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Code Politics Campaigns and Cultures on the Canadian
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Author(s): Jared J. Wesley
ISBN(s): 9780774820769, 0774820764
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Year: 2011
Language: english
CODE POLITICS
CODE POLITICS
Campaigns and Cultures on the Canadian Prairies
Jared J. Wesley
© UBC Press 2011
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Printed in Canada on FSC-certified ancient-forest-free paper
(100% post-consumer recycled) that is processed chlorine- and acid-free.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Wesley, Jared J., 1980-
Code politics : campaigns and cultures on the Canadian Prairies / Jared J. Wesley.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-7748-2074-5 (bound); ISBN 978-0-7748-2075-2 (pbk.)
1. Political culture – Alberta. 2. Political culture – Saskatchewan. 3. Political
culture – Manitoba. 4. Alberta – Politics and government. 5. Saskatchewan – Politics
and government. 6. Manitoba – Politics and government. 7. Political culture – Prairie
Provinces. 8. Prairie Provinces – Politics and government. I. Title.
FC3239.P6W48 2011 971.2 C2010-907871-3

e-book ISBNs: 978-0-7748-2076-9 (pdf ); 978-0-7748-2077-6 (epub)
UBC Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support for our publishing program
of the Government of Canada (through the Canada Book Fund), the Canada Council
for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.
This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation
for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Aid to Scholarly Publications
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wesley sc_cip.indd 4 15/01/2011 4:03:01 PM

To my teachers
Contents
Foreword by Nelson Wiseman / ix

Acknowledgments / xiii
Introduction: Cultures, Campaigns, and Codes / 1
1 The Prairie Paradox: Explaining Cultural Difference / 17
2 Politics over Time: Explaining Cultural Persistence / 35
3 Campaigns in Alberta: A Code of Freedom / 55
4 Campaigns in Saskatchewan: A Code of Security / 114
5 Campaigns in Manitoba: A Code of Moderation / 175
Conclusion: Decoding Prairie Cultures / 235
Appendix: Deciphering Codes – The Study of Ideas

in Political Documents / 250
Notes / 264
References / 269
Index / 300
Foreword
NELSON WISEMAN
The commonalities and diversities of the Prairie provinces have intrigued

historians, sociologists, and political scientists. Modernization theorists
expected that technological revolutions in communications, advances in
transportation networks, and an increasingly mobile populace would erode
the significance of political borders, wear away regional identities, and
undermine distinctive provincial discourses. Yet, the remarkably particular-
istic political cultures within the containerized vertical territorial lines of
the Prairie provinces endure and resist corrosion. No unidirectional move-
ment toward an unbounded, regionally integrated, consolidated prairie pol-
itical ethos is evident. To be sure, horizontally crosscutting cleavages, such
as social class, gender, age, and ethnicity exist on the Prairies – the poor in
Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba face similar issues as do the First Na-
tions, youth, women, and visible minorities of those provinces. However,
the distinctive provincial milieus of those groups trump their shared con-
cerns and conditions when one listens to the tone and temper of provincial
politics in the three jurisdictions. Provincially idiosyncratic timbres are un-
mistakable and have become sharpened with time.
Sociologists and anthropologists usually gravitate to thinking about fed-
eral states and their sub-national units such as provinces as institutional
manifestations of social diversity and cultural heterogeneity. Such a culture-
centric orientation highlights social forces and underplays the power that a
polity’s formal, legally established structures exert in sculpting society. The
x Foreword
causal arrow between institutions and society, of course, points both ways:
governments and political parties reflect and shape their societies just as
those societies inform the idiomatic language adopted by political parties,
leaders, and governments in search of popularity. Ideally positioned for the
task, political scientists appreciate how provincial governments and the
parties and leaders who command them are not merely epiphenomena of
their societies or echoes of their cultures. Once formed, governments use
their jurisdictional supremacy and their institutional infrastructures – laws,
bureaucracies, cabinets, budgets – to affirm their autonomy, assert their au-
thority, and embed their status in the minds of their populace. At the same
time, to be successful, political parties must advantageously lever the dis-
tinctive symbols and characteristic vocabularies of their provinces. In
tracing the interconnected and interwoven circular relationship between
agency – what people and parties say and do – and structure, Jared Wesley
underscores agency as his central point.
The literatures on Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta suffer no dearth
of treatment of their political personalities, social and economic forces, and
the dynamics of election campaigns. Most of the available analyses are
specific to a province. Wesley’s salutary contribution is to disentangle in a
comparative perspective the “Prairie paradox” of the three provinces whose
partisan traditions differ so dramatically. He presents leaders and party
manifestos as moulders of the “public mood,” focusing on party platforms
rather than on personalities, social forces, or campaign dynamics. Success-
ful leaders and parties harness, direct, and redirect existing elements in the
political culture. Wesley systematically searches out, identifies, and exposes
the key values that have driven politics in each of the provinces. No simple
enterprise; he brings a nuanced disposition and a sophisticated approach to
the undertaking.
To decipher the differences among the structures of competition in the
Prairie provincial party systems, Wesley grapples with the ideational en-
vironment of politics. His measured and rhythmic analysis coherently and
cogently deploys the language of “codes” to highlight the individual prov-
inces’ contrasting partisan and ideological traditions. He demonstrates how
the lexicon of Prairie politics varies among the three provinces to enrich our
understanding of each province’s distinctive political discourse. An example
is the dissimilarity of the quite different utopian visions of the ideal society
that have informed successful parties’ campaigns in Alberta and Saskatch-
ewan. Those visions, in turn, are contrasted with a political code that offers
relative moderation and temperance – that conveyed by Manitoba’s parties.
Foreword xi
The broad terms and ideas Wesley spots, such as “freedom,” “security,” and
“moderation,” of course, are notoriously elastic, but he deftly traces their
deployment over the decades.
Wesley’s survey of the political codes of the Prairies since the 1930s cov-
ers substantial ground. It offers some potent comparative insights regarding,
for example, the penchant of Alberta’s dominant parties to locate their op-
position as outsiders, the tendency of Saskatchewan’s successful regimes to
internalize within their province their community’s conflicts, and the ability
and preference of Manitoba’s major parties to minimize their ideological
tensions.
Wesley illustrates the sustained thrusts of the particular provincial pol-
itical codes while dissecting the broad rhetorical themes of successful par-
ties’ platforms regardless of their temporal context. The adoption of these
codes and their cross-generational transmission has not precluded their
adaptation to changing conditions. Weaving together primary and second-
ary sources, Wesley buttresses his ideational framework with archival ma-
terials to explain why parties have won power and lost it. To his credit, he
appreciates that alternative explanations are possible and many additional
factors in addition to a community’s political norms are at play. He offers
readers a suggestive thesis and is not insistent about causality for he under-
stands well that codes are flexible, contingent factors that are always at play,
and that any mechanical, path-dependent analysis is limited. Skilfully or-
ganized, well-written, and demonstrating scholarly competence and intel-
lectual agility, Wesley’s account marshals the evidence of his research
findings clearly, intelligibly, and logically to draw his conclusions.
This book contributes to demystifying the Prairie paradox of geographic-
ally adjacent provinces whose residents have such different subjective polit-
ical proclivities. Those dispositions are yoked to particular worldviews of
the nature of society and the proper role of government. The variety and
persistence of ideologically distinctive Prairie political creeds has rendered
the Prairies as a fertile region of the mind and the launch pad for so many
political parties – the Progressives, the CCF, Social Credit, and Reform –
that have burst forth from the region onto the broader national stage.
Acknowledgments
Having lived, studied, and travelled throughout the Canadian prairies, I am

still amazed at how different political life is in Alberta, Saskatchewan, and
Manitoba. There is a running joke in my family. If you fall asleep while mak-
ing the drive from Edmonton to Winnipeg, there’s one sure way of telling
where you are when you wake up. If you look out the window and see an oil
derrick or a cowboy, you’re likely in Alberta. If you see a farmer at the wheel
of a grain truck, stopped at a traffic light, you’re probably in Regina. If you
see a lonely person standing on a hill wearing a Winnipeg Jets cap, you know
you’ve left Saskatchewan and entered Manitoba. There’s truth in most hu-
mour. In the grand scheme of things, there is little to distinguish the three
Prairie provinces – except when it comes to oil and cowboys, grain and
farmers, hills and hockey fans, and politics. In my pursuit of explanations, I
have accumulated many debts. To those I have missed and thanked previ-
ously, I ask for your forgiveness.
Some portions of this book were presented at the following meetings and
conferences: the meeting of the Midwest Political Science Association and
the Duff Roblin Fellowship Conference in 2008, the meetings of the Prairie
Political Science Association and the Canadian Political Science Associa-
tion in 2009, and the meeting of the Western Canadian Studies Association
and the Umea Partnership Conference in 2010. This book benefitted greatly
from those discussions.
Financial support for the Prairie Manifesto Project was provided by the
Carl O. Nickel Fund for Western Canadian Studies (2005) and a doctoral
xiv Acknowledgments
scholarship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of

Canada (SSHRC). Funding for research assistance was provided through
University of Calgary Undergraduate Research Awards and the University
of Manitoba Research Grants Program.
This book was written when I was in the Department of Political Science
at the University of Calgary, and it was polished as I served on faculty at the
Department of Political Studies, University of Manitoba. Both venues pro-
vide ideal, supportive environments for young scholars. Several people at
the University of Calgary deserve much credit for ensuring that this study is
both rich in content and methodologically rigorous. Special thanks are due
to Keith Archer and Nelson Wiseman for their inspiration, advice, and en-
couragement and to Brenda O’Neill and Lisa Young for their patience and
unwavering commitment to the pursuit of knowledge. I am also grateful for
the friendship, support, and guidance of my colleagues Andrew Banfield,
David Coletto, Gemma Collins, Catharine Dunlop, Scott Fitzsimmons,
Steve Hobbs, Erika Ing, Michael Jensen, Kiera Ladner, Steve Lecce, Fiona
Macdonald, George MacLean, Judi Powell, Andrea Rounce, David Smith,
Kim Speers, David Stewart, Ella Wensel, Evan Wilson, and Mike Zekulin.
This book is also the product of my mentorship under Diane Gray and Jim
Eldridge and the camaraderie of Richard Neill.
Much thanks is also due to the many librarians, archivists, party members,
and officials who helped me locate party platforms. This project would not
have been possible without their enthusiasm and assistance. I am grateful to
Emmett Scrimshaw for assistance with the Prairie Manifesto Project and to
Emmet Collins for his diligence in copy-editing and preparing the index. Emi-
ly Andrew and Holly Keller, my editors; Lesley Erickson, my copy editor; and
others at UBC Press made the publication process an enjoyable and efficient
one. I also appreciated the guidance of the anonymous reviewers, whose in-
timate knowledge of Prairie politics helped to refine my own interpretations.
My greatest debts are owed to my family. To my aunts and cousins
throughout the West, I owe many comfortable nights’ sleep while on re-
search trips. To my parents, I owe my passion for learning, my love of the
Prairies, and my fortunate ability to combine both into a rewarding career.
To my wife, Jamie, I owe my sanity, grounding, and sense of purpose. My life
would be incomplete without her love and support. (This indulgence in-
cluded moving to Winnipeg with a man who is “not a real doctor.”)
No amount of writing, research, or thanks can repay these people and the
many more to whom I owe so much. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.
CODE POLITICS
Introduction
Cultures, Campaigns, and Codes
When it comes to their political cultures, residents of the Canadian prairies

have long lived in remarkably separate political worlds. Throughout much
of its history, Alberta has been considered the bastion of Canadian con-
servatism. Saskatchewan, to the east, is widely viewed as the cradle of Can-
adian social democracy, while Manitoba is home to the country’s most
temperate political climate. Alberta tilts right, Saskatchewan tilts left, and
Manitoba maintains a relative balance between these forces. Perceptions of
these cultural distinctions have persisted for over a century – despite dec-
ades of social, economic, and political change. The question is how? – for by
most accounts the three Prairie provinces should not be that different. Ran-
dom lines of latitude were chosen to divide them, making each province an
entirely territorial and political creation (Archer 1980, 21). Across their bor-
ders, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba rest on broadly similar geo-
graphical, social, economic, and institutional foundations. Stretching from
Ontario’s Canadian Shield in the east to the Rocky Mountains in the west,
the economies of all three provinces are grounded firmly in export-based
natural resource industries and, most recently, a burgeoning tertiary sector
(Howlett 2006). Moreover, throughout most of their history, the three pol-
itical systems have rested on common federal, Westminster parliamentary
institutions and on plurality-based electoral systems. Considering these many
parallels, the political diversity found on the Canadian prairies is vexing.
2 Introduction
The persistence of this diversity is equally puzzling. Advances in technol-

