Chandler Daily Publicist. (Chandler, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 3, No. 223, Ed. 1 Friday, March 3, 1905 Page: 4 of 4
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'
The Uncrowned King
Cr/fJod of Uimmtn, as he serves
Straight to his goal he cuts his way,
Perhaps on some vaat continent
His hand was closed but yesterday.
“Aye. yesterday." you say “Dut Death,**
Because one died Is all life done?
The uncrowned monarch never dies.
The sun hath aet—there springs tha
aun.
Nor shall hi* power bs the less
If In hla childhood a bygone peaca
The gutter cradled him. nor may
A statelier birth hla strength lncreaas.
He Is. For good or III. he Is;
And woe to those who blindly cling
Unseeing to the ancient thrones.
And reck not of ths Uncrowned King!
—Clinton Dangtrfleld. In the Century.
r
\
tar1*
■Vb——«□
G4ll
coif Duty
MZt/F ■CQ&Zy'GO.£Z?QPr
(Copyright. 1904, by Dally Story Pub. Co.)
When I entered Thompson's room,
he was pacing excitedly up and down
the floor In n way that was altogether
new In my experience of him. He
paused a moment to look at me In a
half startled, half uncertain way; then
resumed his pacing without a word be-
yond an abrupt "Good morning.”
He carried an open letter in his
hand, and I noted that his face bore
a strained, tense look and that It was
perfectly pallid.
Presently he stopped In front of mo
and flung himself dejectedly Into the
chair opposite. After a second's hesi-
tation, ho leaned over and thrust the
letter Into my fingers.
"Head It, Dick, and for God’s sake,
tell mo what I’m to do.”
The letter ran:
Charity Hospital, Feb. 6.
My Dear Mr. Thompson:—1 hnve
under my care, a patient In whom you
-will recognize the wife supposed to be
dead for many years. Briefly, her
story Is this:— Seven years ego, she
left your house In an Impulsive mo-
ment—she says you will remember
the details well enough—so I pass
them over. The only thing clear to
her seems to be the recollection of a
heavy snow storm and the fact that
she was insufficiently protected from
the bitter cold. She sat down on
someone’s doorstep to rest, after
hours of distracted wandering. She
realized then what she had done, but
a sense of foolish pride kept her from
going back. After that, her mind be-
came a blank, and so it has remained
through all these years—till now.
If this letter reaches you, come at
once to the hospital. Mrs. Thompson
has so far recovered that she will be
able to return to her homo within the
week, unless some unexpected compli-
cation ensues. Respectfully yours.
Dr. L. S. Whlddon.
P. S.—The above letter is written
with your wife's full permission.
L. 3. W.
I could not restrain a glance of
compassion as I returned It to Thomp-
son. His face was like ashes and he
trembled visibly from head to foot.
My first thought was for poor little
Elsie. Thompson must have divined
this, for when he next spoke, It was
as though we had been just talking of
her. He looked at me a moment with
dry, pain-dark eyes before ho spoke.
"You will explain—this to her. old fel-
low? You know, you understand—you
—you believe In my good faith, Dick,
do you not?” He regarded me anx-
iously. Then, In a dull tone, he went
oh:—"Thank heaven I told you the
whole story of my wife’s strange de-
sertion of me—of her complete disap-
pearance Into the world for many
months—of the sudden Intelligence I
received of her death, and"—he broke
off abruptly and walking over to an
open window, stood for many minutes,
looking down Into the crowded street.
“You never Investigated the circum-
the whole thing arising, I suppose,
from the—from my wife’s mental con-
dition. I advertised for her—to her,
rather, continually—till the time of
her supposed death. There was never
the shadow of a response."
Wo were both a long time silent
after that. Thompson was the first
to speak. “Of course I can’t see Elsie
again—not now, any way—after what
has happened. I—I couldn't bear it.”
Even as he spoke, there was a hur-
ried little rap on his door, and the
next moment, Elsie stood In the room.
She had promised to meet me here
at half past one; 1 had forgotten that.
She threw back the veils from her
glowing face and stood looking at us—
from one to the other. The keen,
A MODEL YOUNG MAM.
But
It Was Business, Not Principle
With Him.
