"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. The sheriff talked of resigning, but he
continues to hold on.

* * * * *

Mr. Slingsby, our assessor and tax-collector, holds on too. He
is another model member of our civil service. The principal
characteristic of Mr. Slingsby is enthusiasm. He has an idea that