Mary Richfield (Ryan & Richfield) had a headache; the Los Angeles sun had been too much for her. She went in to a drug store and asked the clerk for a headache powder. This clerk was not a first-class drugger; he was just a student; but he knew where the headache powders were, so he got one for her; got his ten cents and started away. Mary looked around; there was no soda fountain, no water tank.
"Well, here," she said; the young man stopped and looked back at her. "Where am I supposed to take this powder?"
"In your mouth, Mam."
One cold, blustery day several of us were sitting in the stage door tender's little room at the Orpheum, Denver, when the door was thrown open and in hurried a boy of fifteen or sixteen.
"Where's Cressy?" he asked briskly.
"Right here," I answered in the same manner.
"I want a sketch."
"All right."