The Manchester Journal. (Manchester, Okla.), Vol. 21, No. 10, Ed. 1 Friday, August 8, 1913 Page: 3 of 4
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CHAPTER I.
He paused on the platform and
glanced at his watch. The train on
whloh he had just arrived was late.
It hurried away from the station, and
was swallowed up In the blackness of |
the tunnel,-as If It knew Its own short-
comings and wished to make up for
them.
It was five minutes of six, and as
the young man looked back at the
long flight of steps that led to the
bridge across the tracks, a delicate
penciling of electric light flaehed into
outline against the city’s deepening
dusk, emphasizing the lateness of the
hour. He had a dinner engagement at
seven, and It was yet some distance
to his home, where a rapid toilet must j
be made If he were to arrive on time. ]
The stairway was long, and there
were many people thronging It. A
shorter cut led down along the tracks
under the bridge, and up the grassy
embankment.
Under the center of the bridge a
slight noise behind him, as of soft,
hurrying footsteps, caught his atten-
tion, and a woman's voice broke upon
his startled senses.
"Please don’t stop, nor look around,”
it said, and the owner caught up with
him now In the shadow. "But will
you kindly let me walk beside you for
a moment, till you can show me how
to get out of this dreadful place? I
am very much frightened, and I’m
afraid I shall be followed. Will you
tell me where I can go to hide?”
After an instant's astonished pause,
ho obeyed her and kept on, making
room for her to walk beside him, w'hlle
he took the place next to the tracks.
He was aware, too, of the low rumble
of a train, coming from the mouth of
the tunnel.
His companion had gasped for
breath, but began again in a tone of
apology:
“I saw you were a gentleman, and
I didn’t know what to do. I thought
you would help me to get somewhere
quickly.”
Just then the fiery eye of the oncom-
ing train burst from the tunnel ahead,
instinctively, the young man caught
his companion’s arm and drew her
forward to the embankment beyond
the bridge, holding her, startled and
trembling, as the screaming train tore
past them.
The man’s first thought was to get
out of the cut before another train
should come. He grasped his compan-
ion’s arm and started up the steep
embankment, realizing as he did so
that the wrist he held was slender,
and that the sleeve which covered It
was of the finest cloth.
As they emerged from the dark, the
man saw that his companion was a
young and beautiful woman, and that
she wore a light cloth gown with
neither hat nor gloves.
At the top of the embankment they
paused, and the girl, with her hand at
her throat, looked backward with a
shudder. Sho seemed like a young
bird that could scarcely tell which
way to fly.
Without an Instant’s hesitation, the
young man raised his hand and hailed
a four-wheeler across the street
“Come this way, quick!” he urged,
helping her in. He gave the driver
his home address and stepped in after
her. Then, turning, he faced his com-
panion, and was suddenly keenly
aware of the strange situation In
which he had placed hlmeelf.
"Can you tell me what Is the mat-
ter," he asked, “and where you would
like to go?”
The girl had scarcely recovered
breath from the long climb and the
fright, and she answered him in
broken phrases.
“No, I cannot tell you what Is the
matter”—she paused and looked at
him, with a sudden comprehension of
what he might be thinking about her
—"but—there is nothing—that 1b—I
have done nothing wrong—’’ She
paused again and looked up with eyes
whose clear depths, he felt, could hide
no guile.
"Of course,” he murmured with de-
cision, and then wondered why he felt
eo sure about It.
"Thank you,” she said. Then, with
frightened perplexity: "I don’t know
where to go. I never was In this city
before. If you will kindly tell me how
to get somewhere—I suppose to a rail-
road station—and yet—no, I have no
money—and"—then with a sudden lit-
tle movement of dismay—"and I have
no hat! Oh!”
The young man felt a strong desire
to shield thlB girl so unexpectedly
thrown on his mercy. Yet vague fears
hovered about the margin of his judg-
ment. Perhaps she wa« a thief or
an adventuress.
The girl was speaking again: "But I
must not trouble you any more. You
have been very kind to get me out
of that dreadful place. If you will
just stop tho carriage and let me out,
1 am sure I can take care of myself.”
