Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he’d just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut and bruised and he's walking with a limp.
''What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.
"Jamie O'Conner and me had us a fight," says Paddy.
"That little shit, O'Conner," says Sean, "he couldn’a done all that to you. He must have had something in his hand.''
"That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it.''
”Well," says Sean, "you shoulda defended yerself, shouldn’t ya? Didn't you have something in YOUR hand?"
''Aye, that I did," said Paddy."Mrs. O'Conner's breast. A thing of beauty it was, but absolutely useless in a fight."