I had called on that “stick-in-the-eye” banker a short while before, and obtained from him the log of a producing well recently brought in by Frank Letson and associates in the Enid field—and this, I think, might have been what had alerted the banker; or, maybe, the president had sent his partner scurrying in to forestall an admission of their questionable finagling. I wanted that log to compare with the log of “our” drilling, which I had obtained from “our” president. Then, too, Frank Letson was a younger brother of Ed and Ella Letson who were my schoolmates in Wetmore, when their father, Bill Letson, owned a general store here; before going to Netawaka to engage in like business. I had called at the Fleming and Letson bank in Enid two days before, but did not get to see either of my old acquaintances. The Fleming bank, now an imposing brick structure having tall columns, on the east side of the square, was started on the south side, opposite the land office, in a small frame building in the new town after the opening of the Cherokee strip, in 1893. I also had occasion to call at the old bank about six months after the opening, to get a paper notarized. Attorney Elwin Campfield, in the law office of John Curran, formerly of Seneca, on the west side of the Enid square, filled out relinquishing papers for me, without charge—we had been neighbors in the Bleisener building in Wetmore—and suggested that I wait in the Curran office a few minutes when he would have one of the office force notarize it for me, presumedly also without charge—a small matter hardly worth waiting for. Up here the fee for such service was then, and still is, twenty-five cents. I told Elwin I would go over to the Fleming bank and get it notarized, that I wanted to pay my respects to Ollie, anyway. 01 had grabbed off, at Netawaka, a red headed girl (Ella Letson) whom I had thought pretty nice when we were care-free kids running wild on the streets of Wetmore in the early days. Well, 01 was sure glad to see me—and he would gladly remember me to Ella. When he had returned the notarized paper to me, I said, “How much, 01?” He said, “Five dollars!” I shot him a wordless blank look. He laughed, and said, “Oh, give me two-and-a-half.” There had been a time in that frontier town when one could get most anything asked for services, but that time was now over and passed—half-over, anyway. That officious Wetmore man was in Dr. Lapham’s office when I reported my findings. I told the group that I had spoken only for myself when I gave those finaglers my word that I was not there to make trouble—that I had to do this to get them to open up. I told the group that I had no desire to pursue the matter further, but that they themselves were not barred; that any one of them who might wish to, could notify the Blue Sky Board in Topeka—and the Board would do the rest.