There was once upon a time a certain governor of a large estate who was sitting with a couple of his friends, amusing them with stories of the peasant farmers that worked the land for him.

“These are such simple people,” he told his friends. “Imagine – last week there was a knock at the door, and there stood a peasant carrying a large hen under his arm. He told me that he had gone to the village to gamble with his mates, and he declared that he would gamble only in my name! As if I were a saint! And the hen was what he won, so he came to present it to me. This belongs to you, your honour, he said.”

“Such faith is really touching,” said one friend.

“Yes, but that is not all,” said the governor. “A few days later, he came back, this time with a goat. Your honour, he said, I gambled again in your name, and this is what I won. The goat is yours!”

“Such naive innocence,” said the other friend. “And what harm can there be in it? You get presents, and it’s good for your ego, I suppose?”

“Well,” said the governor modestly, “I suppose I do have a role to fulfil.”

Just then there was a knock at the door, and when the governor opened it, he saw it was again the same peasant, so he gave his friends a knowing look. But the peasant was accompanied by two other unfriendly looking men, and he said, “Your honour, I went gambling again, in your name. And I lost five hundred pieces of gold! So these men have come for you to pay them.”