My first banqueting speech was made at Whitby when upon the departure of one of the citizens, who had just failed in business, we gathered to give him a farewell at the Royal Hotel. As the only representative of the press present—a callow youth who had never thought of speaking in public—I was called upon, and rose to respond with not too much cheerful alacrity. For the life of me, I didn’t know what to say, but I had to say something and so I started out with my heart in my mouth: “Mister Chairman, ladies and gentlemen.” Then I remembered there wasn’t a blamed female in the room. The audience laughed heartily at what they thought was an attempt on my part to be funny, when I never was so serious in all my life. But I helplessly went on. “We are all glad to be here and see our honored guest leave town—” then a long pause, and I realized I had put my foot in it, but quickly recovering, kept making things worse by adding—“and we all wish him in his future home the great success he has met with in Whitby.” A dead silence ensued, and I was wondering what in thunder I could say next. There was no inspiration, but lots of perspiration for me, but I had to say something or other. So I wished him and his family—he was a bachelor without any relatives—all the prosperity that his great talents and business ability—(he was a chump of the first water)—I don’t remember whether I finished the sentence or not, but a friend in need seeing my dilemma started a round of applause, during which I quickly subsided, and spent the rest of the evening very uncomfortably in wondering whether I was a mere common garden variety of pumpkin head or something worse. Of the hundreds of banquets that I have attended, none were more enjoyable than those of the Parliamentary Press Gallery at Ottawa, which were always held on a Saturday night. There good fellowship, genial companionship and mirth, both in wit and humor, held unbroken sway until midnight when it was run on Winnipeg time and then on Vancouver time, so that we wouldn’t break the Sabbath. The big men spoke freely and so did some of us littler fellows, and seldom was there a tiresome spell, for the speeches were, by an unwritten law, always brief and to the point. These were before the dark days of the Big War and prohibition. They were held from 1870 to 1914, when they ceased altogether during the conflict, and have not been resumed since.