ogy suggest most communication or transportation barriers were lowered
long ago. Migration has been made easier not only through enhanced air
and ground travel but also through improvements to labour market mobil-
ity. All the while, the three provinces continue to draw newcomers from
throughout Canada and around the globe. Ultimately, the three cultures are
not as isolated, or insulated, as they once might have been.
This puzzle constitutes the Prairie paradox, to which the following chap-
ters are addressed. Considering they were divided rather arbitrarily just over
a century ago, and considering they share so many other socio-economic
and institutional features in common, how could Manitoba, Saskatchewan,
and Alberta develop into three worlds “thriving in the bosom of a single
region?” (Smith 1976, 46). More specifically, given decades of development,
how have the three distinct political cultures that emerged in the early
twentieth century survived to this day?
Existing literature offers few solutions to this puzzle. This is not to say
scholars have ignored political culture on the Prairies. Students of Canadian
politics are indebted to W.L. Morton, Seymour Martin Lipset, C.B. Mac-
pherson, Nelson Wiseman, Doug Francis, Gerald Friesen, and others whose
research has revealed the impact of early immigration, historical economic
developments, and critical events on the formative years of each province.
Precisely why these different political cultures have survived – how century-
old settlement patterns continue to influence the politics of each province
– remains largely unexplained, however. We know how the three Prairie
provinces started down separate cultural paths, but we know less about why
these routes remained parallel, as opposed to crossing or converging. We
know a lot about the origins and diversity of the three Prairie political cul-
tures, but we know precious little about their continuity.
In this sense, Code Politics takes a modest, but significant, step toward
solving the Prairie paradox. Specifically, this book explores the role that
leading parties have played in perpetuating the differences between the pol-
itical cultures of Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba. In this study, elec-
tion campaigns are treated as rituals that offer dominant political actors the
opportunity to renew their communities’ core values every four years. By
analyzing their campaign literature, the study asks, can an examination of
dominant party rhetoric help us to understand how the three Prairie political
cultures have persisted over time? That is, can we find evidence of Alberta’s
conservative ethos in the campaign themes developed by Social Credit and
the Progressive Conservatives? Is the persistence of Saskatchewan’s social
Cultures, Campaigns, and Codes 3
democratic political culture attributable, in any sense, to the discourse cul-

tivated by its natural governing party, the CCF-NDP (Co-operative Com-
monwealth Federation–New Democratic Party)? And have Manitoba’s
cultural traditions of temperance and modesty been sustained, in part, by
the narrative constructed by the province’s various Liberal-Progressive,
Progressive Conservative, and New Democratic parties?
Grounded in a systematic analysis of hundreds of campaign artifacts
from across the region and throughout the past seven decades, the answer
is yes. Through their rhetoric, leading political parties have translated their
respective political cultures into a series of unique and persistent campaign
themes or codes. In Alberta, this has meant emphasizing notions of free-
dom, drawing on the American liberal concepts of individualism, populism,
and autonomy. By contrast, Saskatchewan’s dominant parties have played
on the theme of security, including references to the collectivism, dirigisme,
and polarization found in the British Labourite tradition. Meanwhile, Mani-
toba’s leading parties have emphasized more moderate notions such as pro-
gressive centrism, pragmatism, and transpartisanship, harkening back to
the values imported by the province’s original Tory-touched liberal frag-
ment. Each of these themes constitutes a unique code of political discourse
that has transmitted and reinforced certain core values over time, thus help-
ing to sustain the conservative nature of Alberta politics, Saskatchewan’s
social democratic ethos, and the mentalité of moderation in Manitoba.
While it is by no means a silver-bullet solution, any explanation of the
evolution of political culture on the Canadian prairies must take into ac-
count the critical role of dominant political parties in sustaining the three
different political worlds found within the region. Political cultures are not
simply institutionalized into the formal apparatus of the state or automatic-
ally socialized into society at the grassroots level, although both of these
components are also critical (see Chapter 2). Nor are political cultures mys-
teriously transmitted over time by some hidden hand. An examination of
election platforms and manifestos reveals a primary carrier: political cul-
tures are actively promoted, transmuted, and transmitted by dominant pol-
itical parties.
Unravelling the evolution of the Prairie paradox requires a firm under-
standing of the terms political culture and political codes.
Political Culture
For decades, scholars have struggled to define political culture, a term that
has been called popular, seductive, and controversial (Elkins and Simeon
4 Introduction
1979, 127-28). The concept itself is by no means novel. In writing about the
differences between the customs, mores, and habits of nineteenth-century
Americans and Europeans, Alexis de Tocqueville was one of the first mod-
ern students of political culture. According to his account of democracy in
America (1988 [1848], 434), “for society to exist, and even more, for society
to prosper, it is essential that all the minds of the citizens should always be
rallied and held together by some leading ideas; and that could never hap-
pen unless each of them sometimes came to draw his opinions from the
same source and was ready to accept some belief ready made.” Since that
time, political culture has come to be associated with a wide range of topics,
from political values and ideology to national character or “civic religion.”
Indeed, a survey of the literature in anthropology, sociology, history, and
political science reveals a bewildering number of definitions (for reviews,
see Chilton 1988; Harrison 2000; Formisano 2001; Johnson 2003).
Based on the core conceptualization of the term, however, the present
study treats political culture as a set of common political values and as-
sumptions that underpin a given political system.1 Political culture is a col-
lection of often unspoken assumptions and axioms that remain buried
barely below the surface of political life in a given community (Bell and
Tepperman 1979, 5). Defining political culture as a series of subjective pro-
pensities distinguishes it from the more explicit and contested ideology
(Almond and Powell 1966, 24). What makes studying political culture so
challenging is that there is no single book or tract, author or philosopher to
which students may turn to find a definition of a community’s culture. In-
deed, a polity’s guiding values are embodied in its shared rituals and sym-
bols, entrenched in its institutions, echoed in the attitudes of its residents,
reflected in the behaviour of its political actors, and illustrated in its general
style of politics (Elazar 1994, 9; Hofstadter 1966). This fact has challenged
analysts to discern ways of measuring a community’s political culture.
To some, political culture is little more than a prevailing political ideol-
ogy – one shared by, or at least one that governs, the political life of the
community (see Kornberg, Mishler, and Clarke 1982, 53-58; Wilson 1992).
The relationship between political culture and ideology is more complicat-
ed, however. Although there may be parallels between a particular ideology
and a given political culture – for instance, Alberta’s political culture is often
labelled conservative, Saskatchewan’s, socially democratic – the two con-
cepts are not conceptually synonymous. As Bell suggests, “From the outset,
political culture was intended as a broader concept with wider application
than ideology. Political culture involves the study of all segments of society,
including members of the general public whose ideas about politics are in-
sufficiently coherent and programmatic to be called ideological. Moreover a
single political culture could comprise several ideologies” (Bell 2000, 279).
Along these lines, Wiseman (2007, 13-14) captures the primary distinction
between cultures and ideologies: “Ideologies or political philosophies may
be defined, dissected and debated at a metaphysical level without reference
to a specific group, society, or nation. Culture is no less a mental construct
than is ideology. It, however, cannot be explored solely on a theoretical
plane, for it refers to real and specific groups, societies or nations.”
In addition to being a prism through which outsiders view a given soci-
ety, political culture is a lens through which a specific community views it-
self and the world around it (Laitin 1986, 12-17; Merelman 1991, 53). The
culture helps to identify problems or challenges, and it defines the limits of
acceptability in terms of their solutions (Edelman 1964, 31-41; Wilson 1992,
11). In other words, “If a person acts on the assumptions which are widely
shared in his collectivity, he will ‘pass’ as a legitimate political actor. An ‘out-
sider’ who holds quite different views on the nature of the political game, on
proper modes of conduct, and on goals and strategies will be identifiable as
a deviant; he will not ‘pass’” (Elkins and Simeon 1979, 127-28).
This holistic definition of political culture varies from several others in
the discipline, most notably that of the psycho-cultural or Civic Culture
school (for reviews of this distinction, see Stewart 2002; Bell 2000; Merel-
man 1991, 36-58). Headmasters Almond and Verba (1963, 1980) define a
political culture in terms of its residents’ cognitive, affective, and evaluative
orientations toward the political system. To them, culture is an aggregation
or average of individuals’ beliefs and opinions (Verba 1980, 402). Because
different patterns of orientations exist cross-nationally, a particular type of
political culture does not coincide strictly with any single, given political
system (Almond 1956, 396). (Civic, parochial, participant, and other types
of culture exist throughout the world, for instance.)
Despite the popularity of the psycho-cultural understanding of political
culture (Stewart 2002, 26), a different theoretical approach is presented in
this study for several reasons. First, as Durkheim argues, culture is more
than simply the sum of individual predispositions; rather, it lies in the
broader social structure – what he terms the conscience collectif of a society
or the “repository of common sentiments, a well-spring from which individ-
ual conscience draws its moral sustenance” (Durkheim 1965 [1897], 16). By
the same token, a community’s political culture – by definition, its shared
values and norms – is more than a simple aggregation of individuals’ beliefs
6 Introduction
or behaviours (Pye 1973, 72; Clark 1962, 214). Many feel Almond and Verba
fall victim to false aggregation, reductionism, or the individualistic fallacy
(Formisano 2001; Scheuch 1968). Just as researchers cannot use macro-
level data (e.g., census statistics) to make valid inferences about micro-level
actors (e.g., individual residents of a census district), they cannot do the re-
verse. In short, as Johnson (2003, 99) argues, analysts “gain little by treating
the distribution of ‘orientations’ among a population as ‘political culture’
rather than, for example, simply as a ‘mass belief system’ or, more prosaically
still, as ‘public opinion.’”
Second, political culture is less transitory than public opinion (Bell and
Tepperman 1979, 4-5). Just as descriptions of the weather offer us only lim-
ited glimpses into the climate of a particular community, one-off surveys of
individual residents offer us only momentary glimpses of a community’s be-
liefs and orientations. Wiseman (1986, 31) concurs, noting that the defin-
ition of culture as an aggregation of individual attitudes misconstrues the
term’s true meaning, which is fundamentally cross-generational.
For these reasons, the present study takes a more holistic approach to
political culture. This is not to say that Almond and Verba’s approach is en-
tirely invalid. Although it may be misused as an indicator, their methodol-
ogy is valuable in terms of measuring the reflection of political culture in
individual attitudes (Rosenbaum 1975, 121-28). As it is defined in this book,
however, political culture has less in common with the social psychology of
individuals than the historical analysis of communities (Shiry 1978, 51).
The macroscopic approach used in this study carries with it some dis-
advantages. Critics have a valid point when they suggest it emphasizes cul-
tural exceptionalism rather than true comparison. By analyzing the unique
values and beliefs that distinguish Alberta from Saskatchewan and Mani-
toba, for instance, analysts may gloss over many important commonalities
among its residents, not to mention diversity among them (Ellis and Coyle
1994, 2). Others are correct to note the tautology involved in many studies
of political culture cum community character. If culture can be found in
everything, it explains nothing (Harrison 2000, xv). Given these potential
pitfalls, it is tempting to abandon the study of political culture altogether
(Stewart 1994a, 5). Yet the persistence of obvious differences in the guiding
value systems of different polities raises important questions for social sci-
entific inquiry. “Accordingly,” writes Stewart (ibid.), “interpretive caution
and methodological pluralism would seem to be the most appropriate ways
to cope with the complexities intrinsic to any political culture analysis.”
A comprehensive, primary investigation of the political culture of each

province is well beyond the scope of this study. Such a study would require
in-depth field research into the symbols that underpin the various provin-
cial communities. This research would likely involve a combination of focus
groups, public interviews, direct observation, artifact analysis, examinations
of popular culture, and other modes of ethnographic inquiry (Stewart 2002,
31-32; see also Chilton 1988; Merelman 1991). To be thorough, it would also
require the examination of a wide variety of sources: “historical accounts,
critical interpretations of literature and other creative arts, social scientists’
quantitative analyses and qualitative studies of institutions such as religion,
law, and government” (Lipset 1990, xiv; see also Putnam 2000, 26-27). Given
the magnitude of this task, such investigations must await further resources.
Instead, the present analysis draws on an extensive review of existing lit-
erature to define the content of each provincial political culture. Based on a
strong consensus among Prairie scholars, it accepts the existence of three
distinct cultures in the region as the basis of the research problem under
investigation.
Admittedly, there are perils associated with this approach; chief among
them, there may be a disjunction between what the three Prairie political
cultures actually are and what prevailing academic wisdom reports them
to be. If Stewart’s (1994b; 2002, 33-34) examination of contemporary
Maritime political culture offers any lessons for Prairie scholars, academic
consensus does not necessarily equal truth, regardless of the number or
credentials of the authorities involved. For instance, the three Prairie polit-
ical cultures may be converging (whether into a common regional ethos, a
Canadian variant, or a broader global culture) or subdividing into a series of
territorially or non-territorially defined cultures (Friesen 1999; Henderson
2004). These trends may be masked by the often stolid nature of academic
opinion, which tends to promote continuity over change. Without primary
investigation, these arguments cannot be dismissed out of hand.
Nonetheless, the very nature of political culture suggests that prevailing
academic wisdom remains a solid, if imperfect, measure of a community’s
time-honoured political norms. It is true: many contemporary descriptions
of the three Prairie political cultures remain rooted in age-old assumptions
about each community, and they are reinforced by generation after genera-
tion of scholarly writings (see Chapter 2). As a result, critics may suggest that
these images constitute myths – fables or legends about Manitoba, Sas-
katchewan, and Alberta that bear little resemblance to contemporary affairs.
8 Introduction
The arguments presented in this study do not dispute this view. In fact, it
embraces the notion that political culture is, in many respects, an element
of folklore. That Alberta’s ethos remains conservative even though the prov-
ince hosts the country’s most expansive welfare state; that, despite the dra-
matic transformation of the provincial economy and society from its
wheat-based heritage, Saskatchewan’s style of politics remains rooted in
what Lipset once called agrarian socialism; and that Manitoba’s self-image
of accommodation and conciliation persists in the face of dramatic social
inequalities between its Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal communities – all
of these are indisputable (and, in several respects, unfortunate) ironies of
political life on the Canadian prairies. Yet they are ironies for a reason. They
reveal the true nature of political culture as an abstraction of reality, not a
direct reflection.
Thus, to the extent that prevailing academic wisdom reflects (or even
reinforces) the dominant conception of a community’s ethos, it is actually a
useful measure of political culture. Argument by authority may be an im-
prudent means of establishing empirical facts, but when it comes to defining
norms and values, that authority often conveys the very essence of the cul-
ture we seek to identify. In the strictest sense, then, the following analysis
aims to explain the persistence of the conventionally accepted diversity
among the three Prairie political cultures over time. The legitimacy of this
prevailing wisdom awaits further study.
Political Codes
Understanding the nature of code politics requires an appreciation of the
complex relationship between elite-level codes, mass-level cultures, and
party ideologies. As Friesen (1984a, 32) suggests, “there are tendencies –
patterns of thought and behaviour in any political system.” At the mass so-
cietal level, the tendencies are embodied in the community’s political culture
– its overall psyche. At the elite level, these tendencies form codes of dis-
course among parties and their leaders.2
Although the term code politics may be new to some, the concept is by no
means novel.3 Richard Hofstadter (1957 [1947], viii, ix) refers to the notion
as a community’s political tradition – “a kind of mute organic consistency”
in terms of a society’s elite discourse (see also Friesen 2009; Blair and
McLeod 1987, 1993; Wilson 1992; Verney 1978). To him, political systems
do not foster ideas that are hostile to their fundamental working ar-
rangements. Such ideas may appear, but they are slowly and persistently
insulated, as an oyster deposits nacre around an irritant. They are confined

to small groups of dissenters and alienated intellectuals, and except in revo-
lutionary times they do not circulate among practical politicians. The range
of ideas, therefore, which practical politicians can conveniently believe in is
normally limited by the climate of opinion that sustains their culture. They
differ, sometimes bitterly, over current issues, but they also share a general
framework of ideas which makes it possible for them to co-operate when
the campaigns are over. (Hofstadter 1957 [1947], viii-ix)4
Samuel Huntington (1981) concurs with Hofstadter, suggesting that most, if

not all, political systems feature a distinctive creed – a set of prevailing pol-
itical values that constitute consensus among political leaders.
Like students of political culture, students of political codes cannot turn
to a single source or authority for the ethos guiding a society’s elites. This is
especially true in Canada, where politicians have often “negotiated their col-
lective identity in a non-declaratory manner. Canada’s history is littered
with the messy and inarticulate but functional compromises of its elites
rather than with ringing proclamations, as in the American Declaration of
Independence” (Wiseman 2007, 65). Yet an examination of these functional
compromises is long overdue north of the forty-ninth parallel, where “no
systematic attempt has been made to study the language and symbols used
by Canadian leaders or their operating codes and styles to see whether there
is a distinct political creed that is innately a part of Canadian politics” (Taras
and Weyant 1988, 11; but also see Verney 1978).
By its very nature, each code is an elite-level interpretation or projection
of the society’s overarching values. A code, therefore, often resembles its
community’s mass-level political culture; the two are “bound together in a
mutually reinforcing equilibrium” (Putnam 1993, 104). However, there is a
critical distinction between codes (“formal, explicit, and relatively consist-
ent definitions of political community” among political elites) and cultures
(“the informal, implicit, and relatively inconsistent understandings of polit-
ical community held by people within a given institutional setting”) (Friesen
1999, 135). Codes emerge from a supply-side examination of elite politics,
whereas political culture is revealed in a demand-side examination of soci-
ety in general. The correspondence between the two concepts is not guaran-
teed; rather, it is an empirical question – indeed, one posed by Code Politics.
According to the code politics model, one of the main tasks of political
elites is manipulating political discourse to enhance and maintain their au-
thority. In this sense, political culture is a valuable resource for elites, for it
10 Introduction
provides them with a set of shared symbols around which to build social
cohesion and popular allegiance (Laitin 1986, 15; Cohen 1974). From the
demand side of the equation, then, the code politics model holds
that mass publics respond to currently conspicuous political symbols: not

to “facts,” and not to moral codes embedded in the character or soul, but to
the gestures and speeches that make up the drama of the state. The mass
public does not study and analyze detailed data about secondary boycotts,
provisions for stock ownership and control in a proposed space communi-
cations corporation, or missile installations in Cuba. It ignores these things
until political actions and speeches make them symbolically threatening or
reassuring, and it then responds to the cues furnished by the actions and
the speeches, not to direct knowledge of the facts. (Edelman 1964, 172)
Like cultures, codes are community-specific, meaning that the nature of

elite discourse often differs starkly from polity to polity. It is true: the indi-
vidual components of a given code may exist in other communities. For in-
stance, Huntington (1981, 15) notes that notions of “constitutionalism,
individualism, liberalism, democracy, and egalitarianism are no monopoly
of Americans. In some societies, some people subscribe to many of these
ideas and in other societies many people subscribe to some of these ideas.
In no other society, however, are all of these ideas so widely adhered to by so
many people as they are in the United States.” The same is true of notions
such as progress, alienation, collectivism, and pragmatism on the Canadian
plains; all of these currents run through each of the three Prairie provinces.
Yet their specific combination and salience help to distinguish the dominant
discourses they comprise. Ultimately, each code contains a unique core
theme that focuses elite-level competition on a different set of expectations
about the state’s function in society and the economy, and on its role in rela-
tion to other states.
If Hofstadter, Myrdal, Huntington, and other students of so-called polit-
ical traditions are correct, codes exist in nearly every democratic system. To
these scholars, elites in any stable democracy must share a common set of
core values to maintain political stability. Polities without at least some
measure of elite-level consensus would be wrought with such intense con-
flict and volatility as to paralyze their political affairs. By functional neces-
sity, then, Hofstadter and his followers suggest that core sets of values lie at
the heart of every stable democracy; the researcher’s task is merely to un-
cover them.
The present analysis turns these assumptions into a series of hypotheses

and tests to see if provincial democracies on the Canadian prairies feature
consistent modes of elite discourse (modes that correspond with their
underlying political cultures). The results confirm the existence of such
codes in Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba, yet these case studies fall
short of establishing these codes as intrinsic elements of all democratic sys-
tems. An examination of dominant party platforms in other Canadian prov-
inces may bear less fruit, for instance. Hence, without further investigation,
the code politics model must remain confined to the Prairie provinces. For
the time being, the methodology and findings provided by this study may
serve to generate further hypotheses for testing in other contexts.
To summarize, a code is a unique discursive paradigm that persists
among dominant elites in a given community over time. By virtue of the
nature of representative democracy in Canada, codes are typically associ-
ated closely with the values embedded in the broader political culture; elites
who propagate ideas that are incongruent with mass beliefs are unlikely to
retain power (Bell 1993b, 153). Moreover, these codes outlive the conditions
that contributed to their rise. Once established, codes persist despite ex-
ogenous events and endogenous developments and, because they are more
than simply party ideologies or individuals’ visions, these themes remain
relatively constant despite changes in government and party leadership.
Lastly, codes are community-specific – each polity has its own exclusive,
dominant narrative. Thus, to conclude that a code exists in a given com-
munity, we must find evidence that a relatively unique, cohesive, and con-
sistent set of culturally rooted values has been expressed by dominant elites
over time (despite possible changes in party leadership, government, and
the external environment). By contrast, a code does not exist if research re-
veals that no consistent, distinct theme has guided political discourse over
time. If we found vast differences in rhetoric – from dominant party to
dominant party, leader to leader, or decade to decade – or if we found over-
whelming similarities between provinces in terms of their political dis-
courses, then we must acknowledge that no code exists.
Where they do exist, codes form the foundation of dominant party rhet-
oric, which is most widely disseminated during election campaigns. For this
reason, the present study makes extensive use of party platforms as its pri-
mary source of data. As the Appendix reveals in greater detail, over eight
hundred separate pieces of campaign literature have been collected and
consulted in this analysis. Summarizing the principal themes identified in
dominant parties’ platforms from each province, the following section
12 Introduction
offers brief introductory synopses of the three codes that have existed on
the Canadian prairies over the past seven decades. The parallels between
these codes and their underlying political cultures are obvious.
The Three Prairie Codes

Since the Great Depression, Alberta’s dominant parties have crafted a free-
dom-based narrative that contains three core elements, each of which has
figured more or less prominently at different points in the province’s history.
The first component of the Alberta code, populism, emphasizes freedom
from government overreach, be it from Ottawa, Rome, or Edmonton.
Through their campaign rhetoric, prominent parties have railed against all
forms of external control – from government (and taxation), banks, monop-
olies, traditional political parties, mainline churches, or other sources of
authority.
This anti-establishment sentiment is closely related to the second major
facet of the Alberta code: individualism. Throughout much of the past seven
decades, Social Credit and Conservative Party rhetoric has stressed the pri-
macy of the individual as the core unit of society. In their platforms, we find
constant reference to individual initiative, free enterprise, hard work, and a
general go-it-alone philosophy – all of which correspond to the conserva-
tism embedded in the province’s political culture.
A third and final aspect of the province’s code stresses the alienation of
Alberta from important centres of decision making, specifically those in
central Canada. In response, prominent Alberta parties have promoted the
autonomy of the provincial state. In this sense, many argue that “since 1921
and regardless of party, Alberta has been governed by the ‘Provincial Lib-
eration Front’” (Engelmann 1989, 111). More disparagingly, Lisac (2004a, 2)
suggests Albertans are “people whose leaders and image makers cast them
as the downtrodden galley slaves of Confederation – and repeat the story so
often that some of their listeners believe them.” This mood of parochial
boosterism (Leadbeater 1984, xi) has a certain sectarian element to it, one
that corresponds with the strong sense of western alienation embodied in
the province’s broader political ethos.
Together, these three pillars – populism, individualism, and provincial
autonomy – have helped structure Alberta politics around a freedom-based
narrative that, itself, draws on the major aspects of the province’s political
culture.
If Alberta’s dominant parties have advocated freedom in the face of oppres-
sion, Saskatchewan’s have promoted protection in the face of vulnerability.
Drawing on elements of the province’s political culture, leading politicians

have portrayed Saskatchewan as a land of unrealized opportunity, one sus-
ceptible to threats from both inside and outside its borders. In this sense,
the dominant narrative in Saskatchewan centres on the concept of security,
three core elements of which constitute the province’s political code.
First and foremost, dominant elites have stressed the importance of
collectivism in preserving security in Saskatchewan. Matching the com-
munitarian spirit found in the provincial political culture, dominant party
platforms are replete with references to community, co-operation, partner-
ships, and togetherness. Second, while valuing collectivism at the societal
level, the province’s narrative also contains a heavy dose of dirigisme – the
belief that the state should play a guiding role in both society and the econ-
omy. To a greater extent than their Prairie neighbours, Saskatchewan elites
have consistently promoted government as a positive instrument in polit-
ical, social, and economic life. Again, this sentiment finds support in the
province’s broader political culture.
Lastly, while the collectivist vision predominates, the Saskatchewan code
also contains an element of polarization. Through their rhetoric, provincial
elites have consistently highlighted the conflict between the prevailing force
of social democracy and a traditionally weaker element of free-market lib-
eralism. Leaders on the Left depict the latter as a menace, while those on the
Right champion their cause in the face of an oppressive socialist majority.
This same sense of polarization is present neither in the Alberta code, in
which conservatism dominates to the virtual exclusion of left-wing influ-
ence, nor in Manitoba, where ideological moderation prevails.
Combined, these three elements – collectivism, dirigisme, and polariza-
tion – constitute the Saskatchewan code of security. Like Alberta’s, Sas-
katchewan’s code is a narrative with strong ties to the province’s own unique
political culture.
Whereas party dialogues in Alberta and Saskatchewan have pivoted on
questions of Right versus Left, politics in Manitoba have been decidedly
more moderate, divided instead between proponents of change and de-
fenders of the status quo. Rather than accepting dramatic change as a ne-
cessary function of politics and debating its direction, most conflict in
Manitoba has revolved around the need for, or speed of, change – one side
has argued in favor of improvement and the other for the preservation of
the existing order. This tension lies at the heart of the concept of progress
– a concept over which Manitoba parties have struggled for ownership over
the past century.
14 Introduction
Indeed, progressive centrism constitutes the foremost element of Mani-

toba campaign discourse. More than in any other Prairie province, elites in
Manitoba have consistently stressed the importance of avoiding extreme
ideological positions in favour of middle-of-the-road incremental policies
and programs. Thus, Manitoba elites have tended to be paradigmatically
pragmatic, and the progressive centre itself has been defined both endogen-
ously (from Manitoba’s own political history) and exogenously (by global
trends). This is not to say that Manitoba parties have been unprincipled or
devoid of ideological commitment. As is recounted in Chapter 5 and else-
where, Manitoba parties have taken distinct left-wing and right-wing pos-
itions throughout history (Wesley 2006, 2009d). Yet the differences between
them have been much subtler than those found in Saskatchewan and Al-
berta. The overwhelming majority of Manitoba election campaigns have
featured a “straightforward competition between those disposed toward re-
form and equalization and those who expressed the need for restraint and
stability” (Peterson 1972, 115).
In this sense, the search for the progressive centre is related to the second
component of the Manitoba code: pragmatism. In the province’s dominant
political narrative, there is little trace of the utopian visions of an ideal soci-
ety embedded in the other two Prairie codes. This sense of reality underlies
the incrementalism that pervades major party platforms in Manitoba, both
in terms of their policy pledges and their rhetoric. With few notable excep-
tions, the focus of party elites has been on convincing voters that they offer
a better administration of government rather than a fundamentally better
way of doing politics. This is not to say Manitoba parties are pessimistic or
defeatist, as some have suggested (see Friesen 1999, 127). Far from it. The
pragmatism found in the Manitoba code merely reflects a belief that, be-
cause it has a stable and diversified economy and society, a better Manitoba
is more attainable and desirable than an unrealistically ideal one.
A final related element of the Manitoba code is transpartisanship. In
their campaign rhetoric, Manitoba elites have tended to promote a more
fluid or flexible notion of party interaction than their counterparts in Sas-
katchewan or Alberta. At times, the Manitoba narrative has defined politics
as a non-partisan affair (as the efforts to create broad, formal coalitions in
the early twentieth century attest) or as multi-partisan (as seen during per-
iods of negotiation over Manitoba’s constitutional position in later decades).
Together with progressive centrism and pragmatism, this transpartisanship
helps to differentiate the Manitoba code from the more ideological and con-
flictual discourses that prevail in Alberta and Saskatchewan.
Thus, the values embedded in each Prairie province’s political culture are
reflected in the dominant discourse of its elites. Alberta’s conservative pol-
itical culture has lived on, in part, through the right-wing rhetoric of the
Socreds and Progressive Conservatives, just as Saskatchewan’s social demo-
cratic ethos persists in the elite code created by the CCF-NDP. By the same
token, the modesty and temperance found in Manitoba’s political culture
resonates in the tenets of moderation promoted by its dominant parties.
The theoretical, methodological, and empirical foundations of these find-
ings are explored in greater detail in the following chapters, as are their
broader implications for Prairie democracy.
Toward Decoding the Prairie Paradox

As a comparative examination of three provinces over a period of seven
decades, the following analysis necessarily takes broad strokes. An entire
book could have been written on the role of Social Credit in developing Al-
berta’s political culture, for instance. Indeed, individual leaders, elections,
parties, governments, and provinces have received book-length treatments.
However, in the interests of comparison – a core element of any study of
political culture – the decision was made to examine Prairie politics from a
broader perspective. Extensive citations offer more depth than the com-
parative analysis affords.
For reasons of historical context and data availability, the present study
begins in 1932. That year marked the midpoint of the Great Depression
and came just months before the publication of the Regina Manifesto (Co-
operative Commonwealth Federation [CCF] 1933). A landmark document
in the history of Canadian party politics – and Prairie politics, in particular
– the manifesto launched the country’s first competitive socialist-minded
party (the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation) and changed the na-
ture and structure of politics across Canada (Whitehorn 1992; Praud and
McQuarrie 2001). An even earlier starting point would have been ideal. As
Morton (1967b), Engelmann (1989, 111), Courtney and Smith (1972, 311-16),
and others convincingly argue, the roots of diversity in Prairie politics
stretch back to the pre-war, Progressive era. Unfortunately, reliable data,
including party platforms, are available only for the post-Depression period
(DeLong 1988).
It bears notice: what follows is not a detailed history of each province,
each election, each party, or each leader. Biographies and other accounts
exist on these topics, and the following analysis does not restate them. Nor
is this a revisionist history. With the benefit of a comparative vantage point
16 Introduction
and a century’s worth of hindsight, many of the researchers noted would

have reached similar conclusions. Hence, I have cited liberally from their
work, which offers significant validation of my findings. The main task in
preparing this book has been finding the proper frame in which to cast the
intersecting and diverging histories of the three Prairie political cultures.
With the aid of hundreds of pieces of campaign literature, the search pro-
duced a series of stories that, together, help to explain the diversity of pol-
itics in the region.
Above all, Code Politics is an analysis of so-called high politics on the
Prairies, of how dominant political parties have struggled to meld primitive
principles with the changing demands of their societies and economies, of
how cultures, economies, institutions, and ideologies have interacted to
produce three unique political worlds. In the portraits that emerge, there is
not one realm of Prairie politics, but three.
1 The Prairie Paradox
Explaining Cultural Difference
By almost any measure, the three Prairie provinces should be more similar
than their cultural distinctions suggest. They are separated not by topo-
graphic, racial, or other “natural” boundaries, but by artificial borders, drawn
arbitrarily along lines of longitude (Archer 1980, 21). Although different in
some important respects, the provinces’ economies have historically shared
a common reliance on natural resource exports. Moreover, throughout
most of their history, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba have all fea-
tured Westminster parliamentary traditions, plurality-based electoral sys-
tems, and other institutional factors commonly used to explain differences
between political communities. Yet, according to common wisdom, Alberta
remains Canada’s most conservative political culture, Saskatchewan its
most socially democratic, and Manitoba its most temperate.
Any account of political culture on the Canadian prairies must begin
with the words of its resident authority, Gerald Friesen. In his classic ac-
count of the topic, Friesen uses a series of metaphors to capture the three
main images of western Canadian culture: the cowboy hat, the jellied salad,
and the eagle feather. Although he applies these descriptions to the region
as a whole, they serve as powerful illustrations of the core differences be-
tween the three provincial political cultures. For instance, Alberta’s political
culture corresponds most closely with what Friesen (1999, 185) has labelled
a ten-gallon-hat view of Prairie society – one imbued with notions of liberty
and nonconformity often associated with the cowboy culture of the West
(see also Barrie 2006; Denis 1995, 91). As Friesen (1999, 185) puts it, “The
ten-gallon hat still represents the freedom of the frontier. Now, however,
freedom is defined by its bearers as the absence of government, reduced
taxes, fewer regulations and survival of the fittest on the open (both contin-
ental and global) range.”
In contrast to Alberta’s cowboy individualism, Saskatchewan’s political
culture may be likened to Friesen’s jellied salad, a staple at the potluck din-
ners and fowl suppers that have characterized rural Prairie life for generations:
The brightly-coloured salads may represent the left. They are not unique to
the West but, as the singer Connie Kaldor reminds us, they did travel from
thousands of western kitchens to decorate the tables of thousands of com-
munity fundraising dinners undertaken by church, school and political
party. If the ten-gallon hat speaks of competition and the individual, this
humble near-vegetable speaks of co-operation, community and equality. It
will never occupy the centre of a national flag, but the jellied salad in church
basement and community hall also contributed to the national medicare
plan. (Friesen 1999, 185)
In one sense, the dish represents the collectivist ethic that pervades com-
munity events at which it is served. In another sense, the recipe for the jel-
lied salad – pieces of fruit and vegetables suspended in a gelatin mould
– symbolizes the gelling together of diverse groups and individuals within
the broader provincial community.
Finally, Friesen’s (1999, 184) third Prairie image, that of the eagle feather,
symbolizes (as it does for some First Nations cultures) the elements of hon-
our, friendship, and diversity that are sometimes associated with the settler
societies of the Canadian west. Discussed below, Manitoba’s political cul-
ture draws on this same spirit of conciliation and accommodation that char-
acterizes normal periods in the province’s politics. Periodic interruptions
have occurred, but the prevailing norms of temperance and tolerance miti-
gate their intensity and duration.
Explaining Political Culture
Political Culture in Alberta

According to most observers, Alberta’s political culture contains three close-
ly related strains: populism, conservatism, and western alienation (Dyck
1996, 510; see also Harrison and Laxer 1995a, 5-7; Stewart and Archer 2000,
Explaining Cultural Difference 19
13-15; Pickup et al. 2004, 634; Mann 1955, 3-4; Rennie 2004, xi; Roome
2004, 6; Leadbeater 1984, xi; Pal 1992, 2; Denis 1995, 91; Morton 1967b, 37).
On the first measure, Alberta is said to feature a climate of distrust toward
elites, a penchant for nonconformity, an aversion to pitched partisanship,
and an affinity for the tools of direct democracy (Mann 1955, 3-4; Rennie
2004, xi; Roome 2004, 6; Stewart and Archer 2000, 15). More pejoratively,
some consider these characteristics symptomatic of the province’s “high-
strung, volatile character” (Morton 1967b, 37), or a sign of its redneck (Pal
1992, 2), or roughneck (Denis 1995, 91) heritage. Second, as a community,
Albertans are said to favour rugged, right-wing individualism; laissez-faire
liberalism; entrepreneurship; and fiscal orthodoxy – all qualities that have
contributed to the province’s image as the bastion of Canadian conserva-
tism. Third, a deep-seated sense of western alienation remains a defining
feature of Alberta’s political culture. Nearly all accounts of the province’s
political culture refer to the Alberta government as a guardian of the prov-
incial state and to the premier as “the societal spokesperson for his prov-
ince” (Wiseman 2007, 240; see also Gibbins 1998). Macpherson (1977) and
Elton and Goddard (1979) refer to this as a quasi-colonial mentality that
disparages outside control over Alberta’s economy and society, particularly
by commercial interests in Ontario and Quebec and the federal govern-
ment in Ottawa. All told, according to Mansell (1997, 61-62), “these factors
have tended to produce a population with values more disposed towards
self-reliance, with experience at adjusting to major shifts in external factors,
and a perception that the main threats come from the outside than from
within the province.”
Those familiar with Alberta politics might find inconsistencies between
these cultural traits and the realities of political life in the province (Tupper
and Gibbins 1992, xv; Pickup et al. 2004; Laxer 1995; Stewart and Archer
2000, 44). Yet the common perception of Alberta’s populist, conservative,
alienated political culture endures. Chapter 3 explores one source of this
persistence: dominant party rhetoric has helped to sustain these values in
the face of such dissonance.
Political Culture in Saskatchewan

As Marchildon (2005a, 4) puts it, Alberta and Saskatchewan are “like Siam-
ese twins, separated at birth ... In the typical stereotypes of these contrasting
identities, Saskatchewanians are depicted as collectivist-inclined social
democrats who emphasize security and egalitarian social development,
while Albertans are portrayed as entrepreneurial ‘small c’ conservatives who
are dedicated to the individualistic pursuit of liberty and prosperity.” This

characterization of Saskatchewan as featuring a social democratic political
culture figures prominently, if not exclusively, in the existing literature (Mc-
Grane 2006, 10; Rasmussen 2001; Wiseman 2007; but see Smith 2009). A
closer review suggests this label is supported by four interrelated themes: (1)
a spirit of communitarianism and civic engagement, (2) deep ideological
and partisan division, (3) a sense of political and geographic isolation, and
(4) a positive approach toward government.1
Most accounts of Saskatchewan’s political culture make reference to “an
ethic of co-operation and collective public action” (Dyck 1996, 441), al-
though some authors suggest this ethos is shifting gradually from a populist
mode of agrarian collectivism to a more conservative form of individualism
(Leeson 2001; Smith 2009, 40). Either way, the political community in Sas-
katchewan is often described as the most engaged and active in Canada
(Lipset 1968a, chap. 10; Friesen 1999, 110).
The division of the province between the Left and the Right is also a time-
honoured tradition of Saskatchewan politics (Wishlow 2001, 170; Dunn and
Laycock 1992, 225). Since the early twentieth century, heated debates have
pitted “moderate democratic socialism versus a peculiar variety of liberal-
ism” (Courtney and Smith 1972, 314), with democratic socialism and free
enterprise constituting the political touchstones of the province (Andrews
1982, 58). This element of polarization has included an acceptance of the
party as a legitimate vehicle for political debate and the party system as an
ideal venue for conflict. As a result, “party politics in Saskatchewan has been
active, intense, and for a good part of the province’s history, highly competi-
tive ... This is especially striking if one compares the political system of Sas-
katchewan with the Alberta and Manitoba systems. Partisan politics
impregnates, with few exceptions, every issue faced by Saskatchewanians,
whether it be the marketing of a particular agricultural commodity or the
proposed establishment of a government-operated medical care insurance
program” (Courtney and Smith 1972, 317).
Many authors also cite a sense of vulnerability and isolation as a third
element of Saskatchewan’s political culture (Eisler 2006). Dunn and Lay-
cock (1992, 208) label this sentiment alienation because “the geographic
and economic conditions in the province since the beginning of its white
settlement history virtually guaranteed that the early numerical majority
– farmers – would feel dominated by, and alienated from, distant econom-
ic and political elites.” Although some observers agree (e.g., Courtney and
Smith 1972, 290; Eisler 2004, 260), the inclusion of western alienation in
a definition of Saskatchewan political culture remains disputed. Others

suggest the province’s ethos has lacked the same sense of sectarianism
found elsewhere in western Canada. In contrast to the charged atmosphere
found in Alberta, for instance, the Saskatchewan community tends to con-
sider federalism as a “bureaucratic process instead of an emotionally and
historically contested concept” (McGrane 2005, 26). In other words, polit-
ical culture in Saskatchewan “has exploited the potential of federalism,
benefiting from and contributing to national politics on the one hand and
experimenting and innovating within its invisible boundaries on the other.
In this respect no better example can be cited than Saskatchewan for the
creative power of provincial politics” (Smith 2009, 53). This approach has
a lot to do with Saskatchewan’s historical position as a have-less province
in Confederation; under these circumstances, being critical of the federal
government has been a luxury few Saskatchewanians have been able to af-
ford. Although the province has certainly not been immune to province-
first sentiments – notable episodes include Blakeney’s combative approach
toward Trudeau’s federal government in the late 1970s (Dyck 1996, 475;
Dunn and Laycock 1992) and Brad Wall’s recent defence of Saskatchewan’s
potash industry in the face of foreign investment – McGrane (2005, 26)
adds much to our understanding when he asserts that “if western aliena-
tion in Saskatchewan is not dead, it clearly is on its deathbed.” In either
case, the notion of being isolated (if not alienated) remains an important
element of Saskatchewan’s political culture. This distinction is best captured
by the common perception that whereas Alberta is a heartland of Confed-
eration, Saskatchewan suffers a hinterland status (Baron and Jackson 1991,
313-24).
This sense of isolation is closely related to a fourth element of Saskatch-
ewan political culture – an emphasis on the importance of the provincial
government in both the economy and society (Dyck 1996, 439-40). First
and foremost, “the susceptibility of the province to international price fluc-
tuations and to shifts and changes in federal trade policies has resulted in
an overriding sense of ... vulnerability on the part of Saskatchewan resi-
dents. These feelings, in turn, have led to political demands for a strong
provincial government capable of effectively protecting and promoting the
welfare of the provincial populace” (Dunn and Laycock 1992, 237). Thus,
according to most observers, communitarianism (with oddly deep ideo-
logical and partisan divisions) and notions of isolation, vulnerability, and a
positive view of the role of the state constitute core elements of Saskatch-
ewan’s political culture.
Political Culture in Manitoba

Compared with the popular impression of other Canadian provinces, Mani-
toba’s political culture remains undeveloped in the minds of most observ-
ers.2 Even to the most trained eyes, Manitoba enjoys no comparable
political ethos to that of Alberta or Saskatchewan. In the words of Rand
Dyck (1996, 381), the author of a leading undergraduate textbook on Can-
adian provincial politics, “Manitoba is a province without a distinctive pol-
itical culture. If Manitobans have a self-image, it is probably one of a
moderate, medium, diversified, and fairly prosperous but unspectacular
province. Many value its ethnic heterogeneity; others, its intermediary pos-
ition on federal-provincial affairs, interpreting east to east and vice versa.”
Dyck is not alone. Many define Manitoba by its ambiguous mediocrity
rather than by any unique political personality. This conclusion is drawn
quite easily. Manitoba is the “keystone province,” after all; it is the geograph-
ic centre of North America, the “heart of the continent,” and the buffer be-
tween the “old” country of the east and Canada’s “New West.” Its population
and economy are among the country’s most diverse, and both are of average
size. Relative to other major Canadian centres, even Manitoba’s capital city,
Winnipeg, is viewed as a “balance between exotic and obscure” (Read 2008).
In short, Manitoba is Canada’s middling province, positioned between pros-
perous and poor, east and west, old and new, exciting and bland.
Yet this view distorts the notion of political culture and misconceives the
precise nature of Manitoba politics. Indeed, the province “is more than a
fuzzy middle ground where the East ends and the West begins” (Marshall
1970). It has its own distinctive political ethos, which is grounded in the
very concepts of modesty and temperance that make up its popular middle-
man image.
Manitoba has always been “a land of steady ways” in which “the simple,
sturdy virtues of hard work, thrift and neighbourliness have been cherished
and transmitted” (Morton 1967a, viii). As Morton (ibid., viii-ix) wrote four
decades ago, “if it is too much to assert that a Manitoban can be recognized
abroad, it is still true that life in Manitoba forces a common manner, not to
say character on all its people. It is the manner, or mannerism of instant
understanding and agreeableness at meeting, and rises from the need for
harmony in a society of many diverse elements. This superficial friendliness
is common to all North Americans, of course, but in Manitoba, a truly plur-
al society, it is a definite and highly conscious art.” Reflecting these tenden-
cies, Manitobans, “though driven to strike out in new ways in politics, [have]
remained fast wedded to the old ways in manners and morals” (ibid., 382).
In this sense, Manitoba politics have featured a stronger strain of tradition-
alism than Canada’s other two Prairie provinces (Dyck 1996, 382).
This tendency toward traditionalism is embodied in the province’s polit-
ical culture of modesty and temperance – a shared sense of identity that has
both reflected and shaped the community’s political evolution. Since the
province lost its status as the commercial and transportation gateway to the
Canadian west with the opening of the Panama Canal at the turn of the last
century, Manitobans have adopted a decidedly realistic view of their eco-
nomic and political future. Some regard this political culture as a form of
prudent pragmatism – an unpretentious, unassuming, conciliatory approach
to politics that holds as its principal goal the accommodation of diversity,
the preservation of order and tradition, and the protection of Manitoba’s
median position in Confederation. Others view the province’s culture as a
brand of prudish pessimism – a sign of Manitobans’ quiescence on divisive
issues or reticence on the national stage. Where some see humility and real-
ism in Manitoba’s political culture, others see meekness and resignation.
The notion of temperance has also extended to the realm of federalism,
where links between Winnipeg and Ottawa have been far friendlier than in
other western Canadian capitals (Dyck 1996, 381). Even prior to achieving
provincehood, Manitoba had held a central place in Canadian nation build-
ing, and its founding settlers, elites, and institutions were drawn predomin-
antly from Ontario. As a result of these factors and its historical position as
a have-not province, Manitoba has been more closely tied to central Canada
than Alberta or Saskatchewan (Morton 1967b, 420-21). It has lacked the
oppositional reflex found in the former (Friesen 1999, 9) and, compared
with either of its western neighbours, exhibits the lowest level of provincial
boosterism (see Thomas 1989, 2008).
In sum, Manitoba’s political culture is characterized by two major themes:
modesty and temperance. This conclusion is supported by a recent survey of
prominent Manitoba political, governmental, and economic elites. When
asked to define Manitoba’s political culture, “the interviewees suggested
that Manitoba was a society of conscious conciliation, driven by a keen
sense of what was fair and unfair. They saw the community as remarkable
and its citizens as committed to collective well-being” (Friesen 2010, 33).
One further caveat is necessary before the differences between these
three political cultures can be explored. As in Wilson (1974, 440), this book
is based on the assumption “that each province constitutes, in effect, an
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CHAPTER XVII
CAMOUFLAGE
CORONER PENFIELD paused in his microscopic examination of the

polished surface of Burnham’s desk and laying down his instrument,
listened attentively. He could have sworn he had heard a faint rustle
of skirts. Moving with noiseless speed over to the doorway he
peered into the hall, himself screened from view by the portières,
but the hall was empty. After remaining behind the portières for fully
five minutes, he again crossed the library and sat down before the
desk and renewed his occupation of ransacking the drawers. With
the aid of a skeleton key he unlocked first one and then another, but
only neat rows of filed bills and canceled checks rewarded his search
and he sat back finally, gnawing his underlip. His eyes strayed about
the room and he frowned meditatively at the clock as it chimed the
hour; ten o’clock was early for an amateur performance to be over,
but——
Penfield closed and locked each drawer and replaced every
ornament on the desk where it had originally stood, its place clearly
indicated by the accumulation of dust which, by his order, the
servants had been forbidden to remove. Rising, he took a thorough
survey of the library. Mrs. Burnham had evidently seen that his
instructions about keeping the room intact had been carried out;
every piece of furniture was where he recalled seeing it after the
discovery of the dead man sitting in the chair by the fireplace five or
was it six—Penfield stopped to count—had five days elapsed since
then? No arrests, no identification of the dead man in that time!
Memory of a stinging editorial in a local newspaper on the subject of
police inefficiency in handling the case made him wince. The
editorial had hardened his resolve to make another examination of
the Burnham residence, and upon hearing of the family’s
contemplated absence at the theater that night he had decided to
take the opportunity to once again go over the premises.
Crossing the room Penfield again examined the huge arm chair in
which the dead body had been found. He shook his head
despondently over the same blank results which had met his former
investigation of the upholstery of the chair; there was no clue to be
found in its spotless and unbroken surface, no niche where a paper
might have been secreted, or spot where tell-tale finger marks had
been left to aid in identifying the criminal.
With something very like an oath Penfield straightened up from his
fruitless search and again transferred his attention to the library.
Four questions confronted him: the identification of the dead man,
how he had been carried into the library, from where, and by whom.
The coroner stared at each piece of furniture, at every section and
corner of the large room, but no solution of the problem met his
eager gaze in his orderly surroundings. His idea of being of aid to
Detective Mitchell by a quiet examination of the room was a failure;
no new viewpoint of the crime had presented itself.
Penfield turned restlessly about and faced the massive carved
mantel which added much to the attractiveness of the library. The
high brass andirons, their globe-shaped tops reaching almost to his
chest, were badly in need of polishing, and the fire irons and screen
were equally dingy. They were the only furnishings of the room
which showed the result of closing the house during the summer
months.
Penfield’s eyes traveled upward and along the high shelf of the
mantel, which stood some distance above his head. The small
bronze figures on either end of the shelf were handsome, but his
eyes did not linger on them and passed on to the next objects,
candlesticks, and then were focused on the center ornament—the
mantel clock.
The clock was evidently of French make, and the coroner admired
the handsome gilt work which encased the glass globe inside of
which were exposed the works of the clock, its dial, and the
pendulum, which in that instance was obviously the loose base of
the clock, and revolved slowly half around and back again as the
seconds and minutes were ticked off. But it was the dial of the clock
which had claimed the coroner’s wandering attention. Taking out his
note book, he turned its pages hurriedly until he came to an entry
under the date of Tuesday of that week: “Clock in library going at
time of discovery of dead man, and time registered accurate to the
minute with my watch.”
Penfield frowned at the clock. How had he come to overlook
questioning Evelyn regarding the clock? Had she set it going on
entering the library Tuesday morning? If she had not, it would
effectually prove his theory that some one had occupied the house
in the absence of the Burnhams. Penfield brightened; he had found
something tangible to work on after all by refreshing his memory in
his re-examination of the room.
Standing on tip-toe, for his medium height did not permit his
reaching behind the clock, Penfield felt along the shelf for a key to
the clock. Meeting with no success, he pulled forward a chair and
mounting it, looked behind the clock, then under the bronze figures,
and lastly under the candlesticks, but he could find no trace of a key.
He next essayed to open the glass door of the clock, but the catch
stuck and pull as he might he could not open it. A discreet cough
behind him interrupted his efforts and he swung about with such
speed that he almost lost his balance. Jones, the butler, laid a
steadying hand on his chair.
“Beg pardon, sir,” he said contritely. “I thought you heard me come
in, sir.”
The coroner sprang down from the chair. “What is it you wish?” he
demanded.
“The housekeeper said I was to report to you that I had returned,
sir.”
“Returned? Returned from where?”
“From my day off, sir.” Jones, with careful exactness, replaced the
chair from where the coroner had taken it. “Can I get you anything,
sir; sandwiches——?”
“Not a thing, thanks.” The coroner’s brusque manner cut short the
butler’s loquaciousness. “Where’s the key to this clock?” A jerk of his
finger indicated the mantel shelf.
“I don’t know, sir.” Jones stepped forward and peered along the
shelf, his height giving him that advantage over the coroner’s stocky
figure. “Isn’t it alongside the clock?”
“It is not.”
“Then you’ll have to ask the master,” replied Jones, and his manner
had lost some of its servility. “Or Mrs. Burnham,” he added as an
after-thought. “The key is generally kept on the shelf. Mr. Burnham’s
very fussy about all the clocks in the house and we have strict orders
not to meddle with any of them.”
“I see.” Penfield thought a moment, then walked over and, closing
the hall door, locked it. He balanced the key in his fingers before
pocketing it. “Tell Mr. Burnham I will return the key to-morrow,” he
said by way of explanation as he stopped long enough to pick up his
hat from the chess table where he had placed it on first entering the
library, and then walked over to the door opening into Burnham’s
bedroom. He waited until Jones had followed him into the latter
room, then turned and locked that door, pocketing its key without
hesitancy.
Before again addressing the waiting servant Penfield took a careful
survey of Burnham’s bedroom. Its simple furniture appealed to him,
as well as the neat array of long tables which, with built-up sides,
resembled open card index drawers.
“What’s all this?” he asked, approaching the tables.
“Mr. Burnham keeps his chess problems and records filed there,”
explained Jones. “He receives problems, he calls them, from all over
the world; and the time he spends fussing over them!” Jones rolled
his eyes. “It’s enough to make him daffy. Here, don’t touch ’em, sir,”
as the coroner removed several chess problem diagrams. “Mr.
Burnham will raise——” He stopped as Penfield, after a cursory
glance at the red and black markings in the small squares, dropped
the diagrams back into place. “Mr. Burnham’s terrible passionate
when he’s roused, sir,” he added apologetically. “I only thought to
caution you, and no offense was meant.”
“And none taken, Jones,” answered Penfield. “So Mr. Burnham is of a
passionate nature, is he?” Not waiting for the butler’s fervid “Yes,” he
walked out of the bedroom, Jones just behind him. In the hall he
stopped. “Which way is Mr. Maynard’s bedroom?”
“Right down the hall, sir, to your right,” and Jones led the way past
the open door of Mrs. Burnham’s bedroom, which adjoined that of
her husband, to the room he had indicated. Stepping inside he
switched on the electric light and Coroner Penfield looked into the
room for a moment only.
“Cozy quarters,” he remarked. “And who has the room across the
way?”
“Miss Evelyn.” Jones stepped to one side to permit Penfield to return
to the hall.
“And that room?” Penfield indicated a doorway at the back of the
hall, a little to one side.
“That leads to Mrs. Burnham’s boudoir, sir, in the octagon wing of
the house; leastways, that is what they call it,” explained Jones. His
voice gained in impressiveness; he would have made his mark as a
lecturer and the house was his hobby. “There’s a lot of surprises
about this house, sir; it’s bigger than most folks think.”
“I have been over the house.” Coroner Penfield paused by the
staircase. “I thought Mr. Maynard had a room on the third floor.”
“So he did, sir.” Jones led the way down the stairs. “But Mrs. Ward
had his things moved into the spare bedroom downstairs, as Mrs.
Burnham feared it was too hot for him on the third floor; not but
what he might have been more comfortable with a suite of rooms all
to himself upstairs,” added Jones, stopping respectfully by the
entrance to the drawing room. “Will you go in and wait for Mr.
Burnham? I heard he would be back early.”
Penfield considered a moment, then moved toward the front door.
“I will be around in the morning,” he said. “Please tell Miss Preston I
desire to see her.”
“Certainly, sir.” Jones held wide the door and watched the coroner
down the steps and saw him turn the corner before he again
entered the house, closed the door and returned to his pantry. He
was some minutes putting away plates, and then gathering the
soiled dishcloths which the second man had left in an untidy heap on
the floor, he turned off the light and went downstairs. The light in
the lower hall had been left burning but dimly and in the almost
complete darkness Jones stumbled against a heavy object and with
difficulty kept his balance.
“Look out for my bag,” exclaimed a cold voice back of him.
“Schwein-hund!” The word slipped between the butler’s clenched
teeth as he tenderly nursed his bruised shin, and with difficulty
suppressed his desire to kick the bag down the hall as a small vent
to his feelings. Suddenly he straightened up and, turning up the gas
jet under which he stood, glared at Mrs. Ward, but her wooden
expression gave no indication of having heard his ejaculation or
observed his sudden badly concealed fury. Controlling himself by a
supreme effort, he hid his feelings under his familiar suave manner.
“Why do you leave your bag in the way?” he asked, at the same
time stooping to stand the suit case upright against the wall. “Shall I
carry it upstairs for you?”
“No, put it down.” Mrs. Ward’s acerbity was unmistakable and Jones
released his hold of the bag with alacrity, while silently marveling at
its weight. “Go answer the bell, imbecile; do you not hear it
ringing?”
Casting down the soiled dishcloths on top of the bag, Jones dashed
by the housekeeper and ran upstairs, the front bell keeping up a
ceaseless din as he hurried along; but in spite of his haste he
paused long enough to scratch his bald head before opening the
door.
“The bag had an ‘M’ on it,” he muttered. “It was no ‘W.’ I have a
mind——” Another imperative summons on the bell sounded and he
jerked open the door.
“Is Mr. Maynard in?” asked Marian Van Ness as she stepped across
the threshold.
“Mr. M-M-Maynard,” stuttered Jones, his surprise at sight of Marian
plainly evident. “No, miss, no ma’am.” Catching sight of her
expression, his own changed to one of concern. “Are you ill,
ma’am?”
“No.” Marian rubbed her cheeks, forgetting they were rouged, and
unaware that it was the expression of her eyes which had alarmed
the butler. “I have lost—I would like——” she pulled herself up short.
“Has Miss Evelyn returned from the theater?”
“Not yet, ma’am.”
Marian moved over to the hall seat and sat down wearily. “Get a
sheet of paper and a pencil, Jones,” she directed. “I want to leave a
note for—for Mr. Maynard.”
“Surely, ma’am.” Jones fumbled about on the hall table and
produced a much chewed pencil and a small piece of folded paper.
“Just write your message here, ma’am, and I’ll give it to Mr.
Maynard.”
Marian threw back her cloak and the butler inspected her striking
costume of Jeanne d’Arc with admiring eyes. Forgetful of Jones’
presence, Marian stared at the blank paper, then wrote a few lines,
and folded it into a cocked hat, added “Dan Maynard, Esq.,” in her
distinctive writing and handed the note to Jones.
“I will be greatly obliged, Jones,” she said, stepping to the door, “if
you will not mention my presence here to-night to any one, but give
my note to Mr. Maynard.”
“Certainly, ma’am, I understand.” But the butler’s face was blank as
he closed the door behind Marian and went slowly down stairs. He
quickened his footsteps on hearing subdued voices in the hall
leading to the basement front door, and reached there just in time to
see the housekeeper hand her suit case to a taxi-cab driver.
“Here, wait!” he called, but instead of complying the taxi-driver
slipped outside and Mrs. Ward shot the bolt into place before turning
to face the irate butler.
“Hold your fuss!” she exclaimed authoritatively. “And mind your own
business.”
“It is my business to know who comes here at night,” stormed
Jones, giving vent to his bottled up anger at last. “Think you Mrs.
Burnham likes to have hangers-on at her kitchen door?”
“And think you she likes to have such companions as you bring
here?” Mrs. Ward’s blood was up. “The man whom the police want—
the man you have kept here.”
Jones looked involuntarily over his shoulder. “Not so loud,” he
cautioned. “Heinrich has joined the Mission; he seeks Divine
guidance.”
“Then let him seek it elsewhere than in this house.” Mrs. Ward
turned contemptuously away. “Pick up your clothes and be off.”
Jones gathered up the soiled dish towels in silent fury. As he tucked
them under his arm some dark stains on one cloth caught his eye.
“Ah! Paint is it or ink?” He sniffed at the cloth, holding it close under
his nose. “And why did you put fresh paint on your suit case?”
Instead of replying Mrs. Ward walked into the servants’ dining room
and, sitting down, composedly picked up her knitting. Jones
hesitated uncertainly in the hall, then, thrusting the note which
Marian had given him inside a pocket, he followed Mrs. Ward into
the room and stationed himself opposite her.
“Why did you alter the initial on the suit case?” he demanded, and
waited in growing wrath for an answer. Receiving none, he again
addressed the housekeeper. “Silence will not help you,” he
announced. “I know—all.”
“Then why ask me questions?” inquired Mrs. Ward practically.
“Because I desire to know why that taxi-driver is here so often; in
the back way; in the window, yonder,” pointing to the one opening
on the walk which separated the Burnham residence from its next
door neighbor, and which gave light and air to the rooms on that
side of the house. “What does he here of so secretive a nature?”
Mrs. Ward laid down her knitting and met his angry gaze with one
equally furious.
“What concern is it of yours?”
“That is my affair.”
“That is no answer.” Mrs. Ward shrugged her shoulders disdainfully.
“Then shall I say,” the butler leaned closer, “shall I say that that
man’s jack-in-the-box presence in this house is for you a menace?”
Mrs. Ward’s laugh did not ring quite true.
“Since you must know——” She commenced, and paused to glance
over her shoulder.
“Yes.” Jones came nearer. “What?”
“That man you call ‘jack-in-the-box’——”
“The taxi-driver,” prompted Jones. “Go on, woman!”
“That man——” the loud buzzing of the front door bell interrupted
her. “Answer the bell.”
“Yes, yes, in a moment.” Jones came yet nearer. “The taxi-driver—
who is he?”
“A detective—now go,” and Mrs. Ward resumed her knitting.
CHAPTER XVIII
“THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL”
BY the time Jones reached the front hall he found the door open and
Mrs. Burnham awaiting his arrival with an angry sparkle in her eyes.
“Late again, Jones,” she remarked, and her tone caused the butler to
flush uncomfortably. “Help Mr. Burnham off with his coat and then
assist him to bed.”
Burnham rejected the butler’s aid with the same petulance he had
shown to Maynard when the latter offered his assistance.
“I’m not a baby,” he remarked through chattering teeth. “What if I
did catch a chill coming home, Lillian; it’s nothing serious. Here, take
my keys, Jones, and bring me some whiskey from the sideboard.”
Jerking the bunch of keys from the front door lock where he had left
it dangling in his haste to enter the house, he tossed it to the
waiting servant, and laying his hand on Maynard’s arm started with
him up the staircase. Mrs. Burnham turned to follow when Evelyn,
who had remained in the vestibule, stepped inside the house, closed
the door, and called her softly by name.
“Come in the dining room, Mother, dear,” she said. “I must have a
word with you, alone,” and the quiet emphasis on the last word
belied her unnaturally high color and brilliant eyes. “Please, Mother.”
Seeing Mrs. Burnham hesitate, she moved forward and gently
encircled her waist with her arm. “Spare just a moment to me.”
Mrs. Burnham bent forward and kissed her with warmth. “Of course,
Evelyn,” she said cheerily. “Say as many words to me as you want,”
and she led the way into the drawing room, pausing only long
enough to turn on the lights.
“Sit by me here,” she suggested, making herself comfortable on the
sofa, but Evelyn, too nervous to remain quiet, only paused in her
restless moving about to stand in front of her.
“Mother,” she began, and in spite of her determination to keep her
voice steady it shook. “I love René La Montagne.”
Mrs. Burnham’s expression altered. “You think you do, Evelyn,” she
corrected gently.
“No, Mother.” Evelyn’s gaze never shifted. “I love René and I intend
to marry him.”
“Need we go into that?” Mrs. Burnham smiled, not unkindly.
“Suppose for to-night we just admit the first premise—you love him.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Evelyn rested her hands against the table at
her back and steadied herself. “René,” she blushed hotly. “René loves
me.”
Mrs. Burnham gazed steadily at her daughter and a sudden wave of
tenderness swept over her, and for a second the charming picture—
Evelyn in her straight young beauty and her tattered Belgian
costume—was blurred from sight by blinding tears. Unconscious of
her mother’s emotion, Evelyn waited a moment before speaking.
“René loves me and I love René,” she reiterated. “Therefore; Mother,
will you announce our engagement to-morrow morning?”
Mrs. Burnham sat bolt upright. “Will I do what?” she demanded.
“Announce my engagement to René La Montagne.”
“My dear child,” Mrs. Burnham raised her hands in horror. “Utterly
unthought of!”
“But why? René and I have thought of it, and we are the most
concerned.”
“Preposterous!” fumed Mrs. Burnham. “Why, the man’s under a
cloud!”
“Exactly, mother; that is why I wish our engagement announced.”
Evelyn stood proudly erect. “Shall you make the announcement or I,
Mother?”
“René,” she blushed hotly, “René loves me.”
Mrs. Burnham stared at her in blank astonishment. “Have you taken
leave of your senses?” she demanded. “Sit down here, Evelyn, and
let us discuss this matter rationally.”
“Thanks, Mother, but I prefer to stand. I—I will not keep you long; in
fact,” her smile was very winning, “I but wait your answer.”
Mrs. Burnham sighed. “The perversity of life!” she exclaimed. “Why
do you pick out the one man I could not welcome as a son-in-law?”
“But why can’t you welcome him?” asked Evelyn impetuously. “René
is all that a man should be—tender, true, and brave. Look at the
record he had made in that gallant army of France. You have every
reason to be proud of René, mother. Why, then, are you so absurdly
prejudiced against him? He has never done anything to you.”
“Not to me perhaps——” began Mrs. Burnham, but Evelyn gave her
no time to finish.
“Is it fair to take Mr. Burnham’s opinion about René instead of
mine?” she demanded hotly. “My word is just as good as his, if not
——”
“Stop, Evelyn.” Mrs. Burnham held up her hand imperatively. “It is
not a question of word but of judgment; you are immature,
impulsive, impressionable——”
“Good gracious, Mother,” Evelyn laughed vexedly. “Any more ‘ims’
you can think of? Mr. Burnham is determined to get René into
trouble, and it is plain to be seen that he has influenced you against
me.”
Mrs. Burnham flushed. “You are unjust, Evelyn,” she remonstrated.
“You carry your dislike of your step-father too far——”
“You mean he has carried his dislike of René too far,” retorted
Evelyn, bitter resentment against Burnham getting the better of her
determination to curb her anger. “He has, even to preferring false
charges against René.”
“Gently, Evelyn, gently.” Mrs. Burnham rose. “Do not say things in
anger which you may bitterly regret later.”
“I shall never regret one word I say in defense of René,” responded
Evelyn with undaunted spirit “And when Mr. Burnham charges René
killed that unknown man in our library, he lies.”
Mrs. Burnham laid a firm hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “Hush!” she
commanded. “René will have an opportunity to prove his innocence
shortly. I understand——” She faltered for a second, then continued
sternly: “I understand he has been arrested for the crime.”
Evelyn shrank back from her mother and covered her face with her
hands. When she looked up her expression had altered.
“Either you or I will announce in to-morrow’s papers my engagement
to René—which shall it be?” she asked.
“Evelyn.” Mrs. Burnham seldom used that tone in addressing her
daughter and the girl looked at her dumbly. “Have you considered
what such a step means in the face of my disapproval?”
“You mean—giving up my fortune?”
“Yes. By the terms of your father’s will you forfeit your inheritance if
you marry against my wishes.”
“Well, what of it?” Evelyn shrugged her shoulders disdainfully.
“Thank God, money isn’t everything!”
“You are very young.” Mrs. Burnham smiled faintly. “In this case
there is more than money involved; a crime and public scandal.
Child!” For a second Mrs. Burnham’s composure deserted her. “You
must be mad to desire to announce your engagement to a man
whom your step-father charges with a heinous crime.”
“Charges can be disproved,” retorted Evelyn. “Mother,” she laid an
imploring hand on her arm. “Mother, I assure you René is not guilty,
no matter how much circumstantial evidence points to him; he no
more killed that man than did Peter Burnham.”
Rapidly approaching footsteps caused Mrs. Burnham to turn abruptly
