Standing on the steps at the entrance to one of the grand hotels at
Saratoga, a young gentleman, in whom the "dude" species was strongly
developed, had been listening with eager attention to the bright things
which fell from the lips of the well-known wit and orator, Emory A. Storrs.
At last our exquisite exclaimed: "Er--Mr. Storrs,--I--er--wish, oh! how
I--er--_wish_! that I had your--er--cheek."
Mr. Storrs instantly annihilated him with: "It is a most fortunate
dispensation of Providence that you have not. For, _with my cheek and
your brains_, you would be kicked down these steps in no time!"