Luther Register. (Luther, Okla.), Vol. 15, No. 45, Ed. 1 Tuesday, June 2, 1914 Page: 3 of 8
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®<?VALIANT5 ^VIRGINIA
dy--UAL LIE ERM1NIE P1VE5
ILLUSTRATION5 LAUREN STOUT
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9 «
SYNOPSIS.
John Valiant, a rich loclety favorite,
•uddenly discovers that the Valiant cor-
poration. which hla father founded an«i
which was the principal source of h‘.s
wealth, has failed. He voluntarily turns
over his private fortune to the receiver
for the corporation. His entire remaining
possesalons consist of an old motor car, a
white bull doir and Damory court, a neg
lected estate In Y’irglnia. On the way to
Parriorv court he meets Shirley Dand-
ridge. an auburn haired beauty, and di-
vides that he Is going to like Virginia Im-
mensely An old negro tells Shirley's for
tune and predicts great trouble for her
on account of a man.
CHAPTER VIII.
What Happened Thirty Years Ago.
When Shirley caine across the lawn
at Rosewood. Major Montague Bristow
aat under the arbor talking to her
mother.
The major was massive-framed,
with a strong Jaw and a rubicund
complexion—the sort that might be
supposed to have attained the utmost
benefit to bo conferred by a consist-
ent indulgence In mint-juleps. His
blue eyes were piercing and arched
with brows like sable rainbows, at
variance with his heavy Iron-gray hair
and Imperial. His head was leonine
and he looked like a king who has
humbled his enemy. It may be added
that his linen was fine and immacu-
late, his black string-tie precisely tied
and a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses
swung by a flat black cord against his
white waistcoat.
"Shirley,” said her mother, "the ma-
jor’s brutal, and he shan’t have his
mint-julep.”
"What has he been doing?” asked
the other, her browa wrinkling in a
delightful way she had.
"He has reminded me that I’m grow-
ling old.”
Shirley looked at the major skep-
tically. for his chivalry was un-
doubted. During a long career in law
and legislature it hau been said of
him that he could neither speak on
the tariff question nor defend a man
for murder, without first paying a
tribute to "the women of the South,
•«ah.”
"Nothing of the sort," he rumbled.
Mrs. Dandridge’s face softened to
wistfulness. "Shirley, atn I?” she
asked, with a quizzical, almost a droll
uneasiness. "Why, I’ve got every emo-
tion I’ve ever had. I read all the new’
French novels, and I’m even thinking
of going in for the militant suffragette
movement.”
The girl had tossed her hat and
crop on the table and seated herself
by her mother’s chair. "What was it
he said, dearest?"
"He thinks I ought to wear a wor-
eted shawl and arctics.” Her mother
thrust out one little thin-slippered foot,
with its slender ankle gleaming
through its open-work stocking like
mother-of-pearl. "Imagine! In May.
And he knows I’m vain of my feet!
Major, if you had ever had a wife,
you would have learned wisdom. Hut
you mean well, and I’ll take back what
I said about the julep. You mix It,
Shirley. Yours is even better than
Ranston’s.”
"She makes me one every day, Mon-
ty,” she continued, as Shirley went
into the house. ‘‘And when she isn’t
locking, I pour it into the bush there."
Major Hristow laughed as he bit
the end off a cigar. "All the same,”
he said in his big rumbling voice,
"you need ’em, I reckon. You need
snore than mint-julepa, too You leave
flL
-Shirley,” Said Her Mother, "The
Major’s Brutal.”
the whiskey to me and the doctor, and
you take Shirley and pull out for
Italy. Why not? A year there would
do you a heap of good.”
She shook her head. "No, Monty.
It isn’t what you think. It’s—here.”
She lifted her hand and touched her
heart. "It’s been so for a long time.
But It may—it can’t go on forever,
you see. Nothing can.”
The major had leaned forward In
his chair. "Judith!" he said, and his
hand twitched, "it isn’t true!” And
then. "How do you know'?"
She smiled at him. "You remember
when that big surgeon from Vienna
came to see the doctor last yearT
Well, the doctor brought him to me.
I’d known It before in a way, but It
bad gone farther than I thought. No
one can tell Just how long it may be.