"Didn't that hurt you. sir?" The
clerical-looking gentleman In the rear
seat of the trolley car turned Inquir-
ingly to the nicely-dressed and clean-
cut young man who sat beside him,
as that individual winced slightly, for
his foot had just been stepped on by
a portly man who was leaving the
car.
"Yes, sir—It hurt very much,” he
said simply.
"I thought so," said the clerical
man. "Allow me to congratulate you
on your control. I observed with pleas-
ure, sir, that no oath sprang to your
lips. Great pleasure to meet a young
man like you. Have a cigar?"
"Thank you, 1 don't smoke," said
the young man.
"Splendid!" exclaimed the clerical
interrogator. "I smoke myself." he
said, "because I lead a sedentary life.
But I glory in a young man who
doesn't. May I inquire, sir, if you
know the taste of liquor?"
"No. sir; never touched a drop.”
HIs new friend clasped him by the
hand. There were tears in his eyes.
“Remarkable!" he exclaimed. ‘In
these unregenerate days it is indeed
soul-satisfying to gaze upon such a
model. May I ask, my dear friend,
what high motive impels you to ab-
stain from these influences, that are
sapping the lifeblood from the na-
tion?"
The young man smiled.
"Certainly,” he replied. "The fact
is, sir I find that I can't dissipate and
deal a faro bank at the same time."—
Collier's.
How
Pacing excitedly up and down,
stances surrounding her death?" 1
asked after a pause.
“The proofs I had, or thought T had,
seemed lncontestible enough," ho re-
plied despondently. "I mourned her
sincerely and genuinely for long
months after."
"My sister Is too true and sensible
a woman not to understand—every-
thing,” 1 said presently, "and I—1 hope
I am too good a friend to doubt.”
Thompson’s eyes flashed a quick
gleam of gratitude into mine at this.
"Thank you," he said simply. Then
after a silence, he continued, mors
composedly now:—"It was nil a mis-
take-a terrible mistake, that is all.
TURN OF LIFE'S WHEEL,
Plans of Men Are Made the
Playthings of Fate.
Mr. Justice White and Mrs White
ere to give several entertainments
during the season. Their home on
Rhode Island avenue has been re-
fitted and refurnished. No one loves'
social life greater than this south-
erner. He is in the prime of life, and
Js the picture of contented life. Mr.
Justice White is from Ixmisiana. He
became famoua as a jurist while on
the state bench. He was In the sen-
ate when President Cleveland nomi-
nated him as associate justice of the
supreme court of the United States.
While a law student In Louisville he
was in love wilh one of the belles of
the Pewee Valley. They became en-
gaged. But Mr. White was poor, and
before the wedding day another suitor
appeared, rich in blood, in standing,
in wealth. She rejected the student
for the man known at the banks.
On the day Justice White was
sworn In a pale, careworn face sat in
the supreme court chamber. She was
in widow's weeds. The furrows of
care were about her mouth and eyea.
Once upon a time she had been the
belle of the valley. The tears that
fell from her eyes as she looked upon
the Impressive scene in the supreme
court room were not tears that spring
from a heart filled with joy. She is
still in Washington, so it is said. But
she does not attend Justice White's
receptions.
“You will do your duty, Jack."
winter wind had crimsoned her cheeks
to the hue of pomegranate blossoms,
and coaxed innumerable flecks of
black brilliance into the gray Irises of
her eyes.
Thompson stood silently by. For an
imperceptible second, 1 caught his
glance, wistful, appealing—almost des-
perate. Neither of us could sneak.
Elsie’s glance of good-natured surprise
changed to one of consternation.
“Why—whatever Is the matter with
you two?” she demanded, almost
sharply. "I half believe you've been
quarreling or something."
Thompson took the letter out of his
pocket and handed It to her without
a word. She opened It slowly, trying
hard to keep her hands steady and the
color In her cheeks. Then, he bent
suddenly and laid his palm over the
written words. “Don’t,” he said hoarse-
ly, "I'd rather tell you myself."
She looked up at him dazedly, all
the light dying out of her eyes as they
recognized the tragedy in his. She
sat quite still, almost statue-Uks, wait-
ing for him to speak.
Ho hesitated a moment, then broke
out passionately, the despair In him
rushing to uncontrolled utterance: —
"I have just learned that I have a liv-
ing wife—the woman who deserted me
in a fit of petty temper—the woman
whom 1 mourned as dead—whom I
honored and cherished In my home
while she made It hers! There's no
human law now to hold me to her.