"I could not think of letting you
get out hero alone. If you are In dan-
ger, I will help you.” The warmth of
iiis own words startled him. He knew
he ought to be more cautious with a
stranger, but Impetuously he threw
caution to the winds. "If you would
just teU a* * m* m ***** % 19
that I should know what I ought to do
tor you—”
"Oh, I must not tell you! I couldn’t!"
said the girl, her hand fluttering up
to her heart, as if to hold its wild
beating from stifling her. “I am sorry
to have Involved you for a moment In
this. Please let me out here. I am
not frightened, now that’ I got away
from that terrible tunnel. I was afraid
I might have to go in there alone, for
I didn’t see any way to get up the
bank, and 1 couldn't go back."
"I am glad I happened to be there,”
breathed the young man fervently. "It
■would have been dangerous for you to
enter that tunnel. It runs an entire
block. You would probably have been
killed.”
The girl shut her eyes and pressed
her fingers to them. In the light of
the street lamps, he saw’ that she was
very white, and also that there were
Jewels flashing from the rings on her
fingers. It was apparent that she
was a lady of wealth and refinement.
What could have brought her to this
pass?
The carriage came to a sudden stop,
and, looking out, he saw they had
reached his home. A new alarm
seized him as the girl moved as if
to get out. His dignified mother and
hie fastidious sister were probably not
in, but if by any chance they should
not have left the house, what would
they think if they saw a strange, hat-
less young woman descend from the
carriage with him? Moreover, what
would the butler think?
"Excuse me,” he said; "but really,
there are reasons why I shouldn’t like
you to get out of the carriage just
here. Suppose you sit still until I
come out. I have a dinner engage-
ment and must make a few changes
In my dress, but it will take me only
a few minutee. You are in no danger,
and I will take you to some place of
safety. I will try to think what to do
while I am gone. On no account get
out of the carriage. It would make
the driver suspicious, you know. If
you are really followed, he will let no
one disturb you In the carriage, of
course. Don’t d^tresB yourself. I'll
hurry. Can you give me the address
of any friend to whom I might ’phone
or telegraph?”
She shook her head and there wras a
glitter of tears in her eyes as she
replied:
“No, I know of no one in the city
who could help me.”
”1 will help you, then,” he said with
eudden resolve, and In a tone that
would be a comfort to any woman In
distress.
As the young man let himself into
his home with his latch-key, he heard
the butler’B well trained voice answer-
ing the telephone.
"Yes, ma’am; this is Mrs. Dunham’s
residence. . . No, ma’am, she Is not
at home. . . . No, ma’am, Miss Dun-
ham is out aleo. . . . Mr. Dunham?
Just wait a moment, please. I think
Mr. Dunham has just come In. Who
shall I say wishes to speak to him?
. . . Mrs. Parker Bowman? . .
Yes, ma’am; just wait a minute, please
IH call Mr. Dunham.”
The young man frowned. Another
Interruption! And Miss Bowman! It
Looked Backward With a.Shudder.
was at her house that he was to dine.
He took the receiver, resolved to
get out of going to the dinner if it
were possible.
"Good evening, Mrs. Bowman.”
"Oh, is that you, Mr. Dunham?
How relieved I am! I am in a bit of
difficulty about my dinner, and called
up to see if your sister couldn’t help
out Miss Mayo has failed me. Her
sister has had an accident, and she
cannot leave her. She has Just
'phoned me. and 1 don’t know what to
do. Isn’t Cornelia at home? Couldn't
you persuade her to come and help
out?"
"Well, now, that’s too bad. Mrs. Bow-
man,” began the young man. thinking
he saw a way out of both their diffi-
culties. "I'm sorry Cornelia isn’t
here. I'm sure she would do anything
In her power to help you. But she
Hill tonight, and they must have left
he bouse half an hour ago. I’m afraid
iho's out of the question. Suppose
r’ou leave me out? You won’t have
iny trouble then except to take two
plates ofT the table’’—he laughed
aleasantly—"and you would have even
couples. Yqu see,” he hastened to add,
is he heard Mrs. Parker Bowman’s
preliminary dissent—“you Bee, Mrs.
Bowman, I'm in somewhat of a predic-
ament myself. My train was late, and
as I left the station I happened to
meet a young woman—a—a friend.”
(He reflected rapidly on the old pro-
verb, "A friend In need is a friend
Indeed." In that sense she was a
friend.) "She Is temporarily separated
from her friends, and is a stranger In
the city. In fact, I'm the only ac-
quaintance or friend she has, and I
feel rather under obligation to see
her to her hotel and look up trains
for her. She leaves the city tonight.”
