saved the enterprise from threatened destruction. Harry Petit, a local
manager, announced a rival melodrama called "Taken From Life" at
McVicker's Theater, and had set his opening date one night before the
inaugural of "American Born."

Charles scratched his head and said, "We must beat them to it."

He announced the "American Born" opening for a certain night and then
opened three nights earlier, which beat the opposition by one night.

Belasco's play was spectacular in character and included, among other
things, a realistic fire scene. When the time came for rehearsal the
manager of the theater said that it could not be done, because the fire
laws would be violated.

"I'll fix that," said Charles.

He went down to the City Hall, had a personal interview with the mayor,
and not only got permission for the scene, but a detail of real firemen
to act in it.

While in Chicago, Belasco accepted Daniel Frohman's offer to come to
New York as stage-manager of the Madison Square Theater. Charles and
Belasco came east together, and the intimacy of this trip tightened the
bond between them. The train that carried them was speeding each to a
great career.

With Belasco installed as stage-manager there began a daily contact
between the two. Belasco went to Frohman with all his troubles. In
Frohman's bedroom he wrote part of "May Blossom," in which he scored his
first original success at the Madison Square. Charles was enormously
interested in this play, and after it was finished carried a copy about
in his pocket, reading it or having it read wherever he thought it could
find a friendly ear.

So great was Belasco's gratitude that he gave Charles a half-interest in
it, which was probably the first ownership that Charles Frohman ever had
in a play.

During those days at the Madison Square, when both Frohman and Belasco
were seeing the vision of coming things, they often went at night to
O'Neil's Oyster House on Sixth Avenue near Twenty-second Street. The
day's work over, they had a bite of supper, in Frohman's case mostly pie
and sarsaparilla, and talked about the things they were going to do.

Charles Frohman's ambition for a New York theater obsessed him. One
night as they were walking up Broadway they passed the Fifth Avenue
Hotel. A big man in his shirt-sleeves sat tilted back in his chair in
front of the hotel. The two young men were just across the street from
him. Frohman stopped Belasco, pointed to the man, and said:

"David, there is John Stetson, manager of the Fifth Avenue Theater.
Well, some day I am going to be as big a man as he is and have my own
theater on Broadway."

* * *

Those were crowded days. Charles not only picked and "routed" the
companies, but he kept a watchful eye on them. This meant frequent
traveling. For months he lived in a suit-case. At noon he would say to
his stenographer, "We leave for Chicago this afternoon," and he was off
in a few hours. At that time "Hazel Kirke," "The Professor,"
"Esmeralda," "Young Mrs. Winthrop," and "May Blossom" were all being
played by road companies in various parts of the United States, and it
was a tremendous task to keep a watchful eye on them. It was his habit
to go to a town where a company was playing and not appear at the
theater until the curtain had risen. The company had no warning of his
coming, and he could make a good appraisal of their average work.

On one of the many trips that he made about this time he gave evidence
of his constant humor.

He went out to Columbus, Ohio, to see a "Hazel Kirke" company. He
arrived at the theater just before matinée, and as he started across the
stage he was met by a newly appointed stage-manager who was full of
authority.

"Where are you going?" asked the man.

"To Mr. Hagan's dressing-room."

"I'll take the message," said the stage-director.

"No, I want to see him personally."

"But you can't. I am in charge behind the curtain."

Frohman left without a word, went out to the box-office and wrote a
letter, discharging the stage-director. Then he sat through the
performance. Directly the curtain fell the man came to him in a great
state of mind.

"Why did you discharge me, Mr. Frohman?"

Frohman smiled and said: "Well, it was the only way that I could get
back to see my actors. If you will promise to be good I will re-engage
you." And he did.

* * *

It was on a trip of this same kind that Charles had one of his many
narrow escapes from death. During the spring of 1883 he went out to Ohio
with Daniel to visit some of the road companies. Daniel left him at
Cleveland to go over and see a performance of "The Professor" at
Newcastle, while Charles went on to join Gustave at Cincinnati.

Charles was accompanied by Frank Guthrie, who was a sort of confidential
secretary to all the Frohmans at the theater. Shortly before the train
reached Galion, Charles, who sat at the aisle, asked his companion to
change places. Ten minutes later the train was wrecked. Guthrie, who sat
on the aisle seat, was hurled through the window and instantly killed,
while Charles escaped unhurt.

Daniel heard of the wreck, rushed to the scene on a relief train,
expecting to find his brother dead, for there had been a report that he
was killed. Instead he found Charles bemoaning the death of his
secretary.

A month afterward Charles and Marc Klaw were riding in the elevator at
the Monongahela House in Pittsburg when the cable broke and the car
dropped four stories. It had just been equipped with an air cushion, and
the men escaped without a scratch.

* * *

Along toward the middle of 1883 there were signs of a break at the
Madison Square Theater. Steele Mackaye had quarreled with the Mallorys
and had left, taking Gustave with him to launch the new Lyceum Theater
on Fourth Avenue and Twenty-third Street. Daniel was becoming ambitious
to strike out for himself, while Charles was chafing under the necessity
of being a subordinate. He yearned to be his own master. "I must have a
New York production," he said. The wish in his case meant the deed, for
he now set about to produce his first play.

Naturally, he turned to Belasco for advice and co-operation. Both were
still identified with the Madison Square Theater, which made their
negotiations easy.

In San Francisco Charles had seen a vivid melodrama called "The
Stranglers of Paris," which Belasco had written from Adolphe Belot's
story and produced with some success. Osmond Tearle, then leading man
for Lester Wallack and New York's leading matinée idol, had played in
the West the part of Jagon, who was physically one of the ugliest
characters in the play.

"'The Stranglers of Paris' is the play for me," said Frohman to Belasco.

"All right," said David; "you shall have it."

The original dramatization was a melodrama without a spark of humor. In
rewriting it for New York, Belasco injected considerable comedy here and
there.

Frohman, whose vision and ideas were always big, said:

"We've got to get a great cast. I will not be satisfied with anybody but
Tearle."

To secure Tearle, Frohman went to see Lester Wallack for the first time.
Wallack was then the enthroned theatrical king and one of the most
inaccessible of men. Frohman finally contrived to see him and made the
proposition for the release of Tearle. Ordinarily Wallack would have
treated such an offer with scorn. Frohman's convincing manner, however,
led him to explain, for he said:

"Mr. Tearle is the handsomest man in New York, and if I loaned him to
you to play the ugliest man ever put on the stage he would lose his
drawing power for me. I am sorry I can't accommodate you, Mr. Frohman.
Come and see me again."

Out of that meeting came a friendship with Lester Wallack that developed
large activities for Charles, as will be seen later on.

Unable to get Tearle, Belasco and Frohman secured Henry Lee, a brilliant
and dashing leading actor who had succeeded Eben Plympton in the cast of
"Hazel Kirke." The leading woman was Agnes Booth, a well-known stage
figure. She was the sister-in-law of Edwin Booth, and an actress of
splendid quality.

Unfortunately for him, the leading theaters were all occupied. There
were only a few playhouses in New York then, a mere handful compared
with the enormous number to-day. But a little thing like that did not
disturb Charles Frohman.

Up at the northwest corner of Thirty-fifth Street and Broadway was an
old barnlike structure that had been successively aquarium, menagerie,
and skating-rink. It had a roof and four walls and at one end there was
a rude stage.

One night at midnight Charles, accompanied by Belasco, went up to look
at the sorry spectacle. As a theater it was about the most unpromising
structure in New York.

"This is all I can get, David," said Charles, "and it must do."

"But, Charley, it is not a theater," said Belasco.

"Never mind," said Frohman. "I will have it made into one."

The old building was under the control of Hyde & Behman, who were
planning to convert it into a vaudeville house. Frohman went to see them
and persuaded them to turn it into a legitimate theater. Just about this
time the Booth Theater at Twenty-third Street and Sixth Avenue was about
to be torn down. Under Charles's prompting Hyde & Behman bought the
inside of that historic structure, proscenium arch, stage, boxes, and
all, and transported them to the Thirty-fifth Street barn. What had been
a bare hall became the New Park Theater, destined to go down in history
as the playhouse that witnessed many important productions, as well as
the first that Charles Frohman made on any stage. Years afterward this
theater was renamed the Herald Square.

Charles Frohman now had a play, a theater, and a cast. With
characteristic lavishness he said to Belasco:

"We must have the finest scenic production ever made in New York."

He had no capital, but he had no trouble in getting credit. Every one
seemed willing to help him. He got out handsome printing and advertised
extensively. He spared nothing in scenic effects, which were elaborate.
He devoted every spare moment to attending rehearsals.

Among the supernumeraries was a fat boy with a comical face. At one of
the rehearsals he sat in a boat and reached out for something. In doing
this he fell overboard. He fell so comically that Belasco made his fall
a part of the regular business. His ability got him a few lines, which
were taken from another actor. This fat-faced, comical boy was John
Bunny, who became the best-known moving-picture star in the United
States, and who to the end of his days never forgot that he appeared in
Charles Frohman's first production. He often spoke of it with pride.

The autumn of 1883 was a strenuous one, for Charles had staked a good
deal on "The Stranglers of Paris." Yet when the curtain rose on the
evening of November 10, 1883, he was the same smiling, eager, but
imperturbable boy who years before had uttered the wish that some day he
would put on a play himself in the great city. He now saw that dream
come true. He was just twenty-three.

"The Stranglers of Paris" made quite a sensation. The scenic effects
were highly praised, and especially the ship scene, which showed
convicts in their cages, their revolt, the sinking of the vessel,
Jagon's struggle in the water, his escape from death, and his dramatic
appeal to Heaven. Lee scored a great success and dated his popularity
from this appearance.

Many of the lines in the piece were widely quoted, one of them in
particular. It was in substance, "Money has power to open prison gates,
and no questions asked."

It was the time of sensational graft revelations, and theater-goers
thought that it fitted the New York situation.