It may be years, of course, but I’m not
taking any sea trips, Monty."
He cleared his throat and his voice
was husky when he spoke. "Shirley
doesn't know?"
"Certainly not. She mustn’t." And
then. In sudden sharpness: "You
shan’t tejl her, Monty. You wouldn't
dare!"
"No, Indeed." he assured her Quick-
ly. "Of course not.”
"It’s just among us three. Doctor
Southall and you and me. We three
have had our secrets before, eh, Mon-
ty?"
"Yes, Judith, we have.”
She bent toward him, her hands
tightening on the cane. "After all,
It’s true. Today I am getting old. I
may look only fifty, but I feel sixty
and I'll admit to seventy-five. It’s
Joy thst keeps us young, and I didn’t
get my fair share of that. Monty.
For Just one little week my heart had
It all—all—and then—well, then It
was finished. It was Cnished long be-
fore I married Tom Dandridge. It
Isn’t that I’m empty-headed. It’s that
I’ve been an empty-hearted wtoman,
Monty—as empty and dusty and deso-
late as the old house over yonder on
the ridge.”
"I know’, Judith. I know.”
"You’ve been empty In a way, too."
she said. "But It’s been a different
way. You were never In love—really
in love. I mean. Certainly not with
me, Monty,, though you tried to make
me think so once upon a time, before
Sassoon came along, and—Beauty Va-
liant."
The major blinked, suddenly
startled. It was out, the one name
neither had spoken to the other for
thirty years! He looked at her a lit-
tle guiltily; but her eyes had turned
away. “Everything changed then,”
she continued dreamily, "everything.”
The major’s fingers strayed across
his waistcoat, fumbling uncertainly
for his eye-glasses. For an instant
he, too, was back in the long-ago
past, when he and Valiant had been
comrades. It had been a curious
three sided affair—he, and Valiant and
Sassoon. Sassoon with his dissipated
flair and ungovernable temper and
strange fits of recklessness; clean,
hlgh-idealed. straightaway Valiant;
and he—a Bristow, neither better nor
worse than the rest of his name. He
remembered that mad strained season
when he had grimly recognized his
own cause as hopeless, and with burn-
ing eyes had watched Sassoon and
Valiant racing abreast. He remem-
bered that glittering prodigal dance
when he had come upon Valiant and
Judith standing in the shrubbery, the
candle-light from some open door en-
goldenlng their faces: hers smiling, a
little flippant perhaps, and conscious
of her spell; his grave and earnest,
yet wistful.
"You promise, John?”
"I give my sacred w’ord. What-
ever the provocation, I will not lift
my hand against him. Never, never!"
Then the same voice, vibrant, appeal-
ing. "Judith! It Isn’t because—be-
cause—you care for him?"
He had plunged away In the dark-
ness before her answer came. What
had it mattered then to him what she
had replied? And that very night had
befallen the fatal quarrel!
The major started. How that name
had blown away the dust! "That’s
a long time ago, Judith.”
"Thirty years ago tomorrow they
fought,” she said softly, "Valiant and
Sassoon. Every woman has her one
anniversary, I suppose, and tomor-
row's mine. Do you know what I
do, every fourteenth of May, Monty?
I keep my room and spend .the day
always the same way. There’s a little
book I read. And there’s an old hair-
cloth trunk that I’ve had since I was
girl Down in the bottom pf it are
some—things, that I take out and set
round the room * • • and there
is a handful of old letters 1 go over
from first to last. They're almost
worn out now, but I could repeat them
aU with my eyes shut. Then there’s a
tiny old straw basket with a yellow
wisp in it that once was a bunch of
cape jessamines. I wore them to that
last ball—the night before it hap-
pened. The fourteenth of May used to
be sad, but now, do you know, I look
forward to It! I always have a lot of
jessamines that particular day—I’ll
have Shirley get me some tomorrow
—and In the evening, when I go down-
stairs, the house is full of the scent
of them. All summer long it’s roses,
but on the fourteenth of May It has
to be jessamines. Shirley must think
me a whimsical old woman, but 1 in-
sist on being humored.”
He smiled, a little bleakly, and
cleared his throat.
