President Coolidge possesses a genius for work. Contrary to the popular belief developed in the past few years, that the presidential job is too much for the vitality of any man, President Coolidge has thrived upon its manifold exactions. He has gained weight and found enjoyment, not hardship, in his office and the opportunities opened thereby. Without doubt, the electrical steed which the President had installed and which caused such a whirlwind of comment, none of which retarded its use, has had much to do in keeping him fit. However it is, both he and Mrs. Coolidge approached the time of their installation as the choice of the American people, in good health and happy spirits. Just before the Inauguration, there was a great deal of discussion and adverse comment on the custom of shaking hands. The fact that, although in the White House but about twenty months, President Coolidge had shaken hands with ninety thousand people brought forth argument against the practice on the part of some of his close friends. A committee was appointed to attempt to relieve him of some of his routine duties. When the solicitous group had expounded to him their views upon the matter and expressed their desires and intentions, expecting him to acquiesce with pleasure and possibly with praise for their thoughtfulness of him, he electrified them and disposed of the entire matter in his characteristic fashion--“BUT I LIKE IT!” The quirky lines about the President’s mouth and eyes, a certain twinkle that insists upon showing itself, are evidences of his sense of humour, and emphasize the fact that he is a reserved New Englander, whose reserve is just the outer crust of dignity, a sort of public armour, shield, and buckler against the too intrusive, which must melt away into genial friendliness. He has a dry wit, keen-edged, that is infectious with its quiet drollery. At one of the informal gatherings, a woman, desiring to impress herself upon his mind, remarked airily, “Mr. President, I’m from Boston!” With that twinkle that is so ready to show itself, he remarked instantly, “You’ll never get over it!” In accordance with his wish, the ceremonies for March 4, 1925, were made as simple and free from display as possible. Fifty thousand visitors supplied in enthusiasm what was lacking in brilliant display, and many were the regrets that so momentous an event in the nation’s life should be accompanied by so little of the pageantry of pomp and power. All of the enthusiasm of former days possessed the throngs of pedestrians along the route to and from the Capitol.