A little while after we had moved and were settled, and I had seen
enough of the Civil Service to make me thoughtful and doubtful as to
the wisdom of my move, a little lady came in to my office and was
presented to me by Pa Steve as Miss Vay. Miss Vay was one of the clerks
in our branch, and was noticeable for her diminutive size, and also as
being an exception to the majority of women clerks, who were not worth
their salt as office assistants, however charming some of them might
appear in other capacities. The request she came to make of me was
novel and unexpected. “Mr. Wesblock,” she said, “I have been asked to
call upon you by the ladies of the Historical Society.”
“I am flattered,” I said; “do the ladies desire me to deliver a
lecture, or are you assisting Pa to play some prank upon me?”
“Neither,” she replied; “we are producing an evening of historical
tableaux, among which will be pictures of several of the incidents of
the life of Christopher Columbus.”
“Quite so,” I said, “and you want me to pull up the curtain, or be an
Indian or something.”
“Yes,” she answered, “we want you to pose as Columbus.”
“Great Scott!” I exclaimed, “I am more than flattered, but I hardly
think I am suited for Columbus, who, my memory tells me, was a highly
dignified-looking party. If there is one thing I am quite short of it
is dignity.”
“It is your face and figure we want, not your other attributes,” said
little Miss Vay.
This would never have happened if I had been cropped like a bar-tender.
My hair did it.
“This is very sudden, Miss Vay,” I said laughingly. “I am yours, with
the proviso that the matter passes headquarters—Mrs. Wesblock—if she
says I may, I am your Columbus, your Christopher, your Discoverer, your
adventurer.”
Pa and Ernest laughed, which drove little Miss Vay away. The idea
pleased Muriel very much, especially as the show was to be given
before His Excellency, Her Excellency, and the ladies and gentlemen of
Government House. This event cracked the Ottawa ice. A few days after
Miss Vay’s visit, two lady officers of the Historical Society called
upon Muriel, and through Columbus we made many good, kind friends, who
wore well for years.
Rehearsals were commenced at once, ancient pictures looked up and
costumes made, which kept us busy for several weeks. The tableaux
were perhaps instructive, and were certainly very amusing. A certain
long-winded gentleman, who had been chosen to act as showman, not
being advised that the holding of a pose for more than a minute is a
very difficult feat, held forth at such length that the characters
wobbled. Christopher Columbus asked to have the gentleman’s facial
orifice closed, and the audience tittered. Except for this episode
the performance was a grave, dignified, and solemn social event, and
a great success. Columbus was shown as he appeared before the Queen
of Spain and her court, and in the act of giving thanks for his safe
arrival on the continent of America. During the latter scene he had to
draw the curtains together with his sword. Amateur effort has moved to
a higher plane since those days.
I very easily procured all the music pupils I could handle during my
leisure, and this, with an occasional odd job at posting some firm’s
books at night, or auditing, materially assisted my modest salary.
Minister One was forced to resign during my second year as a Civil
servant. His downfall caused no great regret in his Department, which
was quite accustomed to the sudden appearance and disappearance of
Ministers. He called us all to his office before he retired, and made
us a neat little speech, bidding us farewell, after which we passed
before him and shook hands with him. One item of his speech is,
perhaps, worthy of note. “I warn you, my friends,” he said, “against
jealousy and envy. These are the besetting sins of my countrymen.” He
was a Frenchman, and there were many in his audience who resented this
remark.
My second Minister, whom I will call “Two,” was one of the curious
specimens who get thrown up on top in the political turmoil. No one,
except politicians, had ever heard of him before he became Minister of
Ways and Means; yet he had represented his constituency for many years,
and had never been beaten. He was not brilliant, he was not brainy,
but he had a dogged patience and persistence, and every one for miles
surrounding his home could drink with him and call him Bill. He had a
highly-developed capacity for strong drink, and enjoyed having Tom,
Dick, and Harry slap him familiarly upon the back and call him Bill. He
was a large, heavy, slow person, of few words and no action to speak
of. Our Department was neither better or worse off for his reign, which
was a short one. His internal economy, which had long resisted the
whisky process, gave out shortly after he became a Cabinet Minister.
Consequently we saw very little of him, as he was laid up with a
burnt-out constitution during nearly the whole time he held office. His
must have been the oft-referred-to “iron constitution,” for he had used
whisky as a daily beverage for over thirty years before he succumbed.
He died, and hundreds of men said, “Poor Bill.” He was not married, and
was not mourned by women.
During Two’s time, Deputy Gobble resigned without public statement of
cause, and was replaced by Mr. Fisher, a very energetic person, who
gave the Department a brilliant imitation of a new broom. I have very
kindly feelings towards Fisher, for the reason that he was the one man
who recognised the justice of my claim to have One’s promise to me
carried out. Two could not be bullied or coaxed even into considering
the merits of the matter. When it was brought to his notice, he simply
grunted and put it away from him. When a certain titled lady, wife
of a Governor-General, complained to him that his Department had not
attended to some extensive repairs she had asked to have made at Rideau
Hall, he grunted and said to her, “_My good woman_, I really cannot
do what you ask.” So what could I expect. Intimate friends of Her
Excellency afterwards called her “my good woman,” which was considered
a perfectly ripping joke in those days.