and she welcomed Maynard’s entrance almost with eagerness.
“I have persuaded your husband to go to bed,” he said. “I think he
will rest very comfortably. He has given me a prescription to fill for
him; can you tell me where to find the nearest drug store which
stays open all night?”
“I am afraid it is fully six blocks away, on Connecticut Avenue,”
exclaimed Mrs. Burnham. “It is a shame to take you out at this hour
of the night.”
“Not a bit of it.” Maynard nodded gayly at Evelyn. “Too bad you can’t
stroll down town with me, Evelyn, the walk might do you good; not
in that thin dress,” hastily. “Fortunately, to-night I was cast for an
appropriate costume; uniforms are not conspicuous these days.”
“Our uniforms are always conspicuous,” rebuked Evelyn. “Just think
of the gallant men wearing them.”
“All honor to them!” Maynard raised his hand in quick salute. “Some
day, God willing, I’ll go up the line with the boys in khaki and over
the top; until then——” A quick sigh completed the sentence. “I’ve
taken your latch-key, Mrs. Burnham, so don’t have any one wait up
for me,” and he hurried out of the house.
“Go to bed and get some rest, Evelyn,” suggested Mrs. Burnham,
pausing with her hand on the electric light button. “We can talk
more reasonably after a good night’s sleep. Come and see me after
breakfast, and remember——”
“Yes, Mother.” Evelyn waited for her mother to lead the way up the
staircase. But Mrs. Burnham did not complete her sentence until she
had reached the second floor. In front of her door she turned and
patted Evelyn gently on her shoulder. “Remember,” she said, “do
nothing rash.”
It was not until Evelyn was in her own bedroom arranging her hair
that she recollected her mother had omitted her customary good-
night kiss. Evelyn’s lip quivered; her sensitive high-strung nature
made her a prey to every slight, however unintentional or imaginary
they were. She felt cruelly the barrier which she had been quick to
see was slowly but surely separating her from her mother, a mother
she had idolized up to the time of her marriage to Peter Burnham.
She had never been able to conquer her distaste for Peter Burnham
and her growing fear that he might some day supplant her in her
mother’s affections. She had little hope that she could win her
mother’s consent to her engagement to René La Montagne, and still
less that her mother would announce the engagement. But Evelyn
came of a loyal courageous race and her fighting blood was up. Her
lover, alone in a strange country, faced, in her opinion, unjust
imprisonment for a crime he had not committed, and she was
determined to offset her step-father’s charges against him by the
announcement of their engagement. Let tongues wag in society and
scandal be whispered; if she showed her faith in René La Montagne
others would rally to his aid. There was Marian Van Ness and Dan
Maynard— A tap on her door awoke her from her abstraction.
“What is it?” she called.
“It is I, Miss Evelyn,” announced Mrs. Ward, pushing the door farther
open. “Your mother thought you might need my help in getting out
of that dress. Let me do that for you,” and she deftly extracted a pin
Evelyn had been vainly trying to reach for some moments.
“Thanks.” Evelyn submitted to being undressed with alacrity; she
was utterly weary. “Aren’t you up pretty late for a woman who has
been as ill as you have?”
“I am well again,” replied the housekeeper, arranging Evelyn’s
clothes neatly on a chair and picking up brush and comb. “Just slip
into bed, Miss Evelyn, and I’ll brush and braid your hair for you.”
With a murmur of thanks Evelyn followed her advice and partly sat
and lay at ease while the experienced woman (she had graduated
from lady’s maid to her position of housekeeper) deftly arranged her
long silky hair, badly tangled from having worn it loose down her
back in the tableau.
“There, Miss Evelyn, that is done,” Mrs. Ward announced twenty
minutes later. “Is there anything else you would like?”
Evelyn looked about the room. “If you will open all my windows and
raise the shades, I shall be greatly obliged,” she said. “The room is
horribly hot.”
Mrs. Ward hesitated perceptibly. “I’m afraid you are a bit feverish,”
she exclaimed. “Do you think it’s wise to open all the windows, Miss
Evelyn? This room really isn’t any too warm.”
“I can’t sleep in it as it is,” exclaimed Evelyn. “I must have air; my
head is swimming. Don’t worry about my catching cold, Mrs. Ward; I
always sleep with the wind blowing on me.”
“Very well, Miss Evelyn.” The housekeeper went to first one window
and then the other and pulled up the Holland shades, then flung the
windows wide open. On her way to the door she stopped by the bed
and looked thoughtfully down at Evelyn, then without speaking
glided from the room to return a moment later with a silver whistle.
“If the room gets too cold, Miss Evelyn, and you don’t want to get
up, just blow on this and I’ll come downstairs and help you,” she
said, laying the whistle in Evelyn’s hand.
Genuinely touched, Evelyn raised herself on her elbow. “That’s very
thoughtful and kind of you,” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it, Miss Evelyn, good-night,” and Mrs. Ward hurried
away.
Sleep was far from Evelyn’s eyes and for long hours she tossed and
turned on her pillow; the cool night air gradually lowered the
temperature of the room and she felt relief. She had a touch of fever,
she admitted to herself, touching her hot forehead, and half
determined to get up and rummage around in her mother’s medicine
cabinet for a bottle of “sweet spirits of niter,” but the thought of
waking her mother deterred her.
As the night passed Evelyn slept by fits and starts. She was lying
drowsily awake listening to a distant clock chiming three when she
grew conscious of a light streaming directly in her eyes. Her lids flew
open and she blinked for a few seconds before realization came to
her. Jerking herself up on her elbow she gazed at a thin wave of
light shining steadily through one of the windows full on her pillow.
Too weary to do more than stare, she finally pulled her pillow around
and settled herself in another position. She was just dozing off when
the light again aroused her. Three times she changed her position
and each time the light shone directly in her eyes. There was
something uncanny in its power and its silent search only for her
eyes. Evelyn felt a chill creep down her spine; then, conquering her
nervousness, she reached over to a chair near the bed where lay her
wrapper and proceeded to put it on. There was nothing for her to do
but get up and pull down her window shades.
Suddenly just as she was about to spring out of bed a flash of light
on the blank wall opposite her bed caught her attention and glancing
up she was horrified to see vividly outlined there the scene of
Tuesday morning—the large library chair with the dead man sitting
with head thrown back, and once again she gazed in breathless
suspense straight into the man’s wide open staring eyes.
Evelyn sat spell-bound; then shuddering she covered her eyes with
her hands and cowered back. When she looked up again the wall
opposite was blank. Closing her eyes she pressed the lids down with
her finger-tips and kept them so for at least ten minutes. The next
time she looked at the wall the space was still blank, and steadying
her shaken nerves with the thought that her imagination was
running away with her, she started to rise when before her eyes
appeared a cord, exaggerated in size against the blank wall;
suspended apparently by unknown, unseen means in mid-air, it
twined about like some uncanny snake, but even as it twisted to and
fro, Evelyn recognized the peculiar style of the cord—she had seen it
three times before: taken from the dead man’s pocket, hanging from
the open parcel in her hand two days later, and given to her the next
afternoon by Dan Maynard.
With desperate fingers Evelyn groped under her pillow for the silver
whistle—she would not stay another minute alone; she must tell
some one of her hallucination before she went entirely out of her
head. With eyes averted from the opposite wall, she twisted about in
bed until the missing whistle turned up under her left elbow.
Blowing the whistle was not as simple a business as she had
anticipated; her mouth was dry and parched and such breath as she
had in her body only raised a feeble pipe; but in desperation she
persevered. She was bathed in perspiration before a sound of
footsteps brought unspeakable relief.
“Hurry, hurry,” she gasped, as a white-robed figure stepped just
inside her room. “Come nearer. Look!” and with eyes averted she
pointed to the opposite wall.
She was conscious of the figure’s approach at her hoarse whisper,
but the continued silence snapped her last remnant of self-control.
“Tell me you see it,” she begged piteously. “The string, Mrs. Ward;
you see the string!” and she caught the woman and swung her
about, imploring eyes upraised—the woman who faced her was not
the housekeeper, but her mother.
“Be calm, Evelyn,” she said, stroking the girl’s hot head. “What is the
meaning of this?”
“Can’t you see the string on the wall?” asked Evelyn clinging to her.
Mrs. Burnham looked in the direction Evelyn pointed.
“No, dear,” she whispered soothingly. “Look for yourself.”
Slowly, reluctantly Evelyn turned and looked full at the wall—her
mother was right, it was blank. But even as she stared at it, the wall
lightened and once again she gazed into the eyes of the dead man
seated in the chair facing her.
“See, Mother!” she cried.
Like one carved from stone Mrs. Burnham stared at the opposite
wall; motionless, almost with breathing suspended, she continued to
look ahead of her. Suddenly she spoke, and it was a voice Evelyn
had never heard before and would never have recognized as hers.
“I see nothing, Evelyn,” she said. “The wall is blank.”
CHAPTER XIX
BRIBERY
JAMES PALMER felt his clean shaven chin with nervous fingers and
turned away from contemplating himself in the mirror with a
dissatisfied scowl. Kicking aside his tumbled clothes, which lay half
on, half off the bed, he hurried into the living room of his apartment
in time to catch Dr. Hayden as the latter was leaving on his round of
professional visits.
“Give me a bracer, Hayden,” he demanded. “My nerves have gone to
pot.”
Hayden scanned him closely and noted with professional interest his
bloodshot eyes and shifting, ever moving restless fingers.
“Go back to bed,” he directed. “You are not in shape to be about this
morning.”
“Shape or not, I’ve got to be in my office Sunday or no Sunday;
Government contracts don’t wait on nerves, time, or day. Those
cantonment plans must be shipped to——” Observing Hayden’s
obdurate manner, Palmer’s peremptory tone changed to one almost
of pleading. “Don’t send me to bed; I tell you I can’t sleep and I’ll go
crazy if I remain inactive. I had to work last night; God knows if I
can’t sleep at night, I can’t sleep in daylight.”
Hayden considered him a moment, then drawing out his prescription
pad he wrote down directions, and tearing off the slip handed it to
Palmer who, impatient to be off, stood twirling his hat from one
hand to another.
“This mild bracer will give you relief, Palmer, but only temporarily.”
Hayden’s serious manner impressed Palmer in spite of his open
disinclination to follow his advice. “It is trite but true that no man
can burn the candle at both ends; working under pressure day and
night creates the necessity for sanitariums.”
Palmer frowned then smiled as he tucked the prescription safely
away in his vest pocket.
“The work will lighten up shortly,” he declared. “Come along; oh, d
——mn! there’s the ’phone.”
“Don’t wait, I’ll answer it,” and Hayden turned back into the
apartment as Palmer hurried down the corridor. Just as he reached
the head of the staircase a sound of voices drifted to him, and
glancing over his shoulder he saw Mrs. Burnham leave the elevator
and walk toward his apartment. Palmer stood for several seconds
where he was; then, as Mrs. Burnham was admitted by his Japanese
servant, Siki, he slowly retraced his footsteps to his apartment.
Inside the living room Hayden listened to a long winded statement
from one of his patients, and making his replies as brief as
politeness permitted he finally hung up the receiver and, swinging
about, found Mrs. Burnham seated near at hand.
“I telephoned to your office and the boy told me you were not
expected there this morning, so I chanced finding you here,” she
explained as they shook hands. “I want your professional advice.”
“Surely, Mrs. Burnham.” Hayden drew a chair forward and sat down
by her. “What is it?”
Mrs. Burnham did not reply at once. “Are we likely to be
interrupted?” she finally inquired.
“No,” replied Hayden. “Palmer left before you came, and Siki is busy
in his pantry.”
Mrs. Burnham’s tense manner relaxed somewhat. “I want to speak
to you on confidential matters,” she said. “You will kindly mention
my visit to no one.”
“Certainly not.” Hayden bowed. “Proceed, madam.”
It was some minutes before Mrs. Burnham again addressed him; she
seemed at first uncertain how to commence.
“I sent for you this summer to come to Chelsea,” she began, “so that
you might have Mr. Burnham under observation; I told you that at
the time.” Hayden bowed again. “You said then that you observed a
tendency on his part to brood and to withdraw himself from the
society of his friends.”
“True,” responded Hayden gravely. “His chief relaxation, aside from
long solitary walks, seemed to be to lock himself in some room and
work over chess problems. I advised you to use your influence to
induce him to be more with people.”
“I have tried to do so.” Mrs. Burnham was exerting her superb self-
control to keep her voice tranquil. “Without, however, satisfactory
results; now he even dislikes my society.”
Hayden glanced at her keenly. “A morbid tendency very often makes
people turn against those they love the most,” he said gently. “As
Burnham’s physical condition improves he will shake off his mental
depression. In my opinion, Mrs. Burnham,” he added more lightly,
“half the murders and suicides to-day are the result of a torpid liver.”
Mrs. Burnham’s answering smile was wan. “Then you think his, shall
we say, distorted views of people and events are the result of
physical illness reacting on his mental condition?”
“It is possible,” conceded Hayden; again he eyed her keenly. “You
have mentioned no specific case——”
“I am coming to that.” Mrs. Burnham bent forward in her
earnestness. “How much reliance can I place on my husband’s active
dislike for Captain René La Montagne and the charges he has
brought against him?”
Hayden considered the question. “It is difficult to answer,” he
admitted, “I do not know the grounds, if any, your husband has for
hating—frankly, on the surface it amounts to that—” he added
hastily—“for hating the Frenchman.”
Mrs. Burnham colored painfully. “As I understand it, Captain La
Montagne was a passive witness of an unfortunate scene in a club in
Paris in which my husband did not—did not”—she faltered——“did
not cover himself with glory; but I must say, in justice to him, that
he was brought up in the tenets of the Quakers and dueling or
fighting of any kind is——”
“I know,” broke in Hayden kindly. “It is highly probable that Burnham
has become possessed of this notion, this dislike of La Montagne,
contradictory alike to common-sense and his own experience, until it
has developed into almost a monomania with him.”
Mrs. Burnham drew a long, long breath. “Then do you think he has
brooded over a long past incident and centered his resentment on La
Montagne until it has become an obsession?” she asked.
“Yes; so it seems to me.”
“Then you think he has taken the—the—shall we call it chance——”
Mrs. Burnham whitened—“the chance of that unidentified man
having been killed in our empty house, to involve Captain La
Montagne in the crime so as to punish him for an imaginary
grievance,—in his mental condition,—exaggerated out of all
proportion to its real significance?”
“It may be,” Hayden hesitated, “but you must recollect that
circumstantial evidence also points to Captain La Montagne.”
“I do not place much confidence in circumstantial evidence,”
declared Mrs. Burnham. “Captain La Montagne if innocent, should
have little difficulty in proving it, but——” Mrs. Burnham cleared her
voice of a slight huskiness—“but I am willing to swear in any court
that my husband’s attitude toward him is due to mental
irresponsibility.”
A spark of admiration kindled Hayden’s eyes as he gazed at the
composed woman seated before him; in his creed loyalty ranked
high.
“Your claim seems justified by facts,” he said. “I would suggest——”
“What?”
“That you set the machinery in motion to have Mr. Burnham placed
under mental observation,” he added reluctantly.
Mrs. Burnham averted her gaze. “Only as a last resource,” she said.
“At present I wanted your views to assist me in deciding upon a
course of action.” She paused and he waited with silent attention. It
was some moments before she spoke again. “My daughter, Evelyn,
wishes to announce her engagement to Captain La Montagne to-
day.”
“Oh!” Hayden sat back and contemplated her in surprise.
“Quite so.” Mrs. Burnham’s smile was wintry. “Evelyn’s behavior
complicates the situation,” she admitted with candor. “I have had
quite enough gossip about my private affairs;” her tone grew bitter.
“People perhaps do not think I know the things which were said at
the time my engagement to Mr. Burnham was announced, but there
are always kind friends;” she laughed mirthlessly. “Women do not
spare their own sex, doctor; even my daughter’s intimate friend,
Marian Van Ness, stated I only married Peter to get rid of him.”
The frantic ringing of the telephone bell interrupted her, and with a
hasty apology Hayden crossed the room to the instrument. Mrs.
Burnham seized the opportunity to relax in her chair; the interview
had taxed her strength. Happening to glance in the direction of the
door she saw the Japanese servant pass down the hall, long wall
brush and dust pan in hand; another instant and Dr. Hayden was
back at her side.
“Evelyn is in a state of mind to do anything,” she stated, as he
resumed his seat. “She is quite as possessed in favor of Captain La
Montagne as my husband is opposed to him.”
“A pleasant situation for you,” acknowledged Hayden, and his
sympathetic manner was a tonic to her frayed nerves. “Do you
anticipate an elopement?”
“No, oh, no.” Mrs. Burnham spoke more rapidly than ordinarily.
“Evelyn simply desires the immediate public announcement of her
engagement under, in my opinion, a mistaken sense of loyalty to
Captain La Montagne. I have begged her to tell only her intimate
friends and relatives——”
“Ah! then you have agreed to the engagement?” asked Hayden
quickly.
“Yes,” reluctantly. “Frankly, doctor, Evelyn’s condition this morning
worried me, and I thought the best thing to do was to accede as far
as possible to her wishes. It quieted her and she spent the
remainder of the night without seeing visions.”
“Visions!” exclaimed the astonished physician.
“Yes,” tartly. “I was awakened by a whistling noise which seemed to
come from Evelyn’s room, and on going in I found her sitting up in
bed, apparently frightened half out of her senses and declaring that
she saw against the opposite wall the unidentified dead man, sitting
in the chair as she had found him in the library on Tuesday
afternoon.”
“Upon my word!” Hayden stared at Mrs. Burnham; she was certainly
serious in her statement. Was the entire Burnham household going
mad, or was his hearing defective?
“Evelyn seldom speaks of the scene in the library,” went on Mrs.
Burnham. “But finding the body must have made a greater
impression upon her than any of us realized. She was very much
wrought up to a feverish degree. Mrs. Ward told me this morning, by
an interview she had with me about René La Montagne just before
going to bed, and I am afraid her mind must have reverted back to
the dead man and her mental distress projected her vision of him on
the wall,” ended Mrs. Burnham. “Isn’t that what you physicians call
it?”
Hayden looked puzzled. “An illusion—counterfeit appearances,” he
explained, “is an incorrect impression of the senses. Has Evelyn ever
had other illusions?”
“Never to my knowledge.” Mrs. Burnham rose. “I have left her in bed
in Mrs. Ward’s care. I wish you would come in sometime during the
day doctor, and see her. In the meantime, I can’t thank you enough
——” Mrs. Burnham’s fine eyes filled with tears and she stopped
unable to control her voice.
“My dear Mrs. Burnham,” Hayden shook her hand warmly. “Say no
more; I am only too delighted to be of service to you; you forget,
but I do not, your long years of kindness and hospitality to me.”
Taking her knitting bag from the sofa where she had dropped it, Mrs.
Burnham started for the door, and Hayden, snatching up his surgical
bag and hat, accompanied her out of the apartment and down in the
elevator.
They had been gone fully five minutes before James Palmer rose
from his chair in the corner of the balcony and looked through the
open window into the empty living room.
“A clever woman, a very clever woman,” he commented aloud.
Turning abruptly he stepped through the French window opening
into the hall of his apartment and went in search of the Japanese,
Siki.
“Go out on the balcony and put new electric bulbs in the bird-cage
lanterns,” he directed. “We want to sit out there to-night after
dinner.”
Not waiting for a reply he left the apartment and was just in time to
catch a descending elevator. The boy had shut the elevator door
when Palmer caught sight of Peter Burnham walking down the
corridor, and he had but time to call out: “Sorry to miss you;
Hayden’s gone,” when the elevator shot downward.
“I’ll wait for Hayden,” shouted Burnham, and a moment later was
explaining his presence and desires to the attentive Japanese.
Siki ushered him into the living room with a grand flourish, then
went off to execute his master’s orders with sublime disregard of
Burnham’s presence.
The morning papers first engaged Burnham’s attention; the chess
table added its fascination, but finally, tiring of both occupations, he
wandered over to the window opening upon the balcony, a tinkle of
glass having attracted his notice. He stood for some seconds looking
out at the Jap sweeping up pieces of a broken electric bulb and
watched him screw another in place in one of the silk-lined bird-cage
lanterns.
“Siki,” he called. “Come here,” and as the Jap approached the
window he drew out a twenty dollar bill.
“See here, Siki,” he began insinuatingly. “You know Captain La
Montagne was in this apartment Thursday night just before the
attempt was made to shoot me.”
The Jap looked first at the bill and then at Burnham, his expression
inscrutable.
“Me understand, honorable sir,” he admitted and pocketed the
money.
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Canadian Government and Politics Seventh Edition Robert J.

