple in his basket and looked up.
“’Allo, Mrs. P.”
“What are you doing, picking my apples?”
“I’m not. These are my apples.”
“How can they possibly be yours? This is my tree and it very clearly stands in my garden.”
“Ah – but this bit of tree is in my garden. It over’angs, see?”
“What possible difference does that make?”
“It makes all the difference. It makes ‘em my apples.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“That’s the law.” Mr. Robb plucked another apple and placed it in his basket. “See, the law says that this ‘ere tree might well be in your garden but if it comes over my side, then legally like, whatever over’angs this fence, is mine.”
“Give them to me this instant!”
“No.”
“I insist!
“You can insist all you like, my dear.”
“How dare you!” Mrs. Pennington turned pink with anger.
“How dare I what?”
“How dare you speak to me in those terms! I am not your ‘dear’ – and those are my apples!”
“No, these are my apples. In fact, even the branches are mine. I could saw ‘em off if was so inclined.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“I certainly would! But that’d be a terrible waste of good apples!”
“I shall call the police.”
“Go on then. They’re probably partial to a nice Cox’s!”
End
Mrs Pennington has an apple tree growing close to her neighbour’s fence. One day she spots him picking the apples from the overhanging branches …
“Mr. Robb, what are you doing?” she said, approaching the fence at surprising speed for her age. Mr. Robb placed another choice apple in his basket and looked up.
“’Allo, Mrs. P.”
“What are you doing, picking my apples?”
“I’m not. These are my apples.”
“How can they possibly be yours? This is my tree and it very clearly stands in my garden.”
“Ah – but this bit of tree is in my garden. It over’angs, see?”
“What possible difference does that make?”
“It makes all the difference. It makes ‘em my apples.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“That’s the law.” Mr. Robb plucked another apple and placed it in his basket. “See, the law says that this ‘ere tree might well be in your garden but if it comes over my side, then legally like, whatever over’angs this fence, is mine.”
“Give them to me this instant!”
“No.”
“I insist!
“You can insist all you like, my dear.”
“How dare you!” Mrs. Pennington turned pink with anger.
“How dare I what?”
“How dare you speak to me in those terms! I am not your ‘dear’ – and those are my apples!”
“No, these are my apples. In fact, even the branches are mine. I could saw ‘em off if was so inclined.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“I certainly would! But that’d be a terrible waste of good apples!”
“I shall call the police.”
“Go on then. They’re probably partial to a nice Cox’s!”
End
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