"Now, look here. Tryon Dunham,
you’re not going to leave me in the
lurch for any young woman. I don’t
cafe how old an acquaintance she is!
You simply bring her along. She’ll
make up my number and relieve me
wonderfully. No, don’t you say a
word. Just tell her that she needn’t
stand on ceremony. Your mother and
are too old friends for that. Any
friend of yours is a friend of mine,
and my house is open to her. She
won’t mind. These girls who have
traveled a great deal learn to step
over the little formalities of calls and
Introductions. Tell her I’ll call on her
afterwards, If she’ll only remain In
town long enough, or I’ll come and
take dinner with her when I happen
to be in her city. I suppose she’s
Just returned from abroad—they all
have—or else she’s just going—and If
she hasn't learned to accept things as
she finds them, she probably will soon.
Tell her what a plight I’m In, and
that It will be a real blessing to me
if she’ll come. Besides—I didn’t mean
to tell you—I meant It for a surprise,
but I may as well tell you now—
Judge Blackwell is to be here, with his
wife, and I especially want you to
meet him. I’ve been trying to get
you two together for a long time.”
"Ah!” breathed the young man, with
Interest. “Judge Blackwell! I have
wanted to meet him.”
Well, he has heard about you, too,
and I think he wants to meet you. Did
you know he was thinking of taking a
partner into his office? He has al-
ways refused—but that’s another story,
and I haven't time to talk. You ought
to be on your way here now. Tell
your friend I will bless her forever
for helping me out, and I won’t take
no for an answer. You said she’d just
returned from abroad, didn’t you? Of
course she’s musical. You must make
her give us some music. She will
won’t she? I waB depending on Miss
Mayo for that this evening."
“Well, you might be able to per-
suade her,” murmured the distracted
young man at the ’phone, aB he strug-
gled with one hand to untie his neck-
tie and unfasten his collar, and men-
tally calculated bow long it would take
him to get into hie dress suit.
"Yes, of course. You’d better not
speak of it—it might make her de-
cline. And don't let her stop to make
any changes in her dress. Everybody
will understand when I tell them sbe’e
just arrived—didn’t you say?—from
the other side, and we caught her on
the wing. There’s some one coming
now. Do, for pity's sake, hurry, Tryon,
for my cook is terribly crose when 1
hold up a dinner too long. Goodby
Oh, by the way, what did you say wai
her name?”
"Oh—ah!” He almost succeeded In
releasing his collar, and was about tc
hang up the receiver, when this new
difficulty confronted him.
"Oh, yes, of course; her name—1
had almost forgotten," he went on
wildly, to make time, and searched
about In his mind for a name—any
name—that might help him. The tele
phone book lay open at the R’s. He
pounced upon it and took the first
name his eye caught.
“Yes—why—Remington, Mies Rem
ington.”
"Remlngtonl” came In a delighted
scream over the phone. "Not Carolyn
Remington? That would be too good
luck!”
“No," he murmured distractedly;
“no, not Carolyn. Why, I—ah—1
think—Mary—Mary Remington."
“Oh, I’m afraid I haven’t met her
but never mind. Do hurry up, Tryon.
It is five minutes of seven. Where
did you say she lives?’’ but the re-
ceiver was hung up with a click, and
the young man tore up the steps to
his room three at a bound.
He was settling his coat into place
when a queer little bulge attracted
his attention to an Inside pocket Im
patiently he pulled out a pair of long
white gloves. They were his sister's,
and he now remembered she had giv
en them to him to carry the night
before, on the way home from a re-
ception, she having removed them
because it was raining. He looked
at them with a Budden inspiration
Of course! Why had he not thought
of that? He hurried into his sister’s
room to make a selection of a few
necessities for the emergency—only
to have his assurance desert him at
the very threshold. The room was
immaculate, with no feminine finery
lying about. Cornelia Dunham’s maid
was well trained. The only article
that seemed out of place was a band-
box on a chair near the door. It bore
the name of a fashionable milliner,
and across the lid was penciled in
Cornelia's large, angular hand, “To
be returned to Madame Dollard's.”
