The station agent would be able to answer the last question, at any rate.
The agent, however, proved disappointingly ignorant of the matter.

He reminded Ford that there had not been time to buy a ticket, and that the girl had been compelled to run down the platform to reach the train before it started, and that the wheels began to turn before she was up the steps of the day coach.
"And don't you remember turning around and saying to me: 'I'm a poor married man, but you can't notice the scar,' or something like that ?" The agent was plainly interested and desirous of rendering any assistance possible, and also rather diffident about discussing so delicate a matter with a man like Ford.
Ford drummed his fingers impatiently upon the shelf outside the ticket window.

"I don't remember a darned thing about it," he confessed glumly.
"I can't say I enjoy running all around town trying to find out who it was I married, and why I married her, and where she went afterwards, but that's just the kinda fix I'm in, Lew.

I don't suppose she came here and did it just for fun--and I can't figure out any other reason, unless she was plumb loco.

From all I can gather, she was a nice girl, and it seems she thought I was Frank Ford Cameron--which I am not!" He laughed, as a man will laugh sometimes when he is neither pleased nor amused.
"I might ask McCreery--he's conductor on Fourteen.