“But there must be some mistake. Surely the President does not mean to refuse to see at least . . .” “Those are my only orders, Ma’am.” The procession continued on to the second gate on Pennsylvania Avenue. Again locked. Before we could address the somewhat nervous policeman who stood at the gates, he hastened to say, “You can’t come in here; the gates are locked.” “But it is imperative; we are a thousand women from all States in the Union who have come all the way to Washington to see the President and lay before him . . .” “No orders, Ma’am.” The line made its way to the third and last gate—the gate leading to the Executive offices. As we came up to this gate a small army of grinning clerks and secretaries manned the windows of the Executive offices, evidently amused at the sight of the women struggling in the wind and rain to keep their banners intact. Miss Martin, Mrs. William Kent of California, Mrs. Florence Bayard Hilles of Delaware, Miss Mary Patterson of Ohio, niece of John C. Patterson of Dayton, Mrs. J. A. H. Hopkins of New Jersey, Miss Eleanor Barker of Indiana, and Mrs. Mary Darrow Weible of North Dakota,—the leaders—stayed at the gate, determined to get results from the guard, while the women continued to circle the White House. “Will you not carry a message to the President’s Secretary asking him to tell the President that we are here waiting to see him?” “Can’t do that, Ma’am.” “Will you then take our cards to the Secretary to the president, merely announcing to him that we are here, so that he may send somebody to carry in our resolutions?” Still the guard hesitated. Finally he left the gate and carried the message a distance of a few rods into the Executive offices. He had scarcely got inside when he rushed back to his post. When we sought to ascertain what had happened to the cards—had they been given and what the answer was—he quietly confided to us that he had been reprimanded for even attempting to bring them in and informed us that the cards were still in his pocket. “I have orders to answer no questions and to carry no messages. If you have anything to leave here you might take it to the entrance below the Executive offices, and-when I go off my beat at six o’clock I will leave it as I go by the White House.” We examined this last entrance suggested. It, did not strike us as the proper place to leave an important message for the President. “What is this entrance used for?” I asked the guard. “It’s all right, lady. If you’ve got something you’d like to leave, leave it with me. It will be safe.” I retorted that we were not seeking safety for our message, but speed in delivery. The guard continued: “This is the gate where Mrs. Wilson’s clothes and other packages are left.”