A few months after our marriage Mason was withdrawn from the mill and
placed elsewhere; an event which increased my importance, my opinion of
myself, and my salary. We were now nearly rich, we thought, and bought
a piano with a payment on account and a “slow note,”[1] the first note
I ever signed but by no means the last. Nearly nightly I lifted up my
voice in song to Muriel’s accompaniment.
One night I was in the midst of a mighty effort to hold the longest and
highest note in “When the Flowing Tide Comes In,” when Doctor Joseph
unexpectedly walked in.
“God bless! what a noise,” he exclaimed; and thereupon we turned to
hand-shaking, kissing and embracing.
Muriel busied herself at once in preparing supper, and the table
was soon set, at which the old doctor laughed heartily; for he had
never seen Muriel put her hand to a useful thing. No word of past
unpleasantness or present forgiveness was spoken. The presence of the
doctor was sufficient. In a little while supper was over, a tour of
inspection of our domicile had been made, and the old gentleman was
sitting in a home-made arm-chair, smoking a large cigar, while he
cross-examined us. We talked late into the night.
“So far,” said the Doctor, “it appears that all is well. You are
married hardly six months. I must say, a boy of your age who can
command love in a girl like Muriel that will stand the test of living
in a place like this must have something in him. But there are breakers
ahead. You have a hard way to make, and you have characters to form.”
In this edifying strain did my father-in-law lecture us. It was
right, of course; but his words fell on deaf ears. We smiled at him,
as self-satisfied youth always smiles at the wisdom of age. We could
not realise that we were blind, and the idea of our characters being
unformed seemed ridiculous.
The Doctor stayed with us for two nights and a day, and left us in
high spirits. I had a good store of comical yarns and stories, and the
Doctor dearly loved a joke. I kept him laughing during the whole time
of our drive to the village to catch his train, when I should have been
in serious consultation with him, relative to the management of my
affairs and my heavy domestic responsibilities. He must have judged me
to be a thoughtless, shallow youth.
“Remember,” he said as he left me, “she will lead you by the nose for
the rest of your life.” He was undoubtedly a judge of such things, or
should have been, for if ever man was led by the nose by a woman, he
was that man. Mrs. Joseph managed her house, including the Doctor, with
a high hand and no favours. Everything was sacrificed to her wishes.
To use the word “managed” is perhaps hardly exact. In this regard it
would be nearer the truth to say that she rode roughshod over everybody
and everything, without regard to expense or consequence. How she
accomplished her ends I do not know; for she was not loudly insistent
or apparently overbearing.
One of the difficulties which Dr. Joseph had possibly reckoned with
arose from the very simple fact that Muriel was a true daughter of the
city. When we had been at the mill some eighteen months, the novelty of
things began to wear off, and our simple life became monotonous to her.
But now occurred a vital new development, not unexpected. We were about
to pay a visit to Montreal, when our First Beloved arrived. We two
played croquet one fine June evening, and early the next morning there
were three of us. It was a girl—a little pink lump of humanity, with
large dark blue eyes, and a great quantity of straight black hair. I
was very proud and elated over this commonplace occurrence. If I had
had forty cannon I would have fired them all, while ammunition lasted;
but I had no cannon, so I fired telegrams right and left, to every
relative whom I thought ought to be interested in the event. I took a
long pole and stuck it in the chimney, and hoisted a flag on it, which
action was nearly the cause of my being left a widower, for a breeze
sprung up next day and brought down my chimney, flag-pole and all with
such a racket that poor little Muriel was nearly frightened to death.
Before the baby was two days old Mrs. Joseph was with us, accompanied
by her sister, the kind and friendly aunt at whose house we were
married. I was still a beardless youth when our First Beloved arrived.
Persistent shaving had failed to raise any manly growth of hair upon my
face. I have learned since that a hairless face is really a blessing.