There Is a law that will give me my
freedom. I—’’
Elsie Interrupted him with a depre-
cative gesture. "There Is a divine
law." she said In a tone of finality.
Thompson did not speak for several
seconds. Afterwards, he said, dully:
—"Y'ou are right In this—as In every-
thing. I shall, of course, do what is
right.”
"You will do your duty, Jack, I am
sure of that.” she returned In a low
tone. Elsie rose as she spoke, and a
few momenta later, we took our leave
At the foot of the steps, we cams
face to face with a special messenger.
"Mr. Thompson live here, sir?"
"He docs. Anything wrong?”
"Yes. A woman Just died at the
Charity Hospital. She—"
“Yes, I know. Three doors to the
left,—up this flight."
Elsie had entered the coupe and was
waiting lor me. "To the Metropolitan
Opera House,” I told the driver. She
looked at me In hurt bewilderment.
“Oh no—not there—not now!" she
cried, a quick reproach leaping to her
tear-blinded eyes.
1 took her hands in mine and held
them doRe till she calmed herself. ,
"Everything Is all right." I said,
then. "I have Just found out that the
woman—that she Is—dead. But this
day, at lei A, belongs to him and—to
her."
'' WHERE IS THE WEST? ( ,
VENISON WAS ALL RIGHT.
But if It Had Been Beef He Would
Have Called It Tainted.
Gov. N. J. Baehelder of New Hamp-
shire does not believe in keeping ven-
ison. in the English fashion, for a
month or more until it has turned
green.
"I like a piece of venison as well
as any man," he said recently, "but I
want the meat to be fresh and sweet.
I can't understand the English method
of 'hanging' game till it has become
quite putrid.
'My private opinion Is that most
people don’t like game that has been
'hung'—I believe that they only pre-
tend to like it. They are like a man
who sat near me in a New York res-
taurant one autumn day.
"A dish of meat was set before this
man. and I saw him taste it, give a
■pwah’ of disgust and beckon to the
waiter.
' 'Waiter.' he said, 'this steak is pos-
itively bad. It must be three weeks
old.’
"The waiter looked at the dish.
“ 'Beg pardon,’ he said, ‘I have made
a mistake, sir. I have brought you
venison.’
' ‘Venison?’ said the patron, with a
gratified smile. 'Ah, yes. Then you
may leave it.’
"He took another mouthful of the
meat.
’’ ’To be sure,’ he said, 'it is veni-
son, and very nice, too; very nice, in-
deed.’ ”
KNEW ALL ABOUT APPENDICITIS.
Jersey School Superintendent Looses
a Little Mistaken Lore.
Many a layman has been “stumped’’
In trying to master the intricacies of
the vermiform appendix. But let every-
!body take heart.
In an aristocratic New Jersey sub-
urb recently the superintendent of
public schools was visiting a grade
•while a lesson in physiology was be-
ing demonstrated. The teacher was
.explaining the construction of the
jsplnal column. She compared it to a
.string of beads in order to show it^
[formation, and drew a diagram for
[further illumination.
When the lesson was finished the
(superintendent suggested that a most
jimportant feature of the spinal col-
>umn had not been explained.
‘It is this curious, pointed section
,at the base,” he said, indicating the
end of the vertebral column, “which is
called the vermiform appendix. You
have all heard of appendicitis? Very
good. Well, that is the name given
:to a disease which is caused by an in-
[flammation of this appendix. An op-
eration for appendicitis means an
amputation of this useless appendix.”
There Is a new superintendent of
public schools in that suburban New
Jersey town.
An editorial In The
answers the above question thus:
It wou’d be easier to tell where is the
East. That Is always towards the At-
lantic. Boston Is East to Cleveland;
Chicago is east to Cloroda, and every-
thing this side of the Cascade moun-
tains is east to the Pacific coast. It
almost amounts to this. The West Is
where a man is; the East is where
he or his father came from.
So it comes to pass that the West
has no fixed geographical limits like
the South and New England. It Is
something more than a geographical
term. Dike Boston, it is a state of
mind. There are mountains and riv-
ers and oceans within the limits of
which the state of mind is pre-emi-
nently to be found, but it is to be
recognized in other regions as well.
