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In the summer of 1908, the president of Princeton University, recovering from one of his many mysterious illnesses, was staying at a country place in Scotland; but he broke off his vacation to visit Edinburgh, where he hung around the telegraph office and newsstands, just in case the Democratic convention, meeting in Denver, should nominate him for the presidency. The absurdity of this expectation can be tested if we remember that he had never, at that point, held or even run for public office—never, in fact, attended a Democratic convention.
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