Mrs. Joseph did not thaw to me very much, but she was condescendingly
kind, and took more interest in the baby and our affairs than might
have been expected. She was always a kill-joy to me in those days. She
seemed to carry more dignity than was necessary for a mere woman. In
her presence even the new baby seemed but a poor achievement. She did
not use a lorgnette, which is much to her credit. She was just the
kind of person who might daintily and grandly gaze on a baby through a
lorgnette, and exclaim, “How perfectly ridiculous.” Her departure was a
distinct relief to us. Muriel’s aunt remained with us, a welcome guest,
for several weeks.
At this time Muriel and I weighed jointly very little over two hundred
pounds. We both grew after marriage, in weight and in stature. Even the
shapes of our heads altered. My health improved steadily, until I was
nearly robust. I still succumbed easily to fatigue, and suffered from a
weak digestion, but nevertheless enjoyed fair health. I was fortunate
in having a proud stomach which resented ill-usage; for it helped to
teach me my physical limitations. If these matters are alluded to,
and I note a detail like perfect hearing in my left ear, while the
right one remained a typical scarlet fever ear—source of anxiety and
trouble—it is because they serve to show how seriously handicapped I
was for the work I had before me.
My affairs were by this time prosperous in a modest way, but I did
not realise it. Over and above my salary, which covered our actual
needs, I enjoyed an income from a small general store from which the
mill hands were provided with the rough necessaries of life. It was a
cash business, and brought me in a small profit. My men were my only
customers.
I can hardly say that I was quite happy during this period of my life.
The numerous small things to which I had to attend worried me. I was
gaining valuable experience, but at a high price in nervous waste. I
was careless and extravagant in money matters, and Muriel was not the
one to correct these failings. I was impatient, and expected results
when other men would be content to plod and wait. When our baby was
several weeks old, and Muriel was up and well, I saw that the novelty
of our life had worn off for her. She craved for the city, and she
wanted, a very natural desire, to show her baby. We were in our busy
season, the mill running night and day; it was hard for me to leave my
post, while I did not wish Muriel to go to Montreal alone. This led to
many discussions between us. We were young, and had not learned that
matters of disagreement between two people could be easily settled
without heat. We were not patient with each other, so that Muriel went
to Montreal with her baby, leaving me in a sulky mood. This was not a
serious breach; it was only a tiff, but I felt very much ill-used.
It is very pleasant no doubt to hear married couples tell of the many
years they have passed together without a single cross word being
spoken; and in a few cases the fond reminiscence may be true. But our
married life, particularly the early part of it, was stormy. Most of
the storms were necessary, inevitable, and led to better understanding
between Muriel and me. For the most part we were generous with each
other, and ever ready when a storm was over to take our fair share of
blame and admit evident error. I regret no part of these experiences
except when through whim, jealousy, or crustiness born of bad health,
I did my wife an injustice. The monotony of a long married life,
without one quarrel or disagreement, is something I do not pretend to
understand, unless among a wooden humanity unknown to my experience.
People who do not quarrel do not know the exquisite pleasure of
making up, and coming thereby to a better understanding; they do not
acquire the art of giving way gracefully and gallantly, or taste the
gratification of making it plain that you were right after all.
During the six months following the birth of our First Beloved,
Muriel spent a good deal of her time in Montreal, running away on
the slightest provocation, and being followed by me and brought back
again. This did not reduce our expenses, which were beginning to press
heavily upon our income. She was tired of the mill, and persevered in
her complaints against it, until she persuaded me to believe that it
was not a fit place in which to live; that it offered no outlook for
the future, and that I could do much better in the city. Whether she
was right or wrong in this it is impossible to state. Having taken one
course in life, who can tell where another would have led?
My father was at all times decidedly promiscuous in his business
ventures. As he grew older he became still more adventurous, taking
chances on all kinds of things. He was always involved in several
business undertakings outside his legitimate line, making much money
in some ventures, losing much in others. In my sketch of his character
I have, perhaps, been hardly fair to him, not from any deliberate
unfairness, but from a lack of understanding of his peculiar, erratic
temperament. I must say of him that he lived according to his
light, and was always ready to be of use to me in the years of my
apprenticeship to life, always showing a great and deep love, more by
deeds than words. His hand was always ready to pull me out of the many
financial holes into which I had a happy faculty of getting, and I
believe he understood me better than I understood myself.