Changing Politics of Canadian Social Policy Second Edition

Saving the Prairies Ronald C. Tobey

Science and Religious Anthropology Ashgate Science and

The Black Hawk War of 1832 Campaigns and Commanders First

The Oxford Handbook of Canadian Politics John C. Courtney

Field Armies and Fortifications in the Civil War The

Christian Intellectuals and the Roman Empire 1st Edition

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

FC3239.P6W48 2011 971.2 C2010-907871-3

wesley sc_cip.indd 4 15/01/2011 4:03:01 PM

Foreword by Nelson Wiseman / ix

1 The Prairie Paradox: Explaining Cultural Difference / 17

2 Politics over Time: Explaining Cultural Persistence / 35

3 Campaigns in Alberta: A Code of Freedom / 55

4 Campaigns in Saskatchewan: A Code of Security / 114

5 Campaigns in Manitoba: A Code of Moderation / 175

Conclusion: Decoding Prairie Cultures / 235

Appendix: Deciphering Codes – The Study of Ideas

The commonalities and diversities of the Prairie provinces have intrigued

Having lived, studied, and travelled throughout the Canadian prairies, I am

scholarship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of

When it comes to their political cultures, residents of the Canadian prairies

The persistence of this diversity is equally puzzling. Advances in technol-

democratic political culture attributable, in any sense, to the discourse cul-

A comprehensive, primary investigation of the political culture of each

insulated, as an oyster deposits nacre around an irritant. They are confined

Samuel Huntington (1981) concurs with Hofstadter, suggesting that most, if

that mass publics respond to currently conspicuous political symbols: not

Like cultures, codes are community-specific, meaning that the nature of

The present analysis turns these assumptions into a series of hypotheses

The Three Prairie Codes

Drawing on elements of the province’s political culture, leading politicians

Indeed, progressive centrism constitutes the foremost element of Mani-

Toward Decoding the Prairie Paradox

and a century’s worth of hindsight, many of the researchers noted would

Explaining Political Culture

Political Culture in Alberta

Political Culture in Saskatchewan

are dedicated to the individualistic pursuit of liberty and prosperity.” This

a definition of Saskatchewan political culture remains disputed. Others

Political Culture in Manitoba

CORONER PENFIELD paused in his microscopic examination of the

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