This morning our old friend, Franklin MacVeagh, now Secretary of the Treasury, called for us by appointment with the Treasury carriage--rather an old-fashioned turnout with two horses and a colored coachman--and took us to call on President Taft. We drove to the executive offices in one of the new wings McKim has added to the White House. We waited in a big round room with a soft green carpet. A picture of Roosevelt hung on the wall, a vase of pink roses stood on the table under it. “I brought you early,” Mr. MacVeagh explained, “that you might see the Cabinet assemble and meet the Ministers, while waiting for the President.” The first to arrive was Mr. Dickinson, Secretary of War. “Is this your office?” I asked him. “Aren’t these roses emblems of peace rather than of war?” “My office is next door,” the Secretary answered, “but there are roses there too. Washington is famous for its flowers; we have many fine conservatories. I have, by the way, more concerns of peace than of war on my hands at present. The Panama Canal and the Philippines take up most of my time.” George Meyer, Secretary of the Navy--and incidentally our distant cousin--was the next comer. He was very dapper, wearing, like the others, a frock coat and tall hat. We had not met since Meyer was Ambassador to Italy. He asked many questions about Rome, which he seemed to regret. We talked of the splendid work our navy did for Italy after the Messina earthquake. I asked him if he had read Commander Belknap’s report. “Enough of it to get an idea of what good service you all did down there,” he answered. I seemed to hear again the click of Belknap’s typewriter at the American camp at Mosella, when he sat writing those notable reports to the Navy Department late into the night. Admiral Brownson thinks that Meyer is the best Secretary of the Navy we have ever had. Adams says that Senator Lodge got him the job. Mr. Lodge was offered the post of Secretary of State, but refused it and tried to get the position for Meyer, but had to be content with the Navy portfolio. “What gossip!” I hear you cry. Well, isn’t to-day’s gossip to-morrow’s history? Mr. MacVeagh next introduced Mr. Knox, Secretary of State, a small stocky man with an harassed face. He was the only one of them who seemed to show his hand. One had a sense of the heavy weight--superhuman almost--that rested on all these men; the others seemed to be able to make light of it for the moment, while Mr. Knox seemed troubled and nervous. His son’s sudden marriage last week may have had something to do with it.