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My cousin escorted me to the inaugural. He was pretty well in by this time. I'm not sure that I didn't let him give his ticket to one of his sons, because he looked so peaked and faded out that I saw that the quiet, elderly, correct gentleman from Boston couldn't take too much more of this, although he was an enthusiastic Roosevelt supporter politically. So perhaps I did let one of his sons go with us. I also remember saying that we weren't going to stay very long. I didn't see any sense in spending the evening at an inaugural ball.

I assumed there would be some kind of formality about this ball and that there would be a reception. I thought that members of the incoming Cabinet and other high officers of the government would be received somehow or other in a place, with a place provided for them. Lily Polk (Mrs. Frank Polk), whom I had seen in the afternoon, had said, “Have you got a box for the inaugural ball?”

I said, “No. should I have one?”

She said, “Oh no, it doesn't matter at all, but we've got one. You'll be much more comfortable. Let me tell you. These inaugural balls are no joke.” There spoke the accomplished and thoroughly acclimated Washingtonian who had served through two administrations and knew what it was like. “As soon as you come in, find a military aide somewhere, or anybody who