WALTER NEVILLE..... Without a doubt and you will agree, This fellow is vout O roo oo nee. He glares through the air over a dominant snout, And talks of things we know nothing about. He teaches you marriage, and stuff like that there, But nothing compares with his beautiful hair. From all appearances he has only one fault. He ends each sentence with a tongue assault. 10 ARE YOU A PILL ? ? ? Pills By Jim Scoffield During my experience in selling medicine, I couldn't help noticing something about the drug business that seemed very peculiar to me. This fact is that numerous people who appear to be well, normal human beings, buy pills. Actually it doesn't sound as if there would be any harm in a healthy person's buying a pill or two; but the situation aroused my interest so much that I found myself unconsciously studying this endless line of "pill purchasers", the greatest part of which appeared to me just sick in their heads. I believe the incentive which directed my interest to this subject was a certain group of middle-aged women who seemed to have little characteristics in common. For instance, they all wore glasses, too much make-up, fur coats, expensive clothing, and unearthly looking hats, and talked as if they were Little Lord Fauntleroy's sisters by marriage. Incidentally, these characteristics seem to be the latest thing in the better American social circles. One day a very petite woman, who filled the above description to a "T", came into the store and informed me that her pills were the wrong color. I raised my right eyebrow slightly and asked her what color they were supposed to be. I then sent the prescription with the necessary information up to the pharmacist who immediately remedied the situation. The new color seemed to satisfy her fancy and she went merrily on her way. When she was out of hearing, I shouted up to the pharmacist, "Hey, Pete, what was the data on that last bottle of pills?" I suspected the nature of his reply and was satisfied when he answered, "Same pill, different color." What would her bridge associates think if she were to have a different colored pill at every meeting? Another of my beloved customers aroused my imagination one day when she paid fifteen dollars for a small bottle of pills and mentioned something about prices going down. I could see her walking across a five-inch carpet the next day with a deck of cards in one hand and that costly little bottle of pills in the other. The bridge party would last about twenty minutes and the diagnosis of her ailments about three hours. I attribute a married man's nightmares directly to this kind of situation. Even a millionaire seeing one-dollar bills attached to brightly colored pills floating by in his dreams would emit a slight groan or two; and a five-thousand-dollar-a-year man would probably fly clear out of bed. After studying this catastrophe as I had, and noting that it was too far gone to be altered, I wondered if there were not some definite background for what I think is a silly American custom. I believe that we usually have a very sound basis on which we build a lasting tradition, especially one that has been as successful as this; but as yet I have been unable to discover this background basis. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe Paul Revere swallowed three or four sulfa pills before making his famous ride, and maybe Abe Lincoln chewed, on a Vitamin-B- Complex tablet before making the "Gettysburg Address." That would be a strong cornerstone for any tradition. But if I am wrong, then Squibb and Parke and Davis should be more famous men than they are, and our battlecry should be, "How sick can I get?" or "What is the price of a new bottle of pills?" 11