He caught up the box and strode
over to the cloaet. There was no
time to lose, and this box doubtless
contained a hat of some kind. If it
wae to be returned, Cornelia would
think It had been called for, and no
further inquiry would be made about
ths ailtWi He oould
ante's and sett's the bill without his
sister’s knowledge.
He poked back into the closet and
discovered several wraps and evening
cloaks of more or loss elaborate oust get away somewhere at once.
style, but the thought came to him
that perhaps one of these would be
recognized as Cornelia's. He closed
the door hurriedly and went down to
a large closet under the stairs, from
which he presently emerged with his
mother’s new black rain-coat. He
patted his coat-pocket to be sure he
had the gloveB, seized his hat, and
hurried back to the carriage, the hat-
box in one hand and his mother’s
rain-coat dragging behind him. His
only anxiety was to get out before
the butler saw him
llnner," she gasped, her hand going
:o her throat again, as If to pluck
sway tho delicate lace about It and
give more room for breathing. “I
CHAPTER II.
“I am afraid I have been a long
time,” he said apologetically, as he
closed the door of the carriage, after
giving Mrs. Parker Bowman’s ad-
dress to the driver. In the uncertain
light of the distant arc-lamp, the girl
looked small and appealing. He felt
a strong desire to lift her burdens
and carry them on his own broad
shoulders.
'Tve brought some things that I
thought might help," he said. “Would
you like to put on this coat? It may
not be Just what you would have se-
lected, but it was the best I could
find that would not be recognized.
The air Is growing chilly."
He Bhook out the coat and threw7 i’
around her.
‘Oh, thank you,” she murmured
gratefully, slipping her arms Into ths
sleeves.
'And this box has some kind of a
hat, I hope,” he went on. “I ought
to have looked, but there really
wasn’t time.’’ He unknotted the
strings anJ produced a large picture
hat with long black plumes. He was
relieved to find it black. While he
untied the strings, there had been a
growing uneasiness lest the hat be
one of those wild, queer combinations
of color that Cornelia frequently pur
chased and called "artistic.”
The girl received the liat with a
grateful relief that was entirely sat
lsfactory to the young man.
“And now,” said he, as he pulled
out the gloves and laid them gravely
in her lap, “we’re invited out to din-
ner.”
“Invited out to dinner!” gasped the
girl.
“Yes. It's rather a providential
thing to have happened, I think. The
telephone was ringing as I opened the
door, and Mrs. Parker Bowman, to
whose house 1 was invited, was ask-
ing for my sister to fill the place of
nn absent guest. My sister is away,
and I tried to beg off. I told her I
had accidentally met—I hope you will
pardon me—I called you a friend.”
"Oh!” she said. “That was kind
of you.”
"I itaid you were a stranger in
town, and as I was your only ac-
quaintance, I felt that I should show
you the courtesy of taking you to a
hotel, and assisting to get you off on
the night train; and I asked her to
excuse me, as that would give her an
even number. But it seems she had
Invited some one especially to meet
me, and was greatly distressed not
to have her full quota of guests, so
she sent you a most cordial Invitation
to come to her at once, promising to
take dinner with you some time if
you would hfelp her out now. Some-
how, she gathered from my talk that
you were traveling, had just returned
from abroad, and were temporarily
separated from your friends. She is
also sure that you are musical, and
means to ask you to help her out in
that way this evening. I told her I
was not sure whether you could be
Looked at Them With Sudden Inspira-
tion.
persuaded or not, and she mercifully
refrained from asking whether you
sang or played. I tell you all this to
that you will be prepared for any-
thing. Of course I didn't tell her all
these- things. I merely kept still
when she inferred them. Your name,
by the way, is Miss Remington—Mary
Remington. She was greatly elated
for a moment when she thought you
might be Carolyn Remington—who-
ever she may be. I suppose she will
speak of it. The name was the first
one that my eye lit upon in the tele-
phone-book. If you object to bearing
it for the evening, it is easy to see
how a name could be misunderstood
ever the ’phone. But perhaps you
would better give me a few pointers,
for I’ve never tried acting a part, and
can t be sure how well 1 shall do It."
The girl had been silent from as
tonlshment while the man talked.
“But I cannot possibly go there to
[ cannot trouble you In this way. I
have already imposed upon your kind-
ness. With this hat and coat and
gloves, 1 shall be able to manage
quite well, and I thank you eo muohl
t will return them to you as soon as
possible.”