[Illustration: _VIOLA ALLEN_]

"The Stranglers of Paris" ran at the New Park Theater until December 9,
when it was taken on the road. It continued on tour for a considerable
period, playing most of the principal cities of the East, but the
production was so expensive that it made no money. In fact, Charles lost
on the enterprise, but it did not in the least dash his spirits. He
was supremely content because at last he had produced a play.

* * *

"The Stranglers of Paris" filled the budding manager with a renewed zeal
to be a producer. He was still enthusiastic about the melodrama, so he
secured a vivid piece by R. G. Morris, a New York newspaper man, called
"The Pulse of New York," which he produced at the Star Theater,
Thirteenth Street and Broadway, which had been originally Wallack's
Theater.

In the cast was a handsome, painstaking young woman named Viola Allen,
whom Charles had singled out because of her admirable work in a play
that he had seen, and who was headed for a big place in the annals of
the American theater. The youthful manager encouraged her and did much
to aid her progress.

Others in the cast were Caroline Hill, A. S. Lipman, Edward S. Coleman,
L. F. Massen, Frank Lane, Henry Tarbon, W. L. Denison, George Clarke, H.
D. Clifton, Ada Deaves, Max Freeman, Edward Pancoast, Frank Green,
Gerald Eyre, Nick Long, Frederick Barry, Oscar Todd, John March, Charles
Frew, Richard Fox, James Maxwell, J. C. Arnold, Stanley Macy, Lida Lacy,
George Mathews, and William Rose.

"The Pulse of New York" was produced May 10, 1884, but ran only three
weeks. Once more Charles faced a loss, but he met this as he met the
misfortunes of later years, with smiling equanimity.

Now came a characteristic act. He was still in the employ of the Madison
Square Theater and had a guarantee of one hundred dollars a week.
Although he had devoted considerable time to his two previous
productions, he was an invaluable asset to the establishment. He now
felt that the time had come for him to choose between remaining at the
Madison Square under a guarantee and striking out for himself on the
precarious sea of independent theatrical management. He chose the
latter, and launched a third enterprise.

In his wanderings about New York theaters Charles saw a serious-eyed
young actress named Minnie Maddern. He said to Daniel:

"I have great confidence in that young woman. Will you help me put her
out in a piece?"

"All right," replied his brother.

The net result was Miss Maddern in "Caprice."

In view of subsequent stage history this company was somewhat historic.
Miss Maddern's salary was seventy-five dollars a week. Her leading man,
who had been a general-utility actor at the Lyceum, and who also
received seventy-five dollars a week, was Henry Miller. A handsome young
lad named Cyril Scott played a very small part and got fifteen dollars a
week. The total week's salary of the company amounted to only six
hundred and ninety dollars.

"Caprice" opened at Indianapolis November 6, 1884, and subsequently
played Chicago, St. Louis, Evansville, Dayton, and Baltimore, with a
week at the Grand Opera House in New York, where its season closed. It
made no money, but it did a great deal toward advancing the career of
Miss Maddern, who afterward became known to millions of theater-goers as
Mrs. Fiske.

Charles had now made three productions on his own hook and began to
impress his courage and his personality on the theatrical world. He had
definitely committed himself to a career of independent management, and
from this time on he went it alone.

V

Booking-Agent and Broadway Producer

The season of 1883-84 had seen Charles Frohman launched as independent
manager. He had at its conclusion cut his managerial teeth on the last
of three productions which, while not financially successful, had shown
the remarkable quality of his ability. People now began to talk about
the nervy, energetic young man who could go from failure to failure with
a smile on his face. It is a tradition in theatrical management that
successful starts almost invariably mean disastrous finishes. An
auspicious beginning usually leads to extravagance and lack of balance.
Failure at the outset provokes caution. Charles, therefore, had enough
early hard jolts to make him careful.

He always admired big names. Thus it came about that his next venture
was associated with a name and a prestige that meant much and, later on,
cost much. Just about that time he met a handsome young English actor
named E. H. Sothern, who had come to this country with his sister and
who had appeared for a short time with John McCullough, the tragedian.
Sothern had returned to New York and was looking for an engagement.

In those days actors usually secured engagements by running down rumors
of productions that were afloat on the Rialto. In this way Sothern heard
that Charles Frohman was about to send out an English play called
"Nita's First," which had been produced at Wallack's Theater. Sothern
called on Frohman and asked to be engaged.

"What salary do you want?" asked Frohman.

Sothern said he wanted fifty dollars.

"All right," said Frohman. "The part is worth seventy-five dollars, and
I'll pay it."

Twenty years later the manager paid this same actor a salary of one
hundred thousand dollars for a season of forty weeks in Shakespearian
rôles.

"Nita's First," however, ran for only two weeks on the road, and Charles
ended the engagement. The reason was that he had conceived what he
considered a brilliant idea.

Lester Wallack and the Wallack Theater Company almost dominated the New
York dramatic situation. The company, headed by Wallack himself,
included Rose Coghlan, Osmond Tearle, John Gilbert, and a whole galaxy
of brilliant people. The Wallack Theater plays were the talk of the
town. Frohman had an inspiration which he communicated one day to Lester
Wallack's son, Arthur, whom he knew. To Arthur he said:

"What do you think about my taking the Wallack successes out on the
road? It is a shame not to capitalize the popular interest in them while
it is hot. Look at what the Madison Square Theater has been doing. Will
you speak to your father about it?"

Arthur spoke to his father, who was not averse to the idea, and Charles
was bidden to the great presence. He had met Lester Wallack before when
he tried to engage Osmond Tearle for "The Stranglers of Paris." Now came
the real meeting. After Frohman had stated his case with all his
persuasion, he added:

"I am sure I can make you rich. You have overlooked a great chance to
make money."

Lester Wallack said, "It is a good idea, Mr. Frohman, but your company
must reflect credit upon the theater, and your leading woman must be of
the same type as my leading woman, Rose Coghlan."

Charles immediately said, "The company shall be worthy of you and the
name it bears."

Lester Wallack agreed to rehearse the company and to permit his name to
be used in connection with it. After Charles left, Lester Wallack said
to his son:

"Watch that young man, Arthur. He is going to make his mark."

Arthur Wallack was about to take a trip to England, and Charles
commissioned him to engage the leading people. He therefore engaged
Sophie Eyre, who had been leading woman at the Drury Lane Theater, and
W. H. Denny.

Charles himself selected the remaining members of the company, who were
Newton Gotthold; C. B. Wells; Charles Wheatleigh; Max Freeman; Rowland
Buckstone; Henry Talbot; Sam Dubois; George Clarke; Fred Corbett; Louise
Dillon, who had been with him in the precarious Stoddart Comedy days;
Kate Denin Wilson; Agnes Elliot; and Grace Wilson.

At the time he engaged the Wallack Theater Company Charles had no
office. He was then living at the Coleman House on Broadway, just
opposite the then celebrated Gilsey House. Most of the engagements were
made as he sat in a big leather chair in the lobby, with one foot thrown
over an arm of it.

The principal capital that Charles had for this venture was five
thousand dollars put up by Daniel J. Bernstein, who became treasurer of
the company. Alf Hayman, whom Frohman had met in Philadelphia, was
engaged as advance-agent.

It was a courageous undertaking even for a seasoned and well-financed
theatrical veteran. Although Lester Wallack was well known, his theater
and its successes were not familiar to the great mass of people outside
New York. In those days theatrical publicity was not as widespread as
now. No wonder, then, that the daring of a young manager of twenty-five
in taking out a company whose weekly salary list was nearly thirteen
hundred dollars was commented on.

Charles called his aggregation the Wallack Theater Company. The
repertoire consisted mainly of "Victor Durand," a play by Henry Guy
Carleton which had been produced at Wallack's on December 13, 1884.
Subsequently the company also played "Moths," "Lady Clare," "Diplomacy,"
and Belasco's "La Belle Russe."

This tour, which was to write itself indelibly on the career of Charles
Frohman, began in Chicago and was continued through the South to New
Orleans, where a stay of six weeks was made at the St. Charles Theater.
Belasco joined them here for a week to put on "The World," which had
been produced at Wallack's a short time before.

In New Orleans occurred one of those encounters in Charles Frohman's
life that led to life-long friendship. Two years before, while playing a
Madison Square company at one of the theaters in St. Louis, he had met a
bright young man in the box-office named Augustus Thomas. Thomas was
then a newspaper man and was beginning to write plays. He told Charles
that he had just made a short play out of Frances Hodgson Burnett's
story, "Editha's Burglar."

In New Orleans Charles discovered that young Thomas was playing in his
own play at a near-by theater and went over to see him. After the
performance he visited him in his dressing-room, renewed his
acquaintance, and said to him with the optimism of youth:

"Mr. Thomas, I hope that some day you will write a play for me."

* * *

The company now made a tour of Texas, where the troubles began. Business
declined, but Frohman succeeded in landing the company in Chicago after
a series of misfortunes. Here Sophie Eyre retired and was succeeded by
Louise Dillon as leading woman. Charles, of course, had no money with
which to buy costumes, so she pawned her jewels and used the proceeds.
Sadie Bigelow took her place as ingénue.

Charles now started his famous tour of the Northwest which rivaled the
Stoddart days in hardship and in humor. The Northern Pacific Railroad
had just been opened to the coast, and Charles followed the new route. A
series of tragic, dramatic, and comic experiences began. The tour was
through the heart of the old cow country. One night, when the train was
stalled by the wrecking of a bridge near Miles City, Montana, a group of
cowboys started to "shoot up" the train. Frohman, with ready resource,
singled out the leader and said:

"We've got a theatrical company here and we will give you a
performance."

He got Rowland Buckstone to stand out on the prairie and recite "The
Smuggler's Life," "The Execution," and "The Sanguinary Pirate" by the
light of a big bonfire which was built while the show was going on.
This tickled the cowboys and brought salvos of shots and shouts of
laughter.

At Miles City occurred what might have been a serious episode. When the
company reached the hotel at about eleven in the morning Charles
Wheatleigh, the "first old man," asked the hotel-keeper what time
breakfast was served. When he replied "Eight-thirty o'clock," Wheatleigh
pounded the desk and said:

"That is for farmers. When do artists eat?"

