Untrimmed sumacs threw late-afternoon shadows on the discolored stucco facade of the Elsby Public Library. Inside, Tremaine followed a paper-dry woman of indeterminate age to a rack of yellowed newsprint.
"You'll find back to nineteen-forty here," the librarian said. "The older are there in the shelves."
"I want nineteen-oh-one, if they go back that far."
The woman darted a suspicious look at Tremaine. "You have to handle these old papers carefully."
"I'll be extremely careful." The woman sniffed, opened a drawer, leafed through it, muttering.
"What date was it you wanted?"
"Nineteen-oh-one; the week of May nineteenth."
The librarian pulled out a folded paper, placed it on the table, adjusted her glasses, squinted at the front page. "That's it," she said. "These papers keep pretty well, provided they're stored in the dark. But they're still flimsy, mind you."
"I'll remember." The woman stood by as Tremaine looked over the front page. The lead article concerned the opening of the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo. Vice-President Roosevelt had made a speech. Tremaine leafed over, reading slowly.