My observation of the mother-in-law is that she enjoys a serio-comic reputation which she does not deserve. This is partly due to comic papers, but is mostly brought about by thankless, thoughtless and selfish youth, who magnifies the officiousness born of desire to help, and overlooks the many real and substantial benefits which flow from the mother-in-law. It would be a poor look-out indeed for many young families if it were not for the defending hand of the mother-in-law. It is a very human trait in the young to hate the hand that gives, and fawn upon the strong and masterful hand that smites or governs.
Mrs. Joseph overcame her strong dislike for me, and took me into her heart, for the sake of her great love for Muriel and Muriel’s children. Her desire to be near Muriel and the grand-children led her to take the very important step of influencing her youngest son, Duke, to become a Civil servant, so that she might live in Ottawa. Duke had a good position, so was in no way forced, as I was, to become a Civil servant, but he gave way to the desires of his mother. As the family still retained some of the social and political influence it had enjoyed during the life-time of Doctor Joseph a good position was easily secured for Duke, and the Joseph family joined the Wesblock family in Ottawa. These things happened just prior to the coming of Minister Three.
Young Joseph at once showed a marked talent for steering the difficult course of a high official in the service of the King; and the Joseph home became a small, but by no means insignificant, centre of social life and unofficial political activity. Mrs. Joseph had lost the material means of keeping up the position she enjoyed during the Doctor’s life-time, but she had never entirely lost social prestige. She was one of the few people who can do that kind of thing.
Young Joseph was brought into close contact with Minister Three through his position. Events happened easily, when they once began to happen. Minister Three became a warm personal friend of the Joseph family, and had great confidence and liking for Duke. The rest was simple. My case was soon told, and Minister Three acted promptly. I am prejudiced in his favour; but apart from personal feelings, I may truly state that when his turn came to pass on, many members of the staff, high and low, who had seen other Ministers leave the Department of Ways and Means without a word of regret, said they were sorry when we lost him.
So after a long wait of five years, and many battles, I received an official name, and the fifteen hundred per annum so long withheld. I did not find it a fortune when I got it, but I was an Inspector of Pot Holes by Order-in-Council, and moved into a personal office, which separated me from the herd. Things brightened up immediately. “To him that hath shall be given.” I had been scribbling for years without finding much outlet for my literary product; but upon my being made Inspector of Pot Holes, I had an important article accepted by a paper, others by a magazine. In this way, together with music teaching, I began to make again quite a respectable income. Again the world seemed to be mine, and all things lay at my feet. I would inspect pot holes as they had never been inspected. I would rise from pot holes in the basement to the first floor, and so on to the roof. My ambitious dreams were short. The first pot hole I put my nose into I found a gentleman, who I discovered was Assistant-Superintendent of Pot Holes.
The Assistant-Superintendent addressed me. He said: “Who the blankety-blank are you?” Although his hands were dirty, he needed a shave, and his breath was unmistakably rummy, I was polite and smiling, and informed him of my title and name, referring him to my Order-in-Council. “Get to blazes out of this,” he said. “Go back to your cage; when I need a dude like you, I will send for you.”
Downright rude as he was, I smiled in reply, knowing that he would keep. The next pot hole disclosed another type—a very old but hearty person, who informed me that he was the General Superintendent of Pot Holes. This was very discouraging to a man who wished to revolutionise pot holes. I was Inspector of Pot Holes by law, and I was going to inspect pot holes, and make them give up their secrets or die. The Assistant-Superintendent did not want me, and the General Superintendent did not want me; but that made no difference. I went to the Deputy Minister.
“Who is your superior officer?” he asked.
“Well,” I said, “it rather appears that I have several. I have only looked into two pot holes, but I found a superior officer in each one. The least superior, who drinks rum, invited me to go to Gehenna. Must I go?”
“Your place,” said the Deputy, “is to do what you are told by your superior officers, and keep cool.”