“Isn’t it strange for me to be talk-
ing this way now!” she said present-
ly. "Another proof that I’m getting
old. But the date brings it very close;
it seems, somehow, closer than ever
this year.—Monty, weren’t you tre-
mendously surprised when I married
Tom Dandridge?”
"I certainly was.”
•‘HI tell you a secret. I was, too.
I suppose I did It because of a sneak-
ing feeling that some people were feel-
ing sorry for me, which I never could
stand. Well, he was a man any one
might honor. I’ve always thought a
woman ought to have two husbands:
one to love and cherish, and the other
to honor and obey. I had the latter,
at any rate.”
"And you've lived. Judith.** be said.
"Yes.” she agreed, with a little sigh,
"I've lived I’ve had Shirley, and she s
twenty and adorable. And I’ve had
people enough, and books to read, and
plenty of pretty things to look at, and
old lace to wear, and I’ve kept
my figure and my vanity—I'm not too
old yet to thank the Isord for that!
So don’t talk to me about worsted
shawls and horrible arctics. For 1
won’t wear ’em. Not if I know my-
self! Here comes Shirley. She's
made two Juleps, and if you’re a gen-
tleman, you’ll distract her attention
till I’ve got rid of mine in my usual
way."
The major, at the foot of the cherry-
bordered lane, looked back across the
box-hedge to where the two figures
sat under the rose-arbor, the mother's
face turned lovingly down to Shirley’s
at her knee. He Btood a moment
fei
I
J
t—j
He Inserted the Key In the Rusted
Lock.
watching them from under his
slouched hat-brim.
“You never looked at me that way,
Judith, did you!” he sighed to him-
self. “It’s been a long time, too, since
I began to want you to—’most forty
years. When It came to the show-
down, I wasn’t even as fit us Tom
Dandridge!”
CHAPTER IX.
Damory Court.
"Dar’s Dam’ry Coot smack-dab
ahaid, suh.”
John Valiant looked up Facing
them at an elbow of the broad road,
was an old gateway of time-nicked
stone, clasping an Iron gate that was
quaint and heavy and red with rust.
He put out his hand.
“Wait a moment,” he said in a low
voice, and as the creaking conveyance
stopped, he turned and looked about
him.
Facing the entrance the land fell
away sharply to a miniature valley
through which rambled a willow bor-
dered brook, in whose shallows short-
horned cows stood lazily. Beyond,
whither wound the Red Road, ha
could see a drowsy village, with a
spire and a cupolaed court-house; and
farther yet a yellow gorge with a
wisp of white smoke curling above
it marked the course of a crawling
far-away railway.
“Et’s er moughty fine ol’ place, suh,
mid dat big revenue ob trees,” said
Uncle Jefferson. "But Ah reck’n et
ain’ got none ob de modern conniv-
ances.”
As Valiant Jumped down he was
possessed by an odd sensation of old
acquaintance—as if he had seen those
tall white columns before—an illu-
sory half-vision into some shadowy,
fourth-dimensional landscape that be-
longed to his subconscious self, or
that, glimpsed in some Immaterial
dream-picture, had left a faint-etched
memory. Then, on a sudden, the vista
vibrated and widened, the white col-
umns expanded and shot up into the
clouds, and from every bush seemed
to peer a friendly black savage with
woolly white hair!
“Wishing-House!” he whispered.
The hidden country which his father's
thoughts, sadly recurring, had painted
to the little child that once he was,
in the guise of an endless wonder-
tale! His eyes misted over, and It
seemed to him that moment that his
father was very near.
Leaving the negro to unload his be-
longings, he traversed an overgrown
path of mossed gravel, between box-
rows frowsled like the manes of lions
gone mad and smothered In an ac
cumulation of matted roots and debris
of rotting foliage, and presently, the
bulldog at his heels, found himself
In the rear of the house.
"Mine!" he said aloud with a rueful
pride. "And for general run-down-
ness, it’s up to the advertisement.”
He looked musingly at the piteous
wreck and ruin, his gaze sweeping
down across the hared fields and un-
kempt forest. "Mine!” he repeated
"All that, I suppose, for It has the
same earmarks of neglect. Between
those cultivated Btretchea It looks like
a wedge of Sahara gone astray.” His
ga/.e returned to the house. "Yet what
a place it must have been In its time!”
