Last week Wendell Willkie appeared to justify the miracle of his nomination at Philadelphia. With the gong ringing for the tenth round, with the wise guys yelling "Take him out!", with his defenses battered down, he got up off the canvas, and waded back in, trading punch for punch.
Nearly everything that could go wrong had gone wrong, either through the demonic perversities of politics, or because Wendell Willkie had missed with some haymaker rights & lefts. (Nobody denied he was good at infighting.) Now he knew better what it meant to "meet...
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