You can tell a Westerner as you can
tell a Southerner, sometimes by his
World To-Day [ speech, always by his attitude toward
life.
The West means Americans wno
are controlled by certain Ideas and
motives. But American does not mean
Anglo-Saxon beyond the Alleghenies.
It is never, strictly speaking, a mat-
ter of descent, but this is doubly true
of (hut great legion where blood and
ideas and habits of every people un-
der the sun are fusing into a new
lace. Inevitably the West is cosmo-
politan. With such an origin It could
r.ot be otherwise. Provincialism in
any arrogant sense of the term you
will not find outside of the thirteen
original states of the union. On the
prairies too many men have suc-
Cfeded where according to all prece-
dent they ought to have failed, for
r,nv one to claim a proprietary right
in omniscience. Lacking that, how-
ever convinced it may be of its own
superiority, the West is tolerant and
the Westerner is at home everywhere.
He Couldn’t Describe Wife
The Bigger Thing.
"I was in a New England village on
election day,” said the New York
drummer, ‘‘and the electors came up
to the scratch nobly until about two
hours before the polls closed. Then
a tin peddler with a sick horse drove
into town and all further interest in
the election was forgotten. The work-
ers deserted the polls in a body, the
electors who hadn’t voted refused to
leave that sick horse to do so and
when the result of the count was an-
nounced one old fellow who had been
pulling at the horse’s ears for the last
hour replied:
“Now, then, never mind who is elect-
ed or defeated. We have got a heap
bigger thing on hand to save this
hoss.”
At Rest.
When but a child I marveled much
That mice upon the marble's breast
I lound engraven e'er a lomb
These simple words and few. “At Host.'
They told no place nor hour of birth.
No record kept
e nor h(
of how or where
The tenant there had welcomed rest.
And pul aside life's fevered care.
But now I marvel much the more,
Whene'er I read on careen stone
light of Inscription, tine or date.
Save that which tolls of tills alone:
carven stone
That ho who lies beneath the mound.
With sightless eyes and pulseless
breast.
Has gained the one great boon of all—
Eternal, everlasting rest.
—Datlie Stiles Prescott.
Mine of Vari-Colored Oak.
A Russian timber dealer has dis-
covered a valuable mine of oak. It is
tn a river of south Russia, in layers
three or four foot deep, scattered over
150 square miles, and Its most strik-
ing feature Is its variety of colors,
supposed to he due to the variegated
soil of the river bottom. Not fewer
than twelve shades of pink, blue, yel-
low and brown have been noted, each
log having its own uniform shade.
The logs taken out have ranged from
forty to 200 feet In length and from
fifteen to twenty inches in diameter,
anti it is estimated that more Ihnn
150,000, averaging sevcnly feet, re
main.
When We Did Not Care for Japan.
When the first embassy from Japan
arrived In Washington a member of
the Senate rose and said: Mr. Presi-
dent, the first ambassadors from the
venerable country of Japan are about
to arrive. I move the Senate do now
adjourn to meet and welcome the Jap-
anese." Immediately another senator
was on his feet, not to second the mo
tlon, hut to say sharply: "Mr. Pres)
deni, 1 humbly trust the Senate of the
United Stales of America will not ud
Jouin for every show that comes
along.” That settled It.—From Mr*
Roger A Pryor's "Reminiscences"
Fad for Optimism.
One of the most wholesome fads
that has been prevalent among soci-
ety at large is the newest of all—op-
timism.
For it Is no longer the fashion to go
about looking as though you bore the
burdens of the world upon your de-
voted shoulders. But, instead, you're
expected to look blithely upon the
world and its troubles—and your own
troubles, too, says the Philadelphia
North American.
Perhaps it is our free outdoor life
that has developed the quality. Per-
haps it is only a new pose—for pub-
lic opinion must have its poses, like
every individual.
Surely, it should make happier,
healthier communities out of our cities
and states. Good cheer is more or
less of a habit—pretend to have it,
and you suddenly wake up to find
you’ve really got It, and, too, have cre-
ated a more joyous atmosphere for
yourself, that gradually grows neces-
sary to you.
The happy habit, is a good one—
much better than the tragic-faced,
world-weary type that preceded it.
May the new fad stay in fashion!