He went slowly back to where his con-
ductor sat ou the lichened horse-
block.
"We’s heah," called Uncle Jefferson
cheerfully. “Whut we gwinter do
nex\ suh? Reck’n Ah better go ovah
ter Miss Dandridge's place fer er
crow bah. Luwd!” he added, ”ef he
ain’ got de key! Whut yo' think ob
dat now?”
John Valiant was looking closely at
the big key; for there were words,
which he had not noted before en-
graved in the massive flung*’. “Friends
ail hours.” He smiled. The sentiment
sent a warm current of pleasure to
his fingertips. Here was the very
text of hospitality!
A Lilliputian spider-web was
stretched over the preempted keyhole,
and he fetched a grass-stem and poked
out its tiny gray striped denizen be-
fore he inserted the key in the rusted
lock. He turned it with a curious
sense of timidity. All the strength of
his fingers was necessary before the
massive door swung open and the lev-
eling sun sent its late red rays into
the gloomy interior.
lie stood in a spacious hall, his nos-
trils filled with a curious but not un-
pleasant aromatic odor w ith which the
place was strongly impregnated. The
hall ran the full length of the build-
ing, and in its center a wide, balus-
traded double staircase led to upper
darkness. The floor, where his foot-
prints had disturbed the even gray
film of dust, was of tine close par-
quetry and had been generously
strewn everywhere with a inlea-liko
powder. He stooped and took up a
pinch in his fingers, noting that it
gave forth the curious spicy scent
Dim palntingB In tarnished frames
hung on the walls. From a niche on
the break of the stairway looked down
the face of a tall Dutch clock, and on
one side protruded a huge bulging
something draped with a yellowed
linen sheet. From its shape he
guessed this to be an elk’s head. Dust,
undisturbed, lay thickly on everything,
ghostly floating cobwebs crawled
across his face, and a bat flitted out
of a fireplace and vanished squeak-
ing over his head. With Uncle Jef-
ferson’s help he opened the rear doors
and windows, knocked up the rusted
belts of the shutters and flung them
wide.
But for the dust and cobwebs end
the strange odor, mingled with the
faint musty smell that pervades a sun-
less interior, the former owner of the
house might have deserted it a week
ago. On a wall rkek lay two walking-
sticks and a. gold-mounted hunting-
crop. and on a great carved chest
below it had been flung an opened
book bound in tooled leather. John
Valiant picked this up curiously. It
was "Lucile.” He noted that here
and there passages were marked with
penciled lines—some light and femi-
ninely delicate, some heavier, as
though two had been reading it to-
gether, noting their Individual prefer-
ences.
He laid it back musingly, and open-
ing a door, entered the large room It
disclosed This had been the dining-
room. At one end stood a crystal-
knobbed mahogany sideboard, holding
glass candlesticks in the shape of
Ionic columns—above It a quaint por-
trait of a lady In hoops and love-
curls—and at the other end was a
huge fireplace with rust-red fire dogs
and tarnished brass fender. All these,
with the round centipede table and
the Chippendale chairs set in order
against the walls, were dimmed and
grayed with a thick powdering of dust.
The next room that he entered was
big and wide, a place of dark colors,
nobly smutched of time It had been
at once library and living-room. A
great leather settee was drawn near
the desk and beside this stood a read-
ing-stand with a small china dog and
a squat bronze lamp upon It. In con-
trast to the orderly dining-room there
was about this chamber a sense of
untouched disorder—a desk drawer
Jerked half open, a yellowed news-
paper torn across and flung into a cor-
ner, books tossed on desk and lounge,
and In the fireplace a little heap of
whitened ashes In which charred frag-
ments told of letter! and papers
burned In haste.
Suddenly he lifted his eyes. Above
the desk hung a life-size portrait of a
man, in the high soft stock and vel-
vet collar of half a century before.
The right eye, strangely, had been cut
from the canvas. He stood straight
and tall, oae hand holding an eager
hound in leash, his face proud and
florid, his single, cold, steel-blue eye
staring down through its dusty curtain
with a certain malicious arrogance,
and his lips set In a sardoulc curve
that seemed about to sneer. It was
for an Instant as if the pictured figure
confronted the young man who stood
there, mutely challenging his entrance
into that tomb-like and secret-keeping
quiet; and ho gazed back as fixedly,
repelled by the craft of the face, yet
subtly attracted. “I wonder who you
were.” he said. "You were cruel.