The clerk was a typical Westerner, and thought this was an insult. He
made a lunge for Wheatleigh, when Frohman stepped in and settled the
difficulty in his usual suave and smiling way.

At Butte came another characteristic example of the Frohman enterprise
and resource. It was necessary at all hazards to get an audience. When
Charles got there he found that the wife of the leading gambler had
died. He expressed so much sympathy for the bereaved man that he was
made a pall-bearer, and this act created such an impression on the
townspeople that they flocked to the theater at night.

At Missoula, Montana, Charles went out ahead of the show for a week.
Approaching the treasurer at the box-office, he said:

"Will you please let me have a hundred dollars on account of the show?"

"I can't," replied the man. "We haven't sold a single seat for any of
your performances."

Frohman thought a moment and walked out of the lobby. All afternoon
orders for seats began to come in to the box-office. Late in the
afternoon, when Frohman got back, the agent smiled and said:

"Mr. Frohman, I can let you have that hundred dollars now. We are
beginning to have quite an advance sale."

Frohman had gone down-town and sent in the orders for the seats himself.
He used fictitious names.

Now began a summer of hardships. With the utmost difficulty the company
got to Portland, Oregon, where Charles established a sort of
headquarters. From this point he sent the company on short tours. But
business continued to be bad.

He started a series of "farewell" performances, as he did in Texas, and
placarded the city with the bills announcing "positively" closing
performances. These bills were typical of the publicity talents of
Charles Frohman. He headed them "Good-by Engagements," and added the
words, "A Long, Lingering Farewell." Under "Favorites' Farewell" he
printed the names of the members of the company with the titles or parts
in which they were known. "Good-by, Louise Dillon, our Esmeralda";
"Good-by, Kate Denin Wilson, Pretty Lady Dolly"; "Good-by, Charles B.
Wells, Faithful Dave Hardy"; "Good-by, Rowland Buckstone, Some Other
Man"--were typical illustrations of his attempt to make a strong appeal
for business.

Actual money in the company was a novelty. Bernstein's five thousand
dollars had long since vanished. When a member of the company wanted
some cash it had to be extracted from the treasurer in one-dollar
instalments.

Despite the hardships, the utmost good humor and feeling prevailed. Most
of the members of the company were young; there was no bickering. They
knew that Frohman's struggle was with and for them. They called him
"The Governor," and he always referred to them as his "nice little
company." All looked forward confidently to better days, and in this
belief they were supported and inspired by the cheery philosophy of the
manager.

Charles's resource was tested daily. He had booked a near-by town for
fair week, which always meant good business. At last he had money in
sight. The local manager, however, insisted upon a great display of
fancy printing. Charles was in a dilemma because he owed his printer a
big bill and he had no more lithographs on hand. A friend who was in
advance of William Gillette's play, "The Private Secretary," came along
with a lot of his own paper. Charles borrowed a quantity of it and also
from the "Whose Baby Are You?" company, covered over these two titles
with slips containing the words "Lady Clare," the piece he was going to
present. He billed the town with great success and was able to keep
going.

During the Portland sojourn Charles sent the company on to Salem,
Oregon. While there, six members had their photographs taken with a
disconsolate look on their faces and with Buckstone holding a dollar in
his hand. They sent the picture to Frohman with the inscription:

"From your nice little company waiting for its salary."

At Portland, Oregon, A. D. Charlton, who was passenger agent of the
Northern Pacific Railroad, and who had been of great service to Charles
in extricating him from various financial difficulties, said to him one
day:

"Frohman, I want you to meet a very promising little actress who is out
here with her mother."

Frohman said he would be glad, and, accompanying Charlton to his office,
was introduced to Annie Adams, a well-known actress from Salt Lake City,
and her wistful-eyed little daughter, Maude. They were both members of
the John McGuire Company. This was Charles Frohman's first meeting with
Maude Adams.

At Portland Frohman added "Two Orphans" and "Esmeralda" to the company's
repertoire. But it barely got them out of town at the really and truly
"farewell."

* * *

Now began a return journey from Portland that was even more precarious
than the trip out. Baggage had to be sacrificed; there was scarcely any
scenery. One "back drop" showing the interior of a cathedral was used
for every kind of scene, from a gambling-house to a ball-room. To the
financial hardship of the homeward trip was added real physical trial.
Frohman showed in towns wherever there was the least prospect of any
kind of a house. The company therefore played in skating-rinks,
school-houses, even barns. In some places the members of the company had
to take the oil-lamps that served as footlights back in the makeshift
dressing-rooms while they dressed.

At Bozeman, Montana, occurred an incident which showed both the humor
and the precariousness of the situation. Frohman assembled the company
in the waiting-room of the station and, stepping up to the
ticket-office, laid down one hundred and thirty dollars in cash.

"Where do you want to go?" asked the agent.

Shoving the money at him, Frohman said, "How far will this take us?"

The agent looked out of the window, counted up the company, and said,
"To Billings."

Turning to the company, Frohman said, with a smile, "Ladies and
gentlemen, we play Billings next."

Just then he received a telegram from Alf Hayman, who was on ahead of
the company:

     _What town shall I bill?_

Frohman wired back:

     _Bill Billings._

Hayman again wired:

     _Have no printing and can get no credit. What shall I do?_

Frohman's resource came into stead, for he telegraphed:

     _Notify theaters that we are a high-class company from Wallack's
     Theater in New York and use no ordinary printing. We employ only
     newspapers and dodgers._

At Missoula, Montana, on their way back, a member of the company became
dissatisfied and stood with his associates at the station where two
trains met, one for the east and one for the west. As the train for the
east slowed up the actor rushed toward it and, calling to the members of
the company, said:

"I am leaving you for good. You'll never get anywhere with Frohman."

The company, however, elected to stay with Frohman. In later years this
actor fell into hardship. Frohman singled him out, and from that time
on until Frohman's death he had a good engagement every year in a
Frohman company.

At Bismarck, North Dakota, the company gave "Moths." In this play the
spurned hero, a singer, has a line which reads, "There are many
marquises, but very few _tenors_."

Money had been so scarce for months that this remark was the last straw,
so the company burst into laughter, and the performance was nearly
broken up. Frohman, who stood in the back of the house, enjoyed it as
much as the rest.

Through all these hardships Frohman remained serene and smiling. His
unfailing optimism tided over the dark days. The end came at Winona,
Minnesota. The company had sacrificed everything it could possibly
sacrifice. Frohman borrowed a considerable sum from the railroad agent
to go to Chicago, where he obtained six hundred dollars from Frank
Sanger. With this he paid the friendly agent and brought the company
back to New York.

Even the last lap of this disastrous journey was not without its humor.
The men were all assembled in the smoking-car on the way from Albany to
New York. Frohman for once sat silent. When somebody asked him why he
looked so glum, he said, "I'm thinking of what I have got to face
to-morrow."

Up spoke Wheatleigh, whose marital troubles were well known. He slapped
Frohman on the back and said:

"Charley, your troubles are slight. Think of me. I've got to face my
wife to-morrow."

It was characteristic of Frohman's high sense of integrity that he gave
his personal note to each member of the company for back salary in
full, and before five years passed had discharged every debt.

* * *

On arriving in New York Charles had less than a dollar in his pocket,
his clothes were worn, and he looked generally much the worse for wear.
On the street he met Belasco. They pooled their finances and went to
"Beefsteak John's," where they had a supper of kidney stew, pie, and
tea. They renewed the old experiences at O'Neil's restaurant and talked
about what they were going to do.

The next day Frohman was standing speculatively in front of the Coleman
House when he met Jack Rickaby, a noted theatrical figure of the time.
Rickaby slapped the young man on the back and said:

"Frohman, I am glad you have had a good season. You're going to be a big
man in this profession."

He shook Frohman's hand warmly and walked away.

It was the first cheering word that Frohman had heard. The news of his
disastrous trip had not become known. Always proud, he was glad of it.
After Rickaby had shaken his hand he felt something in it, and on
looking he saw that the big-hearted manager had placed a hundred-dollar
bill there. Rickaby had known all along the story of the Wallack tour
hardships, and it was his way of expressing sympathy. Frohman afterward
said it was the most touching moment in his life. Speaking of this once,
he said:

"That hundred-dollar bill looked bigger than any sum of money I have
ever had since."

* * *

It was late in 1885 when Charles returned from the disastrous Wallack's
Theater tour, bankrupt in finance but almost over-capitalized in
courage and plans for the future. Up to that time he had no regular
office. Like many of the managers of the day, his office was in his hat.
Now, for the first time, he set up an establishment of his own. It
required no capital to embark in the booking business in those days.
Nerve and resiliency were the two principal requisites.

The first Frohman offices were at 1215 Broadway, in the same building
that housed Daly's Theater. In two small rooms on the second floor
Charles Frohman laid the corner-stone of what in later years became a
chain of offices and interests that reached wherever the English
language was spoken on the stage. The interesting contrast here was that
while Augustin Daly, then in the heyday of his great success, was
creating theatrical history on the stage below him, Charles Frohman was
beginning his real managerial career up-stairs.

Frohman's first associate was W. W. Randall, a San Francisco newspaper
man whom he had met in the Haverly's Minstrel days, in the mean time
manager of "The Private Secretary" and several of the Madison Square
companies on the road. He was alert and aggressive and knew the
technique of the theatrical business.

Charles Frohman's policy was always pretentious, so he set up two
distinct firms. One was the "Randall's Theatrical Bureau, Charles
Frohman and W. W. Randall, Managers," which was under Randall's
direction and which booked attractions for theaters throughout the
country on a fee basis. The other was called "Frohman & Randall, General
Theatrical Managers." Its function was to produce plays and was directly
under Charles's supervision. The two firm names were emblazoned on the
door and business was started. Their first employee was Julius Cahn.

