Paddy Murphy limps into a Belfast pub looking as if he'd just been run over by a train. His arm in a sling, his nose is broken and his face is cut and bruised. "What happened to you?" asks Sean, the barman. "Jamie O'Connor and me had a fight," says Paddy. "That little swine, O'Connor," 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'Connor's breast, and a thing of beauty it was, but useless in a fight."