Perhaps you were wicked. But you
were strong, too.”
Me returned to the outer hall to find
that the * negro had carried in his
trunk, and he bade him place it, with
the portmanteau, in the room he had
left. Dusk was falling
“Uncle Jefferson.” said Valiant ah
ruptly, "have you a family?”
"No, suh. Joa’ me eu mah ol*
’ooman."
"Can she cook?”
"Cook!" The genial titter again
captured his dusky escort. "When
she got de f.xens, Ah reck’n she de
beaten’es cook in his heah county.”
"How would you both like to live
here with me for a while? She could
cook and you could take care of ine."
Uncle Jefferson’s eyes seemed to
turn inward with mingled surprise and
introspection. He shifted from one
foot to the other, swallowed difficultly
several times, and said, "Ah ain’ neb-
bah seed yo’ befo’, suh.”
"Well, I haven’t seen you either,
have I?”
”l>at's de trufe, suh. 'deed et Is!
Hyuh, hyuh! Whut Ah means ter
j say Is dat de ol’ 'ooman kain' cook
no fancy didoes like what dey eats up
| Norf. She kin Jes’ cook da Ferginey
style.”
’That sounds good to me,* quoth
Valiant. "I’ll risk it. Now as to
j wages—"
“Ah ain' spectlculous ns ter <le
wages," said Uncle Jefferson. ' Ah
j knows er gemman when Ah sees one."
"Then it's a bargain.” responded Va-
liant with alacrity, “t’an you come at
once?”
"Yas, suh, me en Daph gwtneter
come ovah fits' thing in de mawnln’.
Whut yo'-all gwlneter do fo' yo’ sup-
pah?"
"I'll get along," Valiant assured him
cheerfully. "Here Is five dollars. You
can buy some food and things to
cook with, and bring them with you.
Do you think there's a stove In the
kitchen?"
•'All reck'n," replied Uncle JefTerson.
“En ef dar ain' Daph kin cook er
Chris mus dinnah wtd fo' stones en er
tin skillet. Yas, snh!"
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
V
WOOD
nr imMCMCE Ufil l|C ! which illustrate better than anything
OF IMMENSE VALUfc j p]g8 th)a durabie quality They are
Greenheart, South American Product,
Has Most Wonderful Qualities for
the Shipbuilder.
Greenheart, the wood which the
Isthmian canal commission is desirous
of securing for use in the construction
of docks and similar works in the
Panama canal, because it is said by
experts to resist more than any other
wood the attacks of marine borers
which rapidly destroy piles and other
submarine structures, is one of the
most valuable of timbers. It Is native
of South America and the West In
dies, and from its bark and fruits is
obtained bibirine. which is often used
as a febrifuge instead of quinine.
The wood is of a dark green color,
sap wood and heart wood being so
much alike that they can with diffi-
culty be distinguished from each oth-
er. The heart wood is one of the
most desirable of all timbers, particu-
larly In the shipbuilding industry. In-
disputable records show that the best
grades surpass iron and steel in last-
ing qualities in salt water, submerged
logs having remained Intact for one
hundred years.
In the
gow, there
both from a wreck which was sub-
merged eighteen years off the west
coast of Scotland. The one specimen
—greenheart is merely slightly pit-
ted on the surface, ^he body of the
wood being perfectly sound and un-
touched, while the other—teak—Is al
most entirely eaten away
It is extensively used in shipbuild-
ing for keelsons, beams, engine bear-
ings and planking, and it is also used
in the general arts, but Its excessive
weight unfits it for many purposes for
which its other properties would ren-
der it eminently suitable.—Below the
Rio Grande.
'csp „
Legend of Aconite.
Aconite is classed by homeopathic
authorities as the patriarch of drugs,
as far as literature Is concerned. It
Is told how Hercules went down to
the lower regions and carried the
three-headed hound Cerberus to the
upper world. That ferocious beast was
raging at this treatment, and the fmch
that fell to the ground was the origin
of aconite, for It grew up from the
froth as from seeds. It was on a
bleak, windswept hill or mountain, and
it Is In such regions that the plant
MRS. LYON’S
ACHES AND PAINS
Have All Gone Since Taking
Lydia E. Pinkham’* Veg-
etable Compound.