These offices have an historic interest aside from the fact that they
were the first to be occupied by Charles Frohman. Out of them grew
really the whole modern system of booking attractions. Up to that era
theatrical booking methods were different from those of the present
time; there were no great centralized agencies to book attractions for
strings of theaters covering the entire country. Union Square was the
Rialto, the heart and center of the booking business. The out-of-town
manager came there to fill his time for the season. Much of the booking
was done in a haphazard way on the sidewalk, and whole seasons were
booked on the curb, merely noted in pocket note-books. Two methods of
booking were then in vogue: one by the manager of a company who wrote
from New York to the towns for time; the other through an agent of
out-of-town house managers located in New York. It was this latter
system that Frohman and Randall began to develop in a scientific
fashion. Charles's extensive experience on the road and his knowledge of
the theatrical status of the different towns made him a valuable agent.

Frohman and Randall at that time practically had the field to
themselves. Brooks & Dickson, an older firm which included the
well-known Joseph Brooks of later managerial fame, had conducted the
first booking-office of any consequence, but had now retired. H. S.
Taylor had just established on Fourteenth Street Taylor's Theatrical
Exchange, destined to figure in theatrical history as the forerunner of
the Klaw & Erlanger business.

Despite the high-sounding titles on the door, the Frohman offices were
unpretentious. Frohman and Randall had a desk apiece, and there was a
second-hand iron safe in the corner. When Frohman was asked, one day
soon after the shingle had been hung out, what the safe was for, he
replied, with his characteristic humor:

"We keep the coal-scuttle in it."

As a matter of fact there was more truth than poetry in this remark,
because the office assets were so low that during the winter the firm
had to burn gas all day to keep warm. When asked the reason for this,
Frohman said, jocularly:

"We can get more credit if we use gas, because the gas bill has to be
paid only once a month. Coal is cash."

Indeed, the office was so cold during that season that it came to be
known in the profession as the "Cave of the Winds," and this title was
no reflection on the vocal qualities of the proprietors.

It was during those early and precarious days when Frohman was still
saddled with the debts of the Wallack's tour that one of the most
amusing incidents of his life happened. One morning he was served with
the notice of a supplementary proceeding which had been instituted
against him. He was always afraid of the courts, and he was much
alarmed. He rushed across the street to the Gilsey House and consulted
Henry E. Dixey, the actor, who was living there. Dixey's advice was to
get a lawyer. Together they returned to the Daly's Theater Building,
where Frohman knew a lawyer was installed on the top floor. They found
the lawyer blacking that portion of his white socks that appeared
through the holes in his shoes.

Frohman stated his case, which the lawyer accepted. He then demanded a
two-dollar fee. Frohman had only one dollar in his pocket and borrowed
the other dollar from Dixey.

"This money," said the lawyer, "is to be paid into the court. How about
my fee?"

Frohman fumbled in his pocket and produced a ten-cent piece. He handed
it to the lawyer, saying: "I will pay you later on. Here is your
car-fare. Be sure to get to court before it opens."

Frohman and Dixey left. Frohman was much agitated. They walked around
the block several times. When he heard the clock strike ten he said to
Dixey:

"Now the lawyer is in the court-room and the matter is being settled."
In his expansive relief he said: "I have credit at Browne's Chop House.
Let us go over and have breakfast."

At the restaurant they ordered a modest meal. As Frohman looked up from
his table he saw a man sitting directly opposite whose face was hid
behind a newspaper. In front of him was a pile of wheat-cakes about a
foot high.

"Gee whiz!" said Frohman. "I wish I had enough money to buy a stack of
wheat-cakes that high."

As he said this to Dixey the man opposite happened to lower his paper
and revealed himself to be the lawyer Frohman had just engaged. He was
having a breakfast spree himself with the two dollars extracted from his
two recent clients.

* * *

Business began to pick up with the new year. The first, and what
afterward proved to be the most profitable, clients of the
booking-office were the Baldwin and California theaters in San
Francisco. They were dominated by Al Hayman, brother of Alf, a man who
now came intimately into Charles Frohman's life and remained so until
the end. He was a Philadelphian who had conducted various traveling
theatrical enterprises in Australia and had met Frohman for the first
time in London when the latter went over with the Haverly Mastodons.
Hayman admired Frohman very much and soon made him general Eastern
representative of all his extensive Pacific coast interests.

Hayman was developing into a magnate of importance. With his assistance
Charles was able to book a company all the way from New York to San
Francisco. Charles made himself responsible for the time between New
York and Kansas City, while Hayman would guarantee the company's time
from Kansas City or Omaha to the coast.

Frohman and Randall made a good team, and they soon acquired a chain of
more than three hundred theaters, ranging from music-halls in small
towns that booked the ten-twenty-thirty-cent dramas up to the palatial
houses like Hooley's in Chicago, the Hollis in Boston, and the Baldwin
in San Francisco.

It was a happy-go-lucky time. If Frohman had ten dollars in his pocket
to spare he considered himself rich. Money then, as always, meant very
little to him. It came and went easily.

* * *

While the booking business waxed in volume the production end of the
establishment did not fare so well. Charles had this activity of the
office as his particular domain, and with the instinct of the plunger
now began to put on plays right and left.

Just before the association with Randall, Frohman had become manager of
Neil Burgess, the actor, and had booked him for a tour in a play called
"Vim." A disagreement followed, and Frohman turned him over to George W.
Lederer, who took the play out to the coast.

A year after this episode came the first of the many opportunities for
fortune that Charles Frohman turned down in the course of his eventful
life. This is the way it happened:

Burgess, who was quite an inventive person, had patented the treadmill
mechanism to represent horse-racing on the stage, a device which was
afterward used with such great effect in "Ben-Hur." He was so much
impressed with it that he had a play written around it called "The
County Fair."

Burgess, who liked Frohman immensely, tried to get him to take charge of
this piece, but Frohman would not listen to the proposition about the
mechanical device. He was unhappy over his experience about "Vim," and
whenever Burgess tried to talk "The County Fair" and its machine Frohman
would put him off.

Burgess finally went elsewhere, and, as most people know, "The County
Fair" almost rivaled "The Old Homestead" in money-making ability. The
horse-racing scene became the most-talked-of episode on the stage at the
time, and Burgess cleared more than a quarter of a million dollars out
of the enterprise. Charles Frohman afterward admitted that his prejudice
against Burgess and his machine had cost his office at least one hundred
thousand dollars.

* * *

Frohman and Randall now launched an important venture. McKee Rankin, who
was one of the best-known players of the time, induced them to become
his managers in a piece called "The Golden Giant," by Clay M. Greene.
Charles, however, agreed to the proposition on the condition that Rankin
would put his wife, Kitty Blanchard, in the cast. They had been
estranged, and Frohman, with his natural shrewdness, believed that the
stage reunion of Mr. and Mrs. McKee Rankin would be a great drawing-card
for the play. Rankin made the arrangements, and the Fifth Avenue Theater
was booked for two weeks, commencing Easter Monday, 1886.

The theater was then under the management of John Stetson, of Boston,
and both Frohman and Rankin looked forward to doing a great business. In
this cast Robert Hilliard, who had been a clever amateur actor in
Brooklyn, made his first professional appearance. Charles supervised the
rehearsals and had rosy visions of a big success. At four o'clock,
however, on the afternoon of the opening night, Charles went to the
box-office and discovered the advance sale had been only one hundred
dollars.

"I tell you what to do, Randall," quickly thought out Frohman, "if
Stetson will stand for it we will paper the house to the doors. We must
open to a capacity audience."

When Frohman put the matter before Stetson he said he did not believe in
"second-hand reconciliations," but assented to the plan. Frohman gave
Randall six hundred seats, and the latter put them into good hands. The
_première_ of "The Golden Giant," to all intents and purposes, took
place before a crowded and paying house. In reality there was exactly
two hundred and eighty-eight dollars in the box-office. Business picked
up, however, and the two weeks' engagement proved prosperous. The play
failed on the road, however, and the Frohman offices lost over five
thousand dollars on the venture. Rankin had agreed to pay Frohman forty
per cent. of the losses. That agreement remained in force all his life,
for it was never paid.

In Charles's next venture he launched his first star. Curiously enough,
the star was Tony Hart, a member of the famous Irish team of Harrigan
and Hart, who had delighted the boyhood of Frohman when he used to slip
away on Saturday nights and revel in a show.

Tony Hart, during the interim, had separated from Harrigan, and in some
way Charles obtained the manuscript of a farce-comedy by William Gill
called "A Toy Pistol."

Charles had never lost his admiration for Hart, and when he saw that the
leading character had to impersonate an Italian, a young Hebrew, an
Irishwoman, and a Chinaman, Frohman said, "Tony Hart was the very
person."

Accordingly, he engaged Hart and a company which included J. B. Mackey,
F. R. Jackson, T. J. Cronin, D. G. Longworth, Annie Adams, Annie
Alliston, Mattie Ferguson, Bertie Amberg, Eva Grenville, Vera Wilson,
Minnie Williams, and Lena Merville.

This production had an influence on Charles Frohman's life far greater
than the association with his first star, for Annie Adams now began a
more or less continuous connection with Charles Frohman's companies. Her
daughter, the little girl whom Charles had met casually years before,
was now about to make her first New York appearance as member of a
traveling company in "The Paymaster." Already the energetic mother was
importuning Charles to engage the daughter. His answer was, "I'll give
her a chance as soon as I can." He little dreamed that this wisp of a
girl was to become in later years his most profitable and best-known
star.

Charles was, of course, keenly interested in "A Toy Pistol." He
conducted the rehearsals, and on February 20, 1886, produced it at what
was then called the New York Comedy Theater. It failed, however. The New
York Comedy Theater was originally a large billiard-hall in the Gilsey
Building, on Broadway between Twenty-eighth and Twenty-ninth streets,
and had been first named the San Francisco Minstrel Hall. It became
successively Haverly's Comedy Theater and the New York Comedy Theater.
Subsequently, it was known as Hermann's Theater, and was the scene of
many of the earlier Charles Frohman productions.

