”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 used something on you.”
”That he did,” Kelly said. ”A shovel it was.”
”Dear Lord. Didn’t you have anything to retaliate with?”
”Aye, that I did — Mrs. Riley’s left boob.” Kelly said. ”And a beautiful thing it was, but not much use in a fight.”