Approaching him relative to the question of my leaving the mill, I was
surprised but glad to find that he was not opposed to the idea; in
fact he was quite willing that I should come to Montreal. This was, no
doubt, accounted for by his having a new sphere for my usefulness in
sight. He was largely involved at the time in a cartage business, to
which he could give no personal attention. Arrangements were soon made,
and we moved our home from the mill to Montreal. I left the mill with
deep regret.
I now took up the duty of watching my father’s interests in the cartage
business, and I found it no easy task. I was tied to drivers, horses
and waggons hand and foot, by night and day. This business failed
at the end of about a year and a half, for reasons which need not
be discussed. While I was busy with the work of moving freight and
sundries of every kind, from a five-cent parcel to a piano, our Second
Beloved arrived, and the good and great Doctor passed out. He had been
fighting a cirrhotic liver for over a year, but had undertaken its
cure too late. Hard mental work, want of outdoor exercise plus high
living wore him out before his time; so that he died at the early age
of sixty. I had seen a good deal of him latterly, and his death was
a great blow to me in every way. He had been a tower of strength to
his own family, to a large circle beyond the family, and even to the
country at large. It appears that families grow up and multiply till
they attain their fullest development in the person of one great man,
who dominates or largely influences his time and holds things together
by the strength of his personality. He dies and the family dissolves
and disperses into various commonplace paths. In altered spheres the
family units lose distinction.
After the failure of the cartage business, I found that I owed more
money than I could pay, and in this condition I remained on and off for
a number of years. Any fool can get into debt; it takes a wise man to
get out of it.
Our second baby, who was born shortly before the death of Doctor
Joseph, was a boy, and differed greatly from our First Beloved, who was
dark, quiet, and sorrowful looking. The boy was fair, boisterous and
gay.
Through the influence of the Doctor’s name I immediately secured
another position. I became English clerk in the Criminal Investigation
Office, and remained in this post for over a year, learning many things
about human nature in general and the seamy side of life in particular.
My salary was not princely, and as our Third Beloved arrived during
this year, my expenses were out of proportion to my income. Nearly any
one can marry, raise a family and provide for it in one way or another,
if nothing matters but that its members be fed, clothed and sheltered
in simple form. But when one must provide up to a certain standard, and
do it in a certain way set by family and social conditions, it is not
quite so easy. You cannot do this or that because it would humiliate
the family. You cannot do another thing because it would horrify the
neighbours. The children must have such and such things, and a certain
scale of appearances must be kept up at any cost.
There is only one sensible, safe and sane point from which to start
anything, and that is at the beginning. It is not to be wondered at
that men rise to eminence from nothing. They rise because they start
from the beginning, free and without handicap. They are so far below
that particularly nice line called “respectability” that no one knows
or cares what they do to gain their ends, and they are not noticed
until they arrive. Whereas the man who starts from where his parents
left off—from the middle, or a little above or below the middle—must
find his way without the valuable experience he would gain by making
his own start, and all his actions must be adjusted to the social
position of his family. Every one, no matter what his calling, can be a
gentleman in his heart; but every one cannot afford to be outwardly a
gentleman and a man of the world, fully equipped.
Doctor Joseph’s affairs were found in very indifferent shape. His
estate wound up to a sum very inadequate for continuing the style of
living his family had been enjoying. His big house, horses, library and
nearly everything had to be sold, and a modest form of living adopted
by Mrs. Joseph. This was a great blow to her, but she bore it well,
without complaint or any doubt as to the judgment of her dead husband.
Two of her sons, still in their teens, went to work in positions found
for them by good friends. As far as the sons were concerned, this
turned out to be the best thing that could have happened; but Mrs.
Joseph, of course, suffered in social prestige. The sons being too
young to take charge of their mother’s affairs, these were put into the
hands of one male relative, then of another. Thanks to their muddling
and incompetence, in a few years she was reduced presently to little
more than the salaries of her boys, who managed to support her and the
younger children in a modest way.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A promissory note.