of three for General Harrison. A veteran campaigner begged me
to announce it as fifty, but I refused. "No," I said, "the closeness
of the vote when there is every opportunity for manipulation would
carry conviction."

An old gentleman who stood beside me had a gold-headed ebony
cane. I seized it and rapped it on the table with such force that
it broke in two and announced that the figures showed absolute
certainty of President Harrison's renomination. I doubt if there
was a reliable majority, but the announcement of this result
brought enough of those always anxious to get on the band-wagon
to make it certain.

Soon after arriving home I received a letter from the owner of
the cane. He wrote: "I was very angry when you broke my cane.
It was a valued birthday present from my children. It is now
in a glass case in my library, and on the case is this label: 'This
cane nominated a president of the United States.'"

Mr. McKinley, then Governor of Ohio, presided at the convention.
I stood close beside him when I made my speech for Harrison's
renomination. While thoroughly prepared, the speech was in a
way extemporaneous to meet calls or objections. In the midst
of a sentence McKinley said to me in a loud voice: "You are
making a remarkably fine speech." The remark threw me off my
balance as an opposition would never have done. I lost the
continuity and came near breaking down, but happily the applause
gave me time to get again upon the track.

Among my colleagues in the New York delegation was James W. Husted.