* * *

Charles now became immersed in productions. About this time Archibald
Clavering Gunter, who had scored a sensational success with his books,
especially "Mr. Barnes of New York," had written a play called "A Wall
Street Bandit," which had been produced with great success in San
Francisco. Frohman booked it for four weeks at the old Standard Theater,
afterward the Manhattan, on a very generous royalty basis, and plunged
in his usual lavish style. He got together a magnificent cast, which
included Georgia Cayvan, W. J. Ferguson, Robert McWade, Charles Bowser,
Charles Wheatleigh, and Sadie Bigelow. The play opened to capacity and
the indications were that the engagement would be a success; but it
suddenly fizzled out. On Sunday morning, when Charles read the papers
with their reviews of the week, he said to Randall, with his usual
philosophy:

"We've got a magnificent frost, but it was worth doing."

This production cost the youthful manager ten thousand dollars.

* * *

Frohman still had control of "time" at the Standard, so he now put on a
play, translated by Henri Rochefort, called "A Daughter of Ireland," in
which Georgia Cayvan had the title rôle. Here he scored another failure,
but his ardor remained undampened and he went on to what looked at that
moment to be the biggest thing he had yet tried.

Dion Boucicault was one of the great stage figures of his period. He was
both actor and author, and wrote or adapted several hundred plays,
including such phenomenal successes as "Colleen Bawn," "Shaughraun,"
which ran for a year simultaneously in London, New York, and Melbourne,
and "London Assurance." There was much talk of his latest comedy, "The
Jilt." Frohman, who always wanted to be associated with big names, now
arranged by cable to produce this play at the Standard. Once more he
plunged on an expensive company which included, among others, Fritz
Williams, Louise Thorndyke, and Helen Bancroft.

For four weeks he cleared a thousand a week. Then he put the company on
the road, where it did absolutely nothing. Charles, who had an uncanny
sense of analysis of play failures, now declared that the reason for the
failure was that theater-goers resented Boucicault's treatment of his
first wife, Agnes Robertson. Boucicault had declared that he was not the
father of her child, and when she sued him in England the courts gave
her the verdict. Meanwhile Boucicault married, and in the eyes of the
world he was a bigamist. This experience, it is interesting to add,
taught Charles Frohman never to engage stars on whom there was the
slightest smirch of scandal or disrepute.

At Montreal Boucicault refused to continue the tour, and this
engagement, like so many of its predecessors, left Charles in a
financial hole. Despite all these reverses he was able to make a
livelihood out of the booking end of the office, which thrived and grew
with each month. Nor was he without his sense of humor in those days.

One day he met a certain manager who had lost a great deal of money in
comic opera. Frohman said to him that he heard that there was much money
in the comic-opera end of the business.

"So there is," replied the manager.

"You ought to know," responded Frohman, "for you have put enough into
it."

This remark, often attributed to others, is said to have originated
here.

* * *

Frohman was now an established producer, and although the tide of
fortune had not gone altogether happily with him, he had a Micawber-like
conviction that the big thing would eventually turn up. Now came his
first contact with Bronson Howard, who, a few years later, was to be the
first mile-stone in his journey to fame and fortune.

Howard's name was one to conjure with. He had produced "Young Mrs.
Winthrop," "The Banker's Daughter," "Saratoga," and other great
successes. Charles Frohman, yielding, as usual, to the lure of big
names, now put on Howard's play, "Baron Rudolph," for which George
Knight had paid the author three thousand dollars to rewrite. Knight
gave Frohman a free hand in the matter of casting the production, and it
was put on at the Fourteenth Street Theater in an elaborate fashion. The
company included various people who later on were to become widely
known. Among them were George Knight and his wife, George Fawcett,
Charles Bowser, and a very prepossessing young man named Henry Woodruff.

"Baron Rudolph" proved to be a failure, and it broke Knight's heart, for
shortly afterward he was committed to an insane asylum from which he
never emerged alive. It was found that while the play was well written
there was no sympathy for a ragged tramp.

Whether he thought it would change his luck or not, Charles now turned
to a different sort of enterprise. He had read in the newspapers about
the astonishing mind-reading feats in England of Washington Irving
Bishop. Always on the lookout for something novel, he started a
correspondence with Bishop which ended in a contract by which he agreed
to present Bishop in the United States in 1887.

Bishop came over and Frohman sponsored his first appearance in New York
on February 27, 1887, at Wallack's Theater. With his genius for
publicity, Frohman got an extraordinary amount of advertising out of
this engagement. Among other things he got Bishop to drive around New
York blindfolded. He invited well-known men to come and witness his
marvelous gift in private. All of which attracted a great deal of
attention, but very little money to the box-office. Frohman and Bishop
differed about the conduct of the tour that was to follow, and M. B.
Leavitt assumed the management.

While at 1215 Broadway Charles Frohman established another of his many
innovations by getting out what was probably the first stylographic
press sheet. This sheet, which contained news of the various attractions
that Frohman booked, was sent to the leading newspapers throughout the
country and was the forerunner of the avalanche of press matter that
to-day is hurled at dramatic editors everywhere.

* * *

The booking business had now grown so extensively that the office force
was increased. First came Julius Cahn, who assisted Randall with the
booking. Al Hayman took a desk in Frohman's office, which, because of
Hayman's extensive California enterprises, had a virtual monopoly on all
Western booking.

Now developed a curious episode. Charles, with his devotion to big
names, used the words "Daly's Theater Building" on his letter-heads.
This so infuriated Daly that he sent a peremptory message to the
landlord insisting that Frohman vacate the building. Frohman and Randall
thereupon moved their offices up the block to 1267 Broadway.

Charles Frohman made every possible capitalization of this change. Among
other things he issued a broadside, announcing the removal to new
offices, and making the following characteristic statement:

     _Our agency, we are pleased to state, has been an established
     success from the very start. We now represent every important
     theater in the United States and Canada, as an inspection of our
     list will show, and we will always keep up the high standard of
     attractions that have been booked through this office, and we want
     the business of no others. Mr. E. E. Rice, the well-known manager
     and author, will have adjoining offices with us, and his
     attractions will be booked through our offices. We transact a
     general theatrical business (excepting that pertaining to a
     dramatic or actor's agency), and are in competition with no other
     exchange, booking agency, or dramatic concern. Neither do we have
     any desk-room to let, reserving all the space of our office for our
     own use._

Attached to this announcement was a list of theaters that he
represented, which was a foot long. He was also representing Archibald
Clavering Gunter, who had followed up "A Wall Street Bandit" with
"Prince Karl," and Robert Buchanan, author of "Lady Clare" and "Alone in
London."

Frohman and Randall stayed at 1267 Broadway for a year. Shortly before
the next change Randall, who had become extensively interested in
outside enterprises, retired from the firm. His successor as close
associate with Charles Frohman was Harry Rockwood, ablest of the early
Frohman lieutenants.

Rockwood was a distinguished-looking man and a tireless worker. The way
he came to be associated with Charles Frohman was interesting. His real
name was H. Rockwood Hewitt, and he was related to ex-Mayor Abram S.
Hewitt of New York. He had had some experience in Wall Street, but
became infected with the theatrical virus.

One day in 1888 a well-groomed young man approached Gustave Frohman at
the Fourteenth Street Theater. He introduced himself as Harry Hewitt.
He said to Frohman:

"My name is Hewitt. I would like to get into the theatrical business."

Gustave invited him to come around to the Madison Square Theater the
next day, and asked him what he would like to do.

"Oh, I should like to do anything."

Frohman then gave him an imaginary house to "count up."

Rockwood, who was an expert accountant, did the job with amazing
swiftness. Whereupon Gustave Frohman telephoned to Charles Frohman as
follows:

"I've got the greatest treasurer in the world for you. Send for him."

Charles engaged him for a Madison Square Company, and in this way
Rockwood's theatrical career started. It was the fashion of many people
of that time interested in the theatrical business to change their
names, so he became Harry Rockwood. In the same way Harry Hayman,
brother of Al and Alf Hayman, changed his name to Harry Mann.

In 1889 came the separation between Randall and Frohman. Randall set up
an establishment of his own at 1145 Broadway, while Charles, who was now
an accredited and established personage in the theatrical world, took a
suite at 1127 Broadway, adjoining the old St. James Hotel. In making
this change he reached a crucial point in his career, for in these
offices he conceived and put into execution the spectacular enterprises
that linked his name for the first time with brilliant success.

VI

"SHENANDOAH" AND THE FIRST STOCK COMPANY

With his installation in the new offices at 1127 Broadway there began an
important epoch in the life of Charles Frohman. The Nemesis which had
seemed to pursue his productions now took flight. The plump little man,
not yet thirty, who had already lived a lifetime of strenuous and varied
endeavor, sat at a desk in a big room on the second floor, dreaming and
planning great things that were soon to be realized.

Although staggering under a burden of debt that would have discouraged
most people, Frohman, with his optimistic philosophy, felt that the hour
had come at last when the tide would turn. And it did. At this time his
financial complications were at their worst. Some of them dated back to
the disastrous Wallack Company tour; others resulted from his impulsive
generosity in indorsing his friends' notes. He was so involved that he
could not do business under his own name, and for a period the firm went
on as Al Hayman & Company.

[Illustration: _WILLIAM GILLETTE_]

One of the very first enterprises in the new offices cemented the
friendship of Charles Frohman and William Gillette. While at the Madison
Square Theater he had booked Gillette's plays, "The Professor" and "The
Private Secretary." Frohman, with Al Hayman as partner, induced Gillette
to make a dramatization of Rider Haggard's "She," which was put on at
Niblo's Garden in New York with considerable success. Wilton Lackaye and
Loie Fuller were in the cast.

Gillette now tried his hand at a war play called "Held by the Enemy,"
which Frohman booked on the road. Frohman was strangely interested in
"Held by the Enemy." It had all the thrill and tumult of war and it lent
itself to more or less spectacular production. When the road tour ended,
Frohman, on his own hook, took the piece and the company, which was
headed by Gillette, for an engagement at the Baldwin Theater in San
Francisco. He transported all the original scenery, which included,
among other things, some massive wooden cannon.

The San Francisco critics, however, slated the piece unmercifully. The
morning after the opening Gillette stood in the lobby of the Palace
Hotel with the newspapers in his hand and feeling very disconsolate. Up
bustled Frohman in his usual cheery fashion.

