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02-19-2022, 09:05 PM
O’Brien comes staggering into Murphy’s pub, beat black and blue. Murphy stops wiping down the counter and exclaims, “O’Brien, what in the world happened? Who beat you up so bad?” [Murphy, while a compassionate man, had little respect for the adverbial form.]
“T’was Flynn did this t’me,” O’Brien replies.
“Flynn?” Murphy replies, incredulously. “Why, that little squint could na’ have done this to you, unless he had somethin’ in his hand!”
“That he did,” said O’Brien. “He had a fireplace poker in his hand.”
“But did ye not have anythin’ in your own hand?”
“I did indeed – Mrs. Flynn’s breast, and a thing of beauty it was…but useless in battle.”
“T’was Flynn did this t’me,” O’Brien replies.
“Flynn?” Murphy replies, incredulously. “Why, that little squint could na’ have done this to you, unless he had somethin’ in his hand!”
“That he did,” said O’Brien. “He had a fireplace poker in his hand.”
“But did ye not have anythin’ in your own hand?”
“I did indeed – Mrs. Flynn’s breast, and a thing of beauty it was…but useless in battle.”
