Every speech of President Wilson's was, to use a baseball phrase, a home run for the Democratic side. They were delivered without much preparation and were purely extemporaneous in character. The Republican opposition soon began to wince under the smashing blows delivered by the Democratic candidate, and outward proof was soon given of the fear and despair that were now gathering in the Republican ranks. With a few short trips to the West, and his final speech at Long Branch, President Wilson closed his campaign, with Democratic hopes on the rise. The happenings of Election Day, 1916, will long linger in my memory. I was in charge of the Executive offices located at Asbury Park, while the President remained at Shadow Lawn, awaiting the news of the first returns from the country. The first scattered returns that filtered in to the Executive offices came from a little fishing town in Massachusetts early in the afternoon of Election Day, which showed a slight gain for the President over the election returns of 1912. Then followed early drifts from Colorado and Kansas, which showed great Wilson gains. Those of us who were interested in the President's cause were made jubilant by these early returns. Every indication, though imperfect, up to seven o'clock on the night of the election, forecasted the President's reëlection. In the early afternoon the President telephoned the Executive offices to inquire what news we had received from the country and he was apprised of the results that had come in up to that time. Then, quickly, the tide turned against us in the most unusual way. Between seven and nine o'clock the returns slowly came in from the East and Middle West that undeniably showed a drift away from us. About nine-thirty o'clock in the evening I was seated in my office, when a noise outside in the hallway attracted my attention and gave me the impression that something unusual was afoot. The door of my office opened and there entered a galaxy of newspaper men connected with the White House offices, led by a representative of the New York World, who held in his hands a bulletin from his office, carrying the news of Hughes' election. The expression in the men's faces told me that a crisis was at hand. The World man delivered his fateful message of defeat for our forces, without explanation of any kind. To me the blow was stunning, for the New York World had been one of our staunchest supporters throughout the whole campaign and yet, I had faith to believe that the news carried in the bulletin would be upset by subsequent returns. Steadying myself behind my desk, I quickly made up my mind as to what my reply should be to the World bulletin and to the query of the newspaper men whether we were ready to "throw up the sponge" and concede Hughes' election. Concealing the emotion I felt, I dictated the following statement, which was flashed through the country: