THE LATE T. P.

Hokitika Guardian, 11 January 1930, Page 6

THE LATE T. P.

SOME ANECDOTES.

(By Dli-s O’Connor)

I met “T.P.” through a policeman. Harpers, the publishers, had given me an increase in salary, a holiday, and letters of introduction to various literary people in London. In those faraway days I was one of their manuscript readers. The head of the firm, Joseph Harper, in bidding me “Goodbye,” said: “You are on your way to meet ful Dobbin, for it is your fate to marry again. AVe shall be sorry to lose you.” “Never fear, I shall come back,” I said. VAVhy, the House of Harper can’t go on without me!” And, sure enough, my first outing in London brought me “T.P.” Colonel Dlitchell, the American ViceConsul, who had crossed ill the steamer witli me, suggested at the station that he should call upon me that evening.

He did And we went to the House of Commons to deliver a letter of introduction to Justiir McCarthy, whom I so greatly admired before I met him and during all the intimate, years that followed.

To my great disappointment, he was not in the House. “But,” said the young,- tall, obliging policeman, “there is a gentleman in the House who likes Americans. He’s been to America, and lie will show you about.” “Thank you,” said Colonel Dlitchell, “will you take him my card?” The policeman went off and was gone scarcely a minute, when he returned closely followed by “T.P.” who gave us a smiling welcome, showing—as I noticed—very regular white teeth.

He assured us that we were the most agreeable interruption, said he would tell Justin what a pleasure he had missed, and proceeded to point out thrilling features in the House. AVe made a little circle. . Colonel Dlitchell uncovered his head, when we stood near the sacred spot where Charles I. was beheaded, and when we moved on “T.P.” said: “AVe must now get on to the Ladies’ Gallery.” He. placed Colonel Dlitchell in the Strangers’ Gallery while we were absent.

Then, what interesting, eloquent talk began! He pointed out the most distinguished members, who seemed to me singularly at ease in their seats and attitudes. In my country men were sternly dignified on the floor of Congress. /

“There,” said “T.P.” his eyes lighting up with admiration and real tenderness in his voice, . “is Gladstone. Tsn’t he a grand old boy?”

DTr Gladstone sat coupling his ear with his hand and listening patiently to a low and inarticulate speaker. “T.P.” said: “A had speaker, but an important political opponent.” Being new to the English voice and accent I did not understand one single word.

It was not necessary, however, as I had a most melodious voice and thrilling words to listen to, which I perfectly understood. AA r e must have been some time in the gallery, for when we found Colonel Dlitchell he was reticient amT possessed of unapproachable dignity. Not so ‘T.P.” Hei l was geniality itself and coruscated with animated brilliance. AVhen my escort said: “AVe have made Dlr O’Connor a' too long visit; I am ready to take you to Hanover-square,” “T.P.” said, “Oh, not at all 1 had better see the last of you”—followed us—sprang nimbly into the cab and sat by me, pushing into a corner Colonel Mitchel, who by this time was perfectly silent. A gay “Good-night,” and “T.P.” called out, “i’ll see you to-morrow.” And he saw me not only oil the morrow, but every day while I remained in London.

Ally form of music appeals to me. Music of forests, of streams, of winds coming up out of the sea, but, above all, of voices. And at thie time of bis ebullient youtli “T. P.” possessed a voice of singular musical beauty. The qua I ity was so lovely and as many toned as a perfeclv balanced instrument. There was no harsh cleavage anywhere. As with Poland Haves, the Negro singer, a tender, velvet quality reigned throughout. Forbes Robertson, whose voice will always be remembered by two continents, once showed me the roof of his mouth, ft was high like a tiny cathedral. The inside of “T. P.’s” mouth had the same conformation. The roof was high and his throat was healthy and strong beyond belief. He frequently made 18 speeches a day without once clearing his throat or, while on the platform, taking a glass of water. He was never hoarse. He never had a sore throat. His voice was never tired.

“T. P’s” talent for languages was for his construction, the grammar, the literature and'foreign. He had no gift for imitation of any kind. Through me he became familiar with and fond of Negro dialect, but I could never teach it to him. One story he loved and so often quoted: The little hoy had taken from the big house a goblet of dessert to Uncle Rem us. “What’s dis here, honeyP” said linde Remus, “Ain’t it syllybug?” “Yes, it is. Uncle Remus.”

“Well, T don’t like it. When you gim me foam, gim me foam. An’ when von gim mo whisky, gimme whisky.”