“I do believe," said a girl who waits
on customers in a city photographic
studio, “that most men take their last
look at their wives at the altar. Cer-
tainly, from the way the average man
who wants a picture of his wife tries
to describe her, you would fancy he
had met and married her by mail.
Tile other day a man came in w ith a
battered tintype of his wife and or-
dered a colored enlargement made of
it. I drew the slip and then asked
him to describe her so that we could
get the coloring natural. He hemmed
and hawed, so that I put the question
a little more definitely.
“ ’What's the color of her hair?' I
inquired.
■' ’Oh, well—er—sort of brownish,
don't you know, with streaks in it. I
forget w hat the streaks are.’
"’Her eyes? I asked, writing down
‘brown hair.’
“For a moment the man stood still
ami tried to think. Then he turned
to me helplessly.
“•I’m d—blessed if I know!’ he
blurted out. ‘You'll have to wait until
I go home and take a look at ’em
to-night.' ”
" ‘How long,’ I inquired, 'have you
been married to that woman?'
" ’Sixteen years,’ he answered, with
a shame-faced smirk.
“And in all that time he probably
had never looked at her. She had
dressed for him, curled her hair, pow-
dered her nose, squeezed her waist
into eighteen-inch corsets, and her
feet into slippers two sizes too small
for them, for 365 days out of each of
those sixteen years—and he hadn’t
even seen her.”
Clever Shots With Rifle
Every one is familiar with the “Will-
iam Tell” act, which is so popular
among men who do fancy shooting;
but no feat comes up to one with
which a Frenchman, M. Gaston Borde-
verry, has been amusing Haris. Tak-
ing several repeating carbines and
standing ten yards from a piano, he
plays, or, to be more correct, he
“shoots” a complicated selection from
‘Cavalleria Rusticana.” A quartet
sings the accompanying words and the
music is concluded in excellent time,
with scarcely a wrong note. The
piano has, of course, been especially
armored to stand this unusual thump-
ing.
Capt. Hardy, a six-foot cowboy, re-
cently gave a remarkable exhibition
of his skill in shooting before the Lin-
coln (Neb.) Gun club. Giving one of
the state celebrities a handful of hick-
ory nuts, Hardy asked him to throw
them into the air as fast as he could.
Not a single r.ut escaped the bullets.
Five-cent pieces thrown fifteen feet in-
to the air never came back. Through
a card held at arm's length the cow-
boy sent five bullets as fast as they
could be fired. Every shot had passed
through a ring the size of a quarter
drawn on the card. But the most
thrilling feat followed. Half a dozen
hazel nuts were stuck on skewers and
placed in the form of a half circle
around a man s head. Then, at a dis-
tance of twenty paces, in the space of
only ten seconds, six shots were fired.
Every nut had been removed in suc-
cession, and when the skewers were
examined it was found that they were
the same length, showing that Hardy
had hit each nut squarely in the mid-
dle.
The “Aftermath of Death9'
Fails.
Minister Van Swindertn, of the
Netherlands, whose engagement tc
Miss Elizabeth Glover has been an-
nounced, is an excellent horseman,
and, like all excellent horsemen, he is
apt to criticise trenchantly those who
do not ride with skill.
At a musicale in Washington the
other day the minister, in the course
of a conversation with a senator’s
wife, said:
"I saw young Blank at. Chevy Chase
this morning.”
“Was he on horseback?” the lady
asked
"Well, off and on ” was the reply.
One of the jacldes cf the battleship
Mas~achusette, speaking of the acci-
dent on hoard his ship, was heard to
ark a visitor if he noticed a pro-
nounced odor of powder. The visitor
answered that he did, and wondered
mildly why there should be an odor
of powder when the accident had been
caused by an explosion of steam only.
’That’s one of the tilings which can-
not he accounted for," replied the sail-
or. "but it s what we all call ’death's
aftermath.’ Have you never heard of
the persistency with which the odor
cf powder clings to a battlefield alter
an encounter with the enemy?
"Well,” he continued, “this odor
clings to the field of strife in propor-
tion to the number of those killed. It's
impossible to account for it, but those
who know declare that if there are a
great many killed in the battle the
smell of powder clings to the spot for
days after, while if only a few are
killed it soon disappears. It's the same
when death is the result of any kind
of an explosion. But It must be an
explosion.
