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 a fight,' says Paddy. 'That little O'Conner ,' says Sean ,
'He couldn't do 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 should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?' That I did,' said Paddy, ' Mrs. O'Conner 's breast, and a thing of beauty it was; but useless in a fight.'
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'What happened to you?' asks Sean , the bartender.' Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight,' says Paddy. 'That little O'Conner ,' says Sean ,
'He couldn't do 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 should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?' That I did,' said Paddy, ' Mrs. O'Conner 's breast, and a thing of beauty it was; but useless in a fight.'
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