"Look what the critics have done to us," said Gillette, gloomily.

"But we've got all the best of it," replied Frohman, with animation.

"How's that?" asked Gillette, somewhat puzzled.

"_They've_ got to stay here."

This little episode shows the buoyant way in which Frohman always met
misfortune. His irresistible humor was the oil that he invariably spread
upon the troubled waters of discord and discouragement.

It was while selecting one of the casts of "Held by the Enemy," which
was revived many times, that Charles Frohman made two more life-long
connections.

At the same boarding-house with Julius Cahn lived an ambitious young
man who had had some experience as an actor. He was out of a position,
so Cahn said to him one day:

"Come over to our offices and Charles Frohman will give you a job."

The young man came over, and Cahn introduced him to Frohman. Soon he
came out, apparently very indignant. When Cahn asked him what was the
matter he said:

"That man Frohman offered me the part of a nigger, _Uncle Rufus_, in
that play. I was born in the South, and I will not play a nigger. I
would rather starve."

Cahn said, "You will play it, and your salary will be forty dollars a
week."

The young man reluctantly accepted the engagement and proved to be not
only a satisfactory actor, but a man gifted with a marvelous instinct as
stage-director. His name was Joseph Humphreys, and he became in a few
years the general stage-director for Charles Frohman, the most
distinguished position of its kind in the country, which he held until
his death.

About this time Charles Frohman renewed his acquaintance with Augustus
Thomas. Thomas walked into the office one day and Rockwood said to him:

"You are the very man we want to play in 'Held by the Enemy.'"

Thomas immediately went in to see Frohman, who offered him the position
of _General Stamburg_, but Thomas had an engagement in his own play,
"The Burglar," which was the expanded "Editha's Burglar," and could not
accept. Before he left, however, Frohman, whose mind was always full of
projects for the future, renewed the offer made in New Orleans, for he
said:

"Thomas, I still want you to write that play for me."

* * *

With "Held by the Enemy" Charles Frohman seemed to have found a magic
touchstone. It was both patriotic and profitable, for it was nothing
less than the American flag. Having raised it in one production, he now
turned to the enterprise which unfurled his success to the winds in
brilliant and stirring fashion.

Early in 1889 R. M. Field put on a new military play called
"Shenandoah," by Bronson Howard, at the Boston Museum. Howard was then
the most important writer in the dramatic profession. He had three big
successes, "Young Mrs. Winthrop," "Saratoga," and "The Banker's
Daughter," to his credit, and he had put an immense amount of work and
hope into the stirring military drama that was to have such an important
bearing on the career of Charles Frohman. The story of Frohman's
connection with this play is one of the most picturesque and romantic in
the whole history of modern theatrical successes. He found it a
Cinderella of the stage; he proved to be its Prince Charming.

Oddly enough, "Shenandoah" was a failure in Boston. Three eminent
managers, A. M. Palmer, T. Henry French, and Henry E. Abbey, in
succession had had options on the play, and they were a unit in
believing that it would not go.

Daniel Frohman had seen the piece at Boston with a view to considering
it for the Lyceum. He told his brother Charles of the play, and advised
him to go up and see it, adding that it was too big and melodramatic for
the somewhat intimate scope of the small Lyceum stage.

So Charles went to Boston. On the day of the night on which he started
he met Joseph Brooks on Broadway and told him he was going to Boston to
try to get "Shenandoah."

"Why, Charley, you are crazy! It is a failure! Why throw away your money
on it? Nobody wants it."

"I may be crazy," replied Frohman, "but I am going to try my best to get
'Shenandoah.'"

Before going to Boston he arranged with Al Hayman to take a
half-interest in the play. When he reached Boston he went out to the
house of Isaac B. Rich, who was then associated with William Harris in
the conduct of the Howard Athenæum and the Hollis Street Theater. Rich
was a character in his way. He had been a printer in Bangor, Maine, had
sold tickets in a New Orleans theater, and had already amassed a fortune
in his Boston enterprises. He was an ardent spiritualist, and financed
and gave much time to a spiritualistic publication of Boston called _The
Banner of Light_. One of his theatrical associates at that time, John
Stetson, owned _The Police Gazette_.

Rich conceived a great admiration for Frohman, whom he had met with
Harris in booking plays for his Boston houses. He always maintained that
Frohman was the counterpart of Napoleon, and called him Napoleon.

On this memorable day in Boston Frohman dined with Rich at his house and
took him to see "Shenandoah." When it was over Frohman asked him what he
thought of it.

"I'll take any part of it that you say," replied Rich.

"If I were alone," answered Frohman, "I would take you in, but I have
already given Al Hayman half of it."

Frohman was very much impressed with "Shenandoah," although he did not
believe the play was yet in shape for success. After the performance he
asked Mr. Field if he could get the rights. Field replied:

"Abbey, French, and Palmer have options on it. If they don't want it you
can have it."

Frohman returned to New York the next day, and even before he had seen
Bronson Howard he looked up his friend Charles Burnham, then manager of
the Star Theater, and asked him to save him some time.

Frohman now went to see Howard, who then lived at Stamford. He expressed
his great desire for the play and then went on to say:

"You are a very great dramatist, Mr. Howard, and I am only a theatrical
manager, but I think I can see where a possible improvement might be
made in the play. For one thing, I think two acts should be merged into
one, and I don't think you have made enough out of Sheridan's ride."

When he had finished, Howard spoke up warmly and said, "Mr. Frohman, you
are right, and I shall be very glad to adopt your suggestions."

The very changes that Howard made in the play were the ones that helped
to make it a great success, as he was afterward frank enough to admit.

Frohman now made a contract for the play and went to Burnham to book
time. Burnham, meanwhile, had been to Boston to see the play, and he
said:

"I saved six weeks for you at the Star for Shenandoah.'"

From the very beginning of his association with "Shenandoah" Charles
Frohman had an instinct that the play would be a success. He now
dedicated himself to its production with characteristic energy.

Scarcely had he signed the contract for "Shenandoah" than occurred one
of the many curious pranks of fate that were associated with this
enterprise. Al Hayman, who had a half-interest in the piece, was
stricken with typhoid fever in Chicago on his way to the coast. He
thought he was going to die, and, not having an extraordinary amount of
confidence in "Shenandoah," he sold half of his half-interest to R. M.
Hooley, who owned theaters bearing his name in Chicago and Brooklyn.

With his usual determination to do things in splendid fashion, Frohman
engaged a magnificent cast. Now came one of the many evidences of the
integrity of his word. Years before, when he had first seen Henry Miller
act in San Francisco he said to him:

"When I get a theater in New York and have a big Broadway production you
will be my leading man."

He had not yet acquired the theater, but he did have the big Broadway
production, so the first male character that he filled was that of
_Colonel West_, and he did it with Miller.

This cast included not less than half a dozen people who were then
making their way toward future stardom. He engaged Wilton Lackaye to
play _General Haverill_; Viola Allen played _Gertrude Ellingham_;
Nanette Comstock was the original _Madeline West_; Effie Shannon
portrayed _Jennie Buckthorn_; while Dorothy Dorr played _Mrs. Haverill_.
Other actors in the company who later became widely known were John E.
Kellard, Harry Harwood, Morton Selten, and Harry Thorn.

Charles determined that the public should not lose sight of
"Shenandoah." All his genius for publicity was concentrated to this end.
Among the ingenious agencies that he created for arousing suspense and
interest was a rumor that the manuscript of the third act had been lost.
He put forth the news that Mr. Howard's copy was mislaid, and a
city-wide search was instituted. All the while that the company was
rehearsing the other acts the anxiety about the missing act grew. A week
before the production Frohman announced, with great effect, that the
missing manuscript had been found.

When the doors of the Star Theater were opened on the evening of
September 9, 1889, for the first performance of "Shenandoah," the
outlook was not very auspicious. Rain poured in torrents. It was almost
impossible to get a cab. Al Hayman, one of the owners of the play, who
lived at the Hotel Majestic, on West Seventy-second Street, was
rainbound and could not even see the _première_ of the piece.

However, a good audience swam through the deluge, for the gross receipts
of this opening night, despite the inclement conditions outside, were
nine hundred and seventy-two dollars. This was considered a very good
house at the standard prices of the day, which ranged from twenty-five
cents to one dollar and a half.

The play was an immense success, for at no time during the rest of the
engagement did the receipts at any performance go below one thousand
dollars. The average gross receipts for each week were ten thousand
dollars.

Charles Frohman watched the _première_ from the rear of the house with a
beating heart. The crash of applause after the first act made him feel
that he had scored at last. After the sensational ending of the third
act, which was Sheridan's famous ride, he rushed back to the stage,
shook Henry Miller warmly by the hand, and said: "Henry, we've got it.
The horse is yours!"

He meant the horse that the general rode in the play.

This horse, by the way, was named Black Bess. It got so accustomed to
its cue that it knew when it had to gallop across the stage. One night
during the third act this cue was given as usual. Its rider, however,
was not ready, and the horse galloped riderless across the stage.

"Shenandoah" led to a picturesque friendship in Charles Frohman's life.
On the opening night a grizzled, military-looking man sat in the
audience. He watched the play with intense interest and applauded
vigorously. On the way out he met a friend in the lobby. He stopped him
and said, "This is the most interesting war play I have ever seen."

The friend knew Charles Frohman, who was standing with smiling face
watching the crowd go out. He called the little manager over and said:
"Mr. Frohman, I want you to meet a man who really knows something about
the Civil War. This is General William T. Sherman."

Sherman and Frohman became great friends, and throughout the engagement
of "Shenandoah" the old soldier was a frequent visitor at the theater.
He then lived at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and often he brought over his
war-time comrades.

Not only did "Shenandoah" mark the epoch of the first real success in
Frohman's life, but it raised his whole standard of living, as the
following incident will show.

