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 in Portland some time later—was there for quite a while, watching the sights of a growing town. One day a fellow with overalls and a bucket of paste asked me if I wanted to work for a ticket. I said, “Yes,” quick. He said, “All right, carry this bucket while I bill the town for Clara Morris and I will give you two tickets for the show.” I asked him what it was and he said “Camille.” It would be two weeks before the show got there, so I took the tickets after a hard, sticky day’s work and went back to Silverton. I exhibited the tickets in the post-office showcase. They were the first Portland theatre tickets ever seen there. I asked a few people what “Camille” was like, but nobody seemed to know. Finally one of my sisters that was going on the other ticket said she knew it was a comic opera and we want to see Clara Morris in “Camille” without a handkerchief and as a result we both had bad colds into the next month. Country people never