The arriving stream of Canada’s immigrants—or, rather, the assembling army of Great Britain’s emigrants—provided many competitors for these new opportunities. I do not know whether the C.P.R. made a selection from among those competitors, or whether it accepted the earliest applicants. But, having visited last autumn the first group of Ready-made Farms to be occupied, I can testify that the hundred new neighbours, whether chosen by chance or discrimination, looked to be the sort of energetic and enthusiastic men who could be trusted to profit by the favours of fate. Those farmers (who, for the most part, followed other callings in the old country) had found their first crops in vigorous growth; and when I arrived they were largely occupied—with powerful machinery bought by the communal purse—in enlarging their areas of cultivation.
And in this connection I cannot forbear to mention a visit I paid, in that district, to one of the C.P.R. experimental farms. There I found an enthusiastic professor of agriculture, whose duty it was not only to test various grains and roots under local conditions of soil and climate, but to place his knowledge at the disposal of C.P.R. settlers who were in doubt or difficulty. During my brief stay several inquirers were attended to, their problems ranging from how potatoes should be stored to where a couple of good horses could promptly be purchased. Meanwhile, the professor’s buggy was waiting at the gate, and it seemed he was due to depart on a round of visits to farmers who, as I gathered, wanted to be shown how they could use their land to greatest advantage.
Thus this great corporation, originally and nominally a railway company, has brought nation-building to an art and a science.
Finally, I cannot refrain from mentioning two incidents that gave me personal peeps at the internal working of the C.P.R. Standing one Sunday afternoon on the crowded platform of Moose Jaw railway station, I witnessed the arrival of a train which, since no passengers were allowed to enter it, was easy to identify as a “special.” It held my attention for another reason. From an office on the permanent way there issued a squad of men clad in white overalls, immaculately clean, each with a bright little nosegay pinned to his breast. Some carried short ladders, others held pails, and each was armed with either a mop or a swab. Thus variously burdened, they ran with smiling faces to the train, and in a twinkling their many hands were busy on its exposed surfaces. Nor had two minutes passed before those dirty and travel-stained cars were aglow with polished panels, bright windows and shimmering brass. As the train moved out of the station I caught sight of a military looking figure standing in the gangway at the rear, his face alight with gratification. It was all a profound mystery to me until I sought explanations from one of the festive grooms, as he stood to recover breath after his late exertions.
“Oh,” he proudly panted, “that was Sir Thomas Shaughnessy, president of our road! I guess we sort of give him a surprise.”
A few months later I had occasion to visit the headquarters of the C.P.R. at Montreal; and, reaching an upper story of the great building, I found myself in the outer lobby of the directors’ department. It was, as luck would have it, a Saturday afternoon, and therefore I feared to find the place deserted even by such minor authority as could deal with my unimportant business.
“Everyone gone?” echoed the astonished office boy. “You bet your life they haven’t. The president’s in there”—indicating an office with his thumb. “There’s a vice-president in here”—again pointing—“and another vice-president over there”—directing my attention to yet a third door. “They’re mighty busy. Who d’you want to see?”
Having satisfied his curiosity on that point, I ventured to remark that they were working late.
“Late!” he protested. “It ain’t late. Why, they’ll be here till eight or nine to-night—Sir Thomas and the rest of ’em. And me, too! There’s always a lot to do on Saturdays.”
In a few words I told him of the week-end institution that had taken deep root in business circles on British soil.