When "Shenandoah" opened, Frohman and Henry Miller, and sometimes other
members of the company, went around to O'Neil's on Sixth Avenue, scene
of the old foregatherings with Belasco, and had supper. As the piece
grew in prosperity and success, the supper party gradually moved up-town
to more expensive restaurants, until finally they were supping at
Delmonico's. "We are going up in the world," said Frohman, with his
usual humor. At their first suppers they smoked ten-cent cigars; now
they regaled themselves with twenty-five-cent Perfectos.

Unfortunately the successful run of "Shenandoah" at the Star had to be
terminated on October 12th because the Jefferson & Florence Company,
which had a previous contract with the theater and could not be disposed
of elsewhere, came to play their annual engagement in "The Rivals."
Frohman transferred the play to Proctor's Twenty-third Street Theater,
which was from this time on to figure extensively in his fortunes, and
the successful run of the play continued there. Wilton Lackaye retired
from the cast and was succeeded by Frank Burbeck, whose wife, Nanette
Comstock, succeeded Miss Shannon in the rôle of _Jenny Buckthorn_.

Frohman was now able to capitalize his brilliant road-company
experience. The success of the play now assured, he immediately
organized a road company, in which appeared such prominent actors as
Joseph Holland, Frank Carlyle, and Percy Haswell. He established an
innovation on October 26th by having this company come over from
Philadelphia, where it was playing, to act in the New York house.

The two-hundred-and-fiftieth performance occurred on April 19, 1890,
when the run ended. It was a memorable night. Katherine Grey and Odette
Tyler meanwhile had joined the company. The theater was draped in
flags, and General Sherman made a speech in which he praised the
accuracy of the production.

With his usual enterprise and resource, Charles Frohman introduced a
distinct novelty on this occasion. He had double and triple relays of
characters for the farewell performance. Both Lilla Vane and Odette
Tyler, for example, acted the part of _Gertrude Ellingham_; Wilton
Lackaye, Frank Burbeck, and George Osborne played _General Haverill_;
Alice Haines and Nanette Comstock did _Jenny Buckthorn_; while Morton
Selten and R. A. Roberts doubled as _Captain Heartsease_.

Frohman now put the original "Shenandoah" company on the road. Its first
engagement was at McVicker's Theater in Chicago. Frohman went along and
took Bronson Howard with him.

Most of the Chicago critics liked "Shenandoah." But there was one
exception, a brilliant Irishman on _The Tribune_. Paul Potter, whose
play, "The City Directory," was about to be produced in Chicago, was a
close friend of Howard. He wanted to do something for the Howard play,
so he got permission from Robert W. Patterson, editor in chief of _The
Tribune_, to write a Sunday page article about "Shenandoah." Frohman was
immensely pleased, and through this he met Potter, who became one of his
intimates.

Then came the opening of Potter's play at the Chicago Opera House.
Although Potter knew most of the critics, there was a feeling that they
would forget all friendship and do their worst. Five minutes after the
curtain went up the piece seemed doomed.

But an extraordinary thing happened. From a stage box suddenly came
sounds of uncontrollable mirth. The audience, and especially the
critics, looked to see who was enjoying the play so strenuously, and
they beheld Charles Frohman and Bronson Howard. The critics were
puzzled. Here was a great playwright in the flush of an enormous success
and a rising young manager evidently enjoying the performance. The
mentors of public taste were so impressed that they praised the farce
and started "The City Directory" on a career of remarkable success.
Frohman and Howard were repaying the good turn that Potter had done for
"Shenandoah."

* * *

Charles Frohman now had a money-making success. "Shenandoah" was the
dramatic talk of the whole country; it did big business everywhere, and
its courageous young producer came in for praise and congratulation on
all sides.

The manager might well have netted what was in those days a huge fortune
out of this enterprise, but his unswerving sense of honor led him to
immediately discharge all his obligations. He wiped out the Wallack's
tour debts, and he eventually took up notes aggregating forty-two
thousand dollars that he had given to a well-known Chicago printer who
had befriended him in years gone by. What was most important, he was now
free to unfurl his name to the breezes and to do business "on his own."

* * *

Charles immediately launched himself on another sea of productions. The
most important was Gillette's "All the Comforts of Home," which he put
on at Proctor's Twenty-third Street Theater. Frohman had just acquired
the lease of this theater. Already a big idea was simmering in his mind,
and the leasehold was essential to its consummation. On May 8, 1890, he
produced the new Gillette play, which scored a success.

This production marked another one of the many significant epochs in
Frohman's life because it witnessed the first appearance of little Maude
Adams under the Charles Frohman management.

Frohman had seen Miss Adams in "The Paymaster" down at Niblo's and had
been much taken with her work. He had been unable, however, to find a
part for her, so it was reserved for his brother Daniel to give her the
first Frohman engagement at thirty-five dollars a week in "Lord
Chumley." Subsequently Daniel released her so that she could appear in
the same cast with her mother in Hoyt's "The Midnight Bell."

While trying "All the Comforts of Home" on the road there occurred an
amusing episode. Frohman, who had been watching the rehearsals very
carefully, said to Henry Miller, who was leading man:

"Henry, you are something of a matinée idol. I think it would help the
play if you had a love scene with Miss Adams."

Accompanied by Rockwood, Frohman visited Gillette at his home at
Hartford, got him to write the love scene, and then went on to
Springfield, Massachusetts, for the "try-out."

That night the three assembled in the bleak drawing-room of the hotel.
Frohman ordered a little supper of ham sandwiches and sarsaparilla,
after which he rehearsed the love scene, which simply consisted of a
tender little parting in a doorway. It served to bring out the wistful
and appealing tenderness that is one of Maude Adams's great qualities.

"All the Comforts of Home" ran in Proctor's Theater until October 18th.
When the theater reopened it disclosed a venture that linked the name of
Charles Frohman with high and artistic effort--his first stock company.
With this organization he hoped to maintain the traditions established
by Augustin Daly, A. M. Palmer, Lester Wallack, and the Madison Square
Company.

He projected the Charles Frohman Stock Company in his usual lavish way.
He engaged De Mille and Belasco to write the opening play. This was a
very natural procedure: first, because of his intimate friendship with
Belasco, and, second, because De Mille and Belasco had proved their
skill as collaborators at Daniel Frohman's Lyceum Theater with such
successes as "The Wife," "The Charity Ball," and "Lord Chumley." The
result of their new endeavors was "Men and Women."

In this play the authors wrote in the part _Dora_ especially for Maude
Adams. They also created a rôle for Mrs. Annie Adams.

The cast of "Men and Women," like that of "Shenandoah," was a striking
one, and it contained many names already established, or destined to
figure prominently in theatrical history. Henry Miller had been engaged
for leading man, but he retired during the rehearsals, and his place was
taken by William Morris, who had appeared in the Charles Frohman
production of "She" and in the road company of "Held by the Enemy." In
the company that Frohman selected were Frederick de Belleville, who
played _Israel Cohen_, one of the finest, if not the finest, Jewish
characters ever put on the stage; Orrin Johnson; Frank Mordaunt; Emmet
Corrigan; J. C. Buckstone; and C. Leslie Allen, brother of Viola Allen.

In addition to Maude Adams were Sydney Armstrong, who was the leading
woman; Odette Tyler; and Etta Hawkins, who became the wife of William
Morris during this engagement.

At the dress rehearsal of "Men and Women" occurred a characteristic
Charles Frohman incident. When the curtain had gone down Frohman hurried
back to William Morris's dressing-room and said, "Will, that dress-suit
of yours doesn't look right."

"It's a brand-new suit, 'C. F.,'" he replied.

Frohman thought a moment and said: "Can you be at my office to-morrow
morning at eight o'clock? I've got a good tailor."

Promptly at eight the next day they went over to Frohman's tailor, whom
Frohman addressed as follows:

"I want you to make a dress-suit for William Morris by eight o'clock
to-morrow night."

"Impossible!" said the man.

"Nothing is impossible," said Frohman. "If that dress-suit is not in Mr.
Morris's dressing-room at eight o'clock you won't get paid for it."

The dress-suit showed up on time, and in it was a card, saying, "With
Charles Frohman's compliments."

Charles inaugurated his first stock season at Proctor's on October 21,
1890. Although the notices were uniformly good, the start into public
favor was a trifle slow. One reason was that a big bank failure had just
shaken Wall Street, and there was considerable apprehension all over the
city. By a curious coincidence there was a bank failure in the play. By
clever publicity this fact was capitalized; the piece found its stride
and ran for two hundred consecutive performances, when it was sent on
the road with great success.

For this tour Charles also introduced another one of the many novelties
that he put into theatrical conduct. He ordered a private car for the
company, and they used it throughout the tour. It was considered an
extravagance, but it was merely part of the Charles Frohman policy to
make his people comfortable. With this private car he established a
precedent that was observed in most of his traveling organizations.

* * *

With the stock company on tour in "Men and Women," the manager now
organized the Charles Frohman Comedy Company to fill in the time at
Proctor's. Once more he collected a brilliant aggregation of players,
for they included Henrietta Crosman, Joseph Holland, Frederick Bond, and
Thomas Wise. Each one became a star in the course of the next ten years.

The opening bill for the comedy company was Gillette's "Mr. Wilkinson's
Widows," and was presented on March 30th, immediately following the run
of "Men and Women." Henrietta Crosman subsequently withdrew from the
cast, and Esther Lyons took her place.

Charles Frohman reopened the theater on August 27th with a revival of
this play, in which Georgia Drew Barrymore, the mother of Ethel,
appeared as _Mrs. Perrin_. Emily Bancker, afterward a star in "Our
Flat," and Mattie Ferguson were in the cast.

On October 5th the company did Sardou's big drama of "Thermidor" for the
first time on any stage, with another one of the casts for which Charles
Frohman was beginning to become famous. It included a thin, gaunt
Englishman whose name in the bill was simply J. F. Robertson, and who
had just come from an engagement with John Hare in London. Subsequently
the J. F. in his name came to be known as Johnston Forbes, because the
man was Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson.

In this company was Elsie De Wolfe, who later became a star and who
years after left the theater to become an interior decorator. Among the
male members of the company, besides Forbes-Robertson, was Jamison Lee
Finney, who had graduated from the amateur ranks and who became one of
the best-known comedians in the country.