Terre Hill, Pa.—“ Kindly permit me
to give you my testimonial in favor of
Lydia E. Pinkham’s
Vegetable Com-
pound. When I first
began taking it I
was suffering from
female troubles for
some time and had
almost all kinds of
aches—pains in low-
er part of back and
in sides, and press-
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could not sleep and
had no appetite. Since I have taken
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com-
pound the aches and pains are ull gone
ami I feel like a new woman. I cannot
praise your medicine too highly. ”—Mrs.
Augustus Lyon, Terre Hill, Fa.
It is true that nature and a woman’s
worn nas produced the grandest remedy
for woman's ills that the world has
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forty years ago, gave to womankind
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other combination of drugs ever com-
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Vegetable Compound is recognized
from coast to coast as the standard
remedy for woman's ills.
In the Pinkham Laboratory at Lynn,
Mass., are files containing hundreds of
thousands of letters from women seek-
ing health—many of them openly state
over their own signatures that they have
regained their health by taking Lydia
E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound;
and in some cases that it has saved them
from surgical operations.
Fora
Galled
Horse
Try It
w After
^ Others /
HANFORD’S
Balsam of Myrrh
For Calls, Wire ’
Cuts, Lameness,
Strains, Bunches,
Thrush, Old Sores,
Nail Wounds, Foot Rot
Fistula, Bleeding, Etc. Etc.
Made Since 1846. a**;**-*
Price 25c, 50c and $1.00
All Dealers
Constipation
Vanishes Forever
Prompt Relief—Permanent Cure
CARTER’S LITTLE
LIVER PILLS never
fail. Purely vegeta- J
hie — act surely
but gently on
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Stop after
dinner dis-
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indigestion,
improve the complexion, brighten the eyes.
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICE.
Centime must bear Signature
v.
n
PARKER'S
HAIR BALSAM
ruff.
For Rentoring Color and
Beauty toGra y or Fad<
AOo. amt $1.00at I>rugi
>lor and
nded Hair.
utartsu.
smxi&tia
135 BUSHELS PER ACRE!
was the yield of WHEAT
any farms in
estern Canada in \
1913, some yields m L
being reported «• Jl i
high hi 50 bushels ji'^
per acre. As high I
as 100 bushels were
recorded in some
districts for
itricts for oats, i
50 bushels for barley and
flax.
if
1§i
from 10 to 20 bu». for
J. Keys arrived in the
country 5 years ago from
Denmark v/ith very little
means. He homesteaded,
worked hard, is now the
of 330 acres of land,
200
in 1913 had a crop of 200 J
acres, which will realize him ’
about $4,000. His whaat r
[ weighed 68 lb«. to the buahel 1
J and averaged over 3» bushel* ]
to the acre.
Thousand;
similar in-
1 of
homesteaders in Manito'
katchewan and Alberta.
iices might be related of the (T • "
,i<lt i , in Manitoba, baa- *
The crop of 1913 was an abun- *■
Jant or
I Canada
dant one everywhere
as an a
m We;
1
Ask for descriptive literature and
’ reduced railway rates. Apply tc
Superintendent of Immigration,
Ottawa, Canada, or
G. A. COOK.
125 W. 9th STREET. KANSAS CITY. MO.
Canadian Government Agent
Kelvlngrove museum, Glas J grows today. This hill. In Pontlca,was
e are two pieces of planking l known In
i olden days as 'Aconitoa."
DEFIANCE STARCH
is constantly growing in favor because it
Does Not Stick, to the Iron
and it will not injure the finest fabric For
laundry purposes it has no equal. 16 oi.
package lOr. 13 more starch for same money.
DEFIANCE STARCH CO, Omaha, Nebraska
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Keyes, Chester A. Luther Register. (Luther, Okla.), Vol. 15, No. 45, Ed. 1 Tuesday, June 2, 1914, newspaper, June 2, 1914; Luther, Okla.. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc853698/m1/3/: accessed April 24, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.