"You evidently take me for a--" "I take you for Joe Striker; and if you keep on, I'll take you to jail," said the sheriff; with emphasis.

"Now, you tell me who's got those stakes and who's your trainer, and I'll put an end to the whole thing." "You seem to imagine that I am a pugilist," said Mr.Striker.

"Let me inform you, sir, that I am a clergyman." "Joe," said the sheriff, shaking his head, "it's too bad for you to lie that way--too bad, indeed." "But I _am_ a clergyman, sir--pastor of the church of St.Sepulchre.
Look! here is a letter in my pocket addressed to me." "You don't really mean to say that you're a preacher named Joseph Striker ?" exclaimed the sheriff, looking scared.
"Certainly I am.

Come up stairs and I'll show you a barrelful of my sermons." "Well, if this don't beat Nebuchadnezzar!" said the sheriff.

"This is awful! Why, I mistook you for Joe Striker, the prize-fighter! I don't know how I ever--A preacher! What an ass I've made of myself! I don't know how to apologize; but if you want to kick me down the front steps, just kick away; I'll bear it like an angel." Then the sheriff withdrew unkicked, and Mr.Striker went up stairs to finish his Sunday sermon.