Item: I was the only Red in a Blue family, the little leaven, which might in time leaven the whole.
Item: My wife was related to a man who had arrived politically.
Item: My father-in-law had been a big gun, and an intimate friend of Sir ——, who had been a Prime Minister.
These were considered good and sufficient claims, and counted very high in the game. We do still count them, but not so highly as in the year Thirty-Six.
CHAPTER XVII
When I came into the Service, one got in on a Minister’s “say so.” That was all that was necessary. If your Minister intended you to get in, you got in quickly, without heart-breaking waiting or examinations that did not examine. A Minister’s “say so” was secured if you could get close enough to him to enable you to point your gun at his head and whisper in his ear in a threatening, stagey voice that the gun was loaded with a great charge of influence, family connections, friends, contractors, manufacturers, etc. It really mattered very little whether the gun was actually loaded or not, for all politicians are most notoriously nervous, and take for granted that every gun they see is loaded. It is a safe way. Politicians forget easily, so sometimes the gun had to be produced several times to bring about fulfilment of the promise; but with a gun, or something that looked like a gun, a determined air, and nerve, you could do a great deal.
During these manœuvres I had not mentioned the matter of a Civil Service position to Muriel or my family. When it was as good as settled, I told my father. He said “What?” so loudly that the windows rattled. He said other things not necessary to mention. My mother’s father had been a Civil servant, and my decision to follow the same life seemed to my father a horrible case of reversion. Muriel was not enthusiastic about the prospective change; but she was resigned to her fate. “I suppose it is the best thing,” she said and shrugged her shoulders. She had no great confidence in my judgment, but she had great faith in my luck.
Not many weeks elapsed between my interview with Minister One and my instalment in the service of the Queen. This, of course, was due to Rex, who was keeper of the Minister’s memory. One day Rex sent for me, and I was presented to Mr. Gobble, the Deputy Minister of Ways and Means, and received the very pleasing information that I was to report for duty at Ottawa immediately. Details were discussed. I was a little disappointed to learn that the promise of my Minister, of a position of fifteen hundred dollars per annum, had to be modified. As I was over thirty-five, I could not enter on the permanent staff or Civil Service List, but had to enter as an extra clerk, at the regular rate in such cases, namely, three dollars per day. I was assured, however, by Minister One, his Deputy and Rex, that very soon after I was placed they would see to it that I was raised to the promised sum. I believed every word they said.
Fifteen hundred a year, coming in regularly and systematically, whether business was good or bad, looked bigger than a house to me at the time, and was magnified many times in my eyes before I really got it. I had often lived on more money, but more often had lived on less, and I saw myself writing for magazines and papers, teaching music, living in peace and comfort, and bringing up my children. It was a very modest ambition.
On Monday, the fourteenth day of January, in the year Thirty-Seven, I arrived in Ottawa. When I walked into the Government building the policeman on the door touched his hat to my English clothes, which were still good. I presented myself at the green baize door of Mr. Gobble’s office, and was presently shown in by a messenger, who had first taken in my card. Mr. Gobble had already forgotten me, so shook hands heartily as if he were pleased to see me again and invited me to sit down. “Well, Mr. Wesblock, what now?” he said, waiting for the cue which would show him who the deuce I was.