”My God! What happened to you?” the bartender asked
Kelly as he hobbled in on a crutch, one arm in a cast.
”I got in a tiff with Riley.”
”Riley? He’s just a wee fellow,” the barkeep said,
surprised. ”He must have had something in his hand.”
”That he did,” Kelly said. ”A shovel it was.”
”Dear Lord. Didn’t you have anything in your hand?”
”Aye, that I did — Mrs. Riley’s left boob.” Kelly
said. ”And a beautiful thing it was, but not much use
in a fight.”
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