"Where do we go to
send a telegram, Momsie?"
Mrs. Littell smiled.
"Betty and I are all who are necessary for that little errand," she
said firmly. "The rest of you stay right in the car."
Carter opened the door for them and then went in search of the
baggage man. Betty and Mrs. Littell found the telegraph window and in
a few minutes a message was speeding out to Richard Gordon, Flame
City, Oklahoma, telling him that his niece was in Washington, giving
her address and asking what he wished her to do.
"I'll write him a letter to-night," promised Mrs. Littell when this
was accomplished. "Then he'll know that you are in safe hands. You
must write to him, too, dear. Flame City may consist of one shack and
a hundred oil wells and be twenty miles from a post-office, you know."
Carter reported that the trunks were already on their way to
Fairfields, and now the car was turned toward the gleaming Monument
that seemed to be visible from every part of the city, Betty, her
mind relieved by the sending of the telegram, abandoned herself to
the joys of sightseeing. Here she was, young, well and strong, in a
luxurious car, surrounded by friends, and driving through one of the
most beautiful cities in the United States.
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