"The fact that the odor clings to a
battleSeld can be easily accounted for,
but why it should be present when a
foreign agent has caused the explo-
sion no one can account for. Wc
won’t get rid cf this smell until we
get rut to sea. Ain’t it funny?" con-
cluded the tar.
The visitor shcok his head and ad-
mitted that it was.
Harp’s Melody No More
The harp, forgotten, hung
Neglected by the wall.
For many a year unstrung.
No more It tuned the hall
I'hc harpe.-'s young again,
Hi** touch is nimble, strong;
Aw.ik* 'i now the strain
Of laughter, love, and song.
Tiie hand It once had know*'
That touched it* sweetest - lord.
Was long departed, gone,
Forgotten was the bard.
The harp semis sttung with hair,
\\!!h strands of glancing gold.
1 hat di cki ti n maiden fair;
Its sung s of days of old.
The bard returned, one tia>
His step no longer light.
His locks are scant and gray.
That once were dark as nipnt
Familiar strains :ecr.ll
Stern de< *is and heroes dread
Once me:» the ancient hall
Stands prop led with the dead.
Not a Safe Juror.
Attorney for defense: "One more
question, Mr. Plunkett. Have you
any prejudice in this case, one way or
the other?”
Talesman—No str.
Attorney—If you should be accept- 1
ed as a juror do you think you could j
render a verdict in accordance with
the law and the evidence?
Talesman—I think I could.
Attorney (after whispered confer- \
ence with his client)—Your honor, i
we'll excuse Mr. Plunkett.
With mill and listless ryt-
H.- glances round the hall
And breathes a weary sigh.
His gods are scattered, all.
But here one friend remains.
One friend that’s still his own;
The lmii> yields gentle attains.
'Phnf'^i'g
Then
welcome In its tone
’* l.aij. resound* ns strung
\Ni'h rars of ringing steel,
voir#: mighty song,
D rr lls the thunder’* peal.
its now
r,
The harp's beyond its po
its Joints asunder start,
«n«l <■ >me. its song is o'er,
i he harp sitings fly -apart.
With old and shaking hand.
The huh> again he strings:
Obedient to commur.d,
Its low. hwcct music rings.
The hat per pairs
Now
No m* . his touch to pni
obflU rouse the harp's <|
turns
r« claims its
ashen,
own
ssion
t’hleag*
ep tom*,
i) Tribun
Halt Called on Progress
English Egg Imports.
In spite of strong efforts made to
Increase the poultry culture in Eng-
Jncreased during the last year,
amounting In value to $32,064,800. as
against $29,420,000 during the year
1902.
Skeptical.
“Yes,” began the maiden, “you ars
the only man 1 ever—”
"Is it possible?” he Interrupted
“And leap year almost ended, tool-
eon hosts threatened to subjugate ail
ground
lived in
"At the very doorway of Europe,
three days'journey from London with j Europe, and who drove the aboriginal
in gunshot of Gibraltar, lies Morocco, ! Berbers into the mountains have for
the last of the independent kingdoms j centuries scratched up the
_______ _______ __ of Barbary, so ufiaffected by the pass with their primitive plows
land, the importation of eggs has again I 'nK °* centuries that someone has cpi- , their black tents, plowed their wheat
grammatically described it nr, an- ! and barley and reaped ii with their
tlquity canned alive."’ said James P. hand sickles The song of the reap
Welllver, a missionary who recently , era may be heard ss of old and worm
returned from that land and has been | * n who h.ivo labored all day gathering
spending a few days In the city. j „„ the heads of wheat by o-ier and
"The railroad and even the wagon | twos may he seen by the '
road are unknown. A few miles front brrvcst nnte
the coast foreigners are still looked with n mallet
upon as curiosities and their presence | thi evening hr'eese' to h'rg-onnd1 in
regarded with suspicion The Arabs. ; tl„ little hand mill found i-. every hut
who overran the land when the Sara- | and tent." Kt. Paul Plr.necr-Preaa “
one?
roadside at
pounding out (he grain
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French, Mrs. W. H. Chandler Daily Publicist. (Chandler, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 3, No. 223, Ed. 1 Friday, March 3, 1905, newspaper, March 3, 1905; Chandler, Oklahoma Territory. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc912223/m1/4/: accessed April 24, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.