In the mean time Charles had commissioned Henry C. De Mille to furnish a
play for his stock company which was now on its way back from the coast.
This play was "The Lost Paradise," which the American had adapted from
Ludwig Fulda's drama. De Mille joined the company in Denver and
rehearsals were begun there. By the time the company reached New York
they were almost letter-perfect, and the opening at Proctor's on
November 16th was a brilliant success. The play ran consecutively until
March 1st.

The cast was practically the same as "Men and Women," with the addition
of Cyril Scott, Odette Tyler, and Bijou Fernandez.

In "The Lost Paradise" Maude Adams scored the biggest success that she
had made up to that time in New York. She played the part of _Nell_, the
consumptive factory girl. This character, with its delicate and haunting
interpretation, made an irresistible appeal to the audience.

"There's big talent in that girl," said Frohman in speaking of Miss
Adams. He began to see the vision of what the years would hold for her.

* * *

By this time Charles Frohman had begun to make his annual visit to
London. Out of one of the earliest journeys came still another success
of the many that now seemed to crowd upon him.

He had taken desk space with Abbey, Schoeffel & Grau in Henrietta Street
in London. On the trip in question Belasco accompanied him. One night
Frohman said:

"There is a little comedy around the corner called 'Jane.' Let's go and
see it."

Frohman was convulsed with laughter, and the very next day sought out
the author, William Lestocq, from whom he purchased the American rights.
Out of this connection came another one of the life-long friendships of
Frohman. Lestocq, a few years later, became his principal English
representative and remained so until the end.

Frohman was now in a whirlpool of projects. Although he was occupying
himself with both the comedy and stock companies at Proctor's, he put on
"Jane" as a midsummer attraction at the Madison Square Theater with a
cast that included Katherine Grey, Johnstone Bennett, Jennie Weathersby,
and Paul Arthur.

"Jane" became such an enormous success that Charles put out two road
companies at once. In connection with "Jane" it may be said that his
first real fortune--that is, the first money that he actually kept for a
time--was made with this comedy.

Production after production now marked the Frohman career. Charles had
always admired Henry E. Dixey, so he launched him as star in "The
Solicitor" at Hermann's Theater, on September 8, 1891. It was the first
time that the famous "Charles Frohman Presents" was used. In this
company were Burr McIntosh, Sidney Drew, and Joseph Humphreys. It was
the failure of "The Solicitor" that led Frohman to put Dixey out again
as star in a piece called "The Man with a Hundred Heads" at the Star
Theater. This also failed, so he ventured with "The Junior Partner" at
the same theater with a cast that included E. J. Ratcliffe, Mrs. McKee
Rankin, Henrietta Crosman, and Louise Thorndyke-Boucicault.

Early the following year he tried his luck at Hermann's with "Gloriana,"
in which May Robson and E. J. Henley appeared. Hermann's Theater,
however, seemed to be a sort of hoodoo, so Frohman returned to the Star,
which had been his mascot, and made his first joint production with
David Belasco in a musical piece called "Miss Helyett." Frohman had seen
the play in Paris, and proceeded at once to buy the American rights from
Charles Wyndham. This production not only marked the first joint
presentation of Belasco and Charles, but it was the début of Mrs. Leslie
Carter, who had become a protégée of Mr. Belasco. When the piece was
moved to the Standard early in January, 1892, Mrs. Carter was starred
for the first time.

* * *

By this time Charles Frohman was a personage to be reckoned with.
"Shenandoah," the two stock companies, "Jane," and all the other
enterprises both successful and otherwise, had made his name a big one
in the theater. He now began to reach out for authors.

The first author to be approached was Augustus Thomas. He gave Charles a
play called "Surrender." It was put on in Boston. The original idea in
Thomas's mind was to write a satire on the war plays that had been so
successful, like "Shenandoah" and "Held by the Enemy." "Surrender"
began as a farce, but Charles Frohman and Eugene Presbrey, who produced
it, wanted to make it serious.

The cast was a very notable one, including Clement Bainbridge, E. M.
Holland, Burr McIntosh, Harry Woodruff, H. D. Blackmore, Louis Aldrich,
Maude Bancks, Miriam O'Leary, Jessie Busley, and Rose Eytinge.

The rehearsals of "Surrender" were marked by many amusing episodes.
Maude Bancks, for example, who was playing the part of a Northern girl
in a Southern town, had to wear a red sash to indicate her Northern
proclivities. This she refused to put on at the dress rehearsal because
it did not match her costume. Bainbridge, an actor who played a Southern
general, had a speech that he regarded as treason to his adopted
country, and quit. But all these troubles were bridged over and the play
was produced with some artistic success. It lasted sixteen weeks on the
road.

After he had closed "Surrender" Frohman was telling a friend in New York
that he had lost twenty-eight thousand dollars on this piece.

"But why did you permit yourself to lose so much money on a play that
seemed bound to fail?"

"I believe in Gus Thomas. That is the reason," replied Frohman.

* * *

Although immersed in a multitude of enterprises, Frohman's activities
now took a new and significant tack. Through all these crowded years his
friendship for William Harris had been growing. Harris, who had
graduated from minstrelsy to theatrical management and was the partner
of Isaac B. Rich in the conduct of the Howard Athenæum and the Hollis
Street Theater in Boston, now added the Columbia Theater in that city to
his string of houses. Charles at once secured an interest in this lease,
and it was his first out-of-town theater. Quick to capitalize the
opportunity, he put one of the "Jane" road companies in it for a run and
called it the Charles Frohman Boston Stock Company.

VII

JOHN DREW AND THE EMPIRE THEATER

The year 1892 not only found Charles Frohman established as an important
play-producing manager, but in addition he was reaching out for
widespread theater management. It was to register a memorable epoch in
the life of Charles and to record, through him, a significant era in the
history of the American theater. From this time on his life-story was to
be the narrative of the larger development of the drama and its people.

With the acquisition of his first big star, John Drew, he laid the
corner-stone of what is the so-called modern starring system, which
brought about a revolution in theatrical conduct. The story of Charles's
conquest in securing the management of Drew, with all its attendant
dramatic and sensational features, illustrates the resource and vision
of the one-time minstrel manager who now began to come into his own as a
real Napoleon of the stage.

Charles always attached importance and value to big names. He had paid
dearly in the past for this proclivity with the Lester Wallack Company.
Undaunted, he now turned to another investment in name that was to be
more successful.

About this time John Drew had made his way to a unique eminence on the
American stage. A member of a distinguished Philadelphia theatrical
family, he had scored an instantaneous success on his first appearance
at home and had become the leading man of Augustin Daly's famous stock
company. He was one of "The Big Four" of that distinguished
organization, which included Ada Rehan, Mrs. G. H. Gilbert, and James
Lewis. They were known as such in America and England. Drew was regarded
as the finest type of the so-called modern actor interpreting the
gentleman in the modern play. He shone in the drawing-room drama; he had
a distinct following, and was therefore an invaluable asset. The general
impression was that he was wedded to the environment that had proved so
successful and was so congenial.

Charles knew Drew quite casually. Their first meeting was
characteristic. It happened during the great "Shenandoah" run. Henry
Miller and Drew were old friends. It was Frohman's custom in those days
to have after-theater suppers on Saturday nights at his rooms in the old
Hoffman House, and sometimes a friendly game of cards.

One Saturday Miller called Frohman up and asked him if he could bring
Drew down for supper.

"Certainly; with pleasure," said Frohman.

That night after the play Miller picked Drew up at Daly's and took him
to the Hoffman House. Knowing the way to the Frohman rooms, he started
for them unannounced, when he was stopped by a bell-boy, who said, "Mr.
Frohman is expecting you in here," opening the door and ushering the
guests into a magnificent private suite that Frohman had engaged for the
occasion. It was the first step in the campaign for Drew.

[Illustration: _JOHN DREW_]

Although Frohman was eager to secure Drew, he made no effort to lure
the actor away from what he believed was a very satisfactory connection.

As the friendship between the men grew, however, he discovered that Drew
was becoming dissatisfied with his arrangement at Daly's. Up to that
time "The Big Four" shared in the profits of the theater. Daly canceled
this arrangement, and Drew suddenly realized that what seemed to be a
most attractive alliance really held out no future for him.

Drew's dissatisfaction was heightened by his realization that Augustin
Daly's greatest work and achievements were behind him. The famous old
manager was undergoing that cycle of experience which comes to all of
his kind when the flood-tide of their success begins to ebb.

Drew was speculating about his future when Frohman heard of his state of
mind. He now felt that he would not be violating the ethics of the
profession in making overtures looking to an alliance. He did not make a
direct offer, but sent a mutual friend, Frank Bennett, once a member of
the Daly company, who was then conducting the Arlington Hotel in
Washington. Through him Frohman made a proposition to Drew to become a
star. The actor accepted the offer, and a three-year contract was
signed.

The capture of John Drew by Charles Frohman was more than a mere
business stroke. Frohman never forgot that the great Daly had succeeded
in ousting him from his first booking-offices in the Daly Theater
Building. He found not a little humor in pre-empting the services of the
Daly leading man as a sort of reciprocal stroke.

When Drew told Daly that he had signed a contract with Frohman the then
dictator of the American stage could scarcely find words to express his
astonishment. He assured Drew that he was making the mistake of his
life, because he regarded Frohman as an unlicensed interloper. Yet this
"interloper," from the moment of the Drew contract, began a new career
of brilliant and artistic development.

Frohman's starring arrangement with Drew created a sensation, both among
the public and in the profession. It broke up "The Big Four," for Drew
left a gap at Daly's that could not be filled.

There was also a widespread feeling that while Drew had succeeded in a
congenial environment, and with an actress (Miss Rehan) who was
admirably suited to him, he might not duplicate this success amid new
scenes. Hence arose much speculation about his leading woman. A dozen
names were bruited about.

Charles Frohman remained silent. He was keenly sensitive to the
sensation he was creating, and was biding his time to launch another. It
came when he announced