One night last week a special train bored southward from Washington to Miami.
U. S. Secretary of State Cordell Hull carefully hung up his grey tropical worsteds, drooped his black shoes outside the door of Compartment D, eased his lanky bones into bed. Stay-ups among his staff of 25 and the 14 accompanying newsmen clustered about the club-car radio, listening to the Democrats in Chicago nominate Henry Wallace for a job which Cordell Hull would not have (see p. 13). To Cordell Hull, the matter of who was going to run the U....
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