The oab began to go slowly, and
Tryon Dunham noticed that another
carriage, just ahead of theirs, was
stopping before Mrs. Bowman’s house.
There was no time for halting deci-
sion.
“My friend," he Bald earnestly, “I
cannot leave you alone, and I do
not see a better, way than for you to
go in here with me for a little while,
till I am free to go with you. No one
can follow you here, or suspect that
you had gone out to dinner at a
stranger's house. Believe me, It Is
the very safest thing you could do.
This is the house. Will you go In
with me? If not, I must tell the
driver to take us somewhere else.”
“But what will she think of me,”
she said In trepidation, "and how can
I do such a thing as to steal into a
woman’s house to a dinner in this
way! Besides, I am not dressed for
& formal occasion.”
The carriage stopped before the
door now, and the driver was getting
down from his seat.
“Indeed, she will think nothing
about it,” Dunham assured her, "ex-
cept to be glad that she has the right
number of guests. Her dinners are
delightful affairs usually, and you
have nothing to do but talk about im-
personal matters for a little while
and be entertaining. She was most
insistent that you take no thought
about the matter of dress. She said
it would be perfectly understood that
you were traveling, and that the invi-
tation was unexpected. You can say
that your trunk has not come, or has
gone ahead. Will you come?”
Then the driver opened the car-
riage door.
In an Instant the girl assumed the
self-contained manner she had worn
when Bhe had first spoken to him.
She stepped quietly from the car-
riage, and only answered in a In-
voice, “I suppose I’d better, if you
wish it.”
Dunham paused for a moment to
give the driver a direction about car-
rying the great pasteboard box to
bis club. This idea had come as a
sudden inspiration. He had not
thought of the necessity of getting rid
of that box before.
"If it becomes necessary, where shall
I say you are going this evening?"
he asked in a low tone, as they turned
txr go up the eteps. She summoned
a faint, flickering smile.
When people have been traveling
abroad and are stopping over in the
city, they often go to Washington, do
they not?” she asked half shyly.
The door swung open before they
could say another word, and the
young man remembered that he
muBt Introduce his new friend. As
there was no further opportunity to
ask her about her name, he muss
trust to luck.
The girl obeyed the motion of the
servant and slipped up to the dress
ing-room as if ehe were a frequent
guest in the house, but it was in some
trepidation that Tryon Dunham re-
moved his overcoat and arranged his
necktie. He had caught a passing
glimpse of the assembled company,
and knew that Mr. Bowman was
growing impatient for his dinner. His
heart almost failed him now that the
girl was out of sight. What if she
should not prove to be accuetomed to
society, after all, and should snow it?
Hew embarrassing that would be!
He had seen her only in a half-light
as yet. How had he dared?
But it was too late now, for he was
coming from the dressing-room, and
Mrs. Bowman was approaching them
with outstretched hands, and a wel-
come in her face.
“My dear Miss Remington, it is so
good of you to help me out! 1 can
see by the first glance that It is going
to be a privilege to know you. I can't
thank you enough for waiving formal-
ities.”
“It was very lovely of you to ask
me,” said the girl, with perfect com
posure, “a stranger—”
“Don’t Bpeak of It, dear. Mr. Dun-
ham's friends are not strangers, I as-
sure you. Tryon, didn't you tell her
how long we have known each other?
I shall feel quite hurt if you have
never mentioned me to her. Now,
come, for my cook Is In the last
stages of despair over the dinner.
Mis6 Remington, how do you manage
to look so fresh and lovely after a
long sea voyage? You must, tell me
your secret.”
The young man looked down at the
girl and saw that her dress was in
perfect taste for the occasion, and
also that she was very young and
beautiful. He was watching her
with a kind of proprietary pride as
she moved forward to be introduced
to the other guests, when he 6aw her
sweep one quick glance around the
room, and for just an Instant hesitate
and draw back. Her face grew white
then, with a supreme effort, she con-
trolled her feelings, and went through
her part with perfect ease,
When Judge Blackwell was intro-
duced to the girl, he looked at her
with what seemed to Dunham to be
more than a passing interest; but the
keen eyes were almost immediately
transferred to his own face, and the
young man had no further time
watch his protegee, a6 dinner was
immediately announced
Miss Remington was seated next
to Dunham at the table, with the
Judge on her other side. The young
man was pleased with the arrange-
ment, and sat furtively studying the
lelicate tinting of her face, the dainty
line of cheek and chin and ear, the
■weep of her dark lashes, and the
ripple of her brown hair, as he tried
to converse easily with her, aa an old
friend might.
At length the Judge turned to the
girl and said:
“Miss Remington, you remind me
strongly of a yougig woman who was
in my office this afternoon.”
The delicate color flickered out of
the girl’s face entirely, leaving even
her lips white, but she lifted her dark
eyes bravely to the kindly blue ones,
and with sweet dignity baffled the
questioned recognition in his look.
“Yes, you are so much like her
that I would think you were—her sis-
ter perhaps. If It were not for the
name," Judge Blackwell went on.
“She was a most interesting and
beautiful young lady.’’ The old gen-
tleman bestowed upon the girl a look
that was like a benediction. "Excuse
me for speaking of It, but her dress
was something soft and beautiful, like
Miss Remington Was Seated Next to
Dunham.
yours, and seemed to suit her face.
was deeply Interested In her, al-
though until this afternoon she wae a
stranger. She came to me for a small
matter of business, and after it was
attended to, and before she received
the papers, she disappeared! She had
removed her hat and gloves, as she
was obliged to wait some time for
certain matters to be looked up, and
theste she left behind her. The hat
ie covered with long, handsome
plumes of the color of rich cream
in coffee.”
Young Dunham glanced down at
the cloth of the girl’s gown, afld was
startled to find the same rich creamy-
coffee tint in 1 Cs silky folds; yet she
did not show by so much as a flicker
of an eyelash that she was passing
under the keenest inspection.
Why should 6he want to disap-
pear?” The question was asked coolly
and with as much Interest as a
stranger would bo likely to show.
"I cannot imagine,” said the old
man speculatively. "She apparently
had health and happiness, if one may
judge from her appearance, and she
came to me of her own free will
on a matter of business. Immediately
after her disappearance, two well-
dressed men entered my office and
inquired for her. One had an intel-
lectual head, but looked hard and
cruel; the other was very handsome—-
and disagreeable. When he could not
find the young lady, he laid claim
to her hat, but I had it locked away.
How could I know that man was her
friend or her relative? I intend to
keep that hat until the young woman
herself claims it. I have not had any-
thing happen that has so upset ms
In years.”
"You don’t think any harm has
come to her?” questioned the girl.
“I cannot think what harm could,
and yet—it is very strange. She was
about the age of my dear daughter
when she died, and I cannot get her
out of her mind. When you first ap- "
peared in the doorway you gave me
quite a 6tart. I thought you were she.
If I can find any trace of her, I mean
to Investigate this matter. I have a
feeling that that girl needs a friend.” ,
“I am Bure she would be very happy
to have a friend like you,” said the
girl, and there was something in the
eyes that were raised to his that
made the Judge's heart glow with
admiration.
"Thank you,” said he warmly.
“That is most kind of you. But per-
haps she has found a better friend by
this time. I hope eo."
“Or one as kind,” she suggested in
a low voice.
The conversation then became gen-
eral, and the girl did not look up for
several seconds; but the young man
on her right, who had not missed a
word of the previous tete-a-tete, could
not give attention to tho story Mrs.
Blackwell was telling, for pondering
what he had heard.
The ladies now left the table, and
though this was the time that Dun-
ham had counted upon for an ac-
quaintance with the great judge who
might hold a future career in his
power, he could not but wish that he
might follow them to the other room.
He felt entire confidence in his new
friend’s ability to play her part to
the end. but he wanted to watch her.
to study her and understand her. If
perchance he might solve the mystery
that was ever growing more intense
about her.
As she left the room his eyes fol-
lowed her. His hostess, in passing
behind his chair, had whispered:
“I don’t wonder you feel so about
her. She is lovely. But pleaBe don’t
begrudge her to us for a few minutes.
I promise you that you shall have
your innings afterwards."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
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Thomas, L. K. The Manchester Journal. (Manchester, Okla.), Vol. 21, No. 10, Ed. 1 Friday, August 8, 1913, newspaper, August 8, 1913; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc496644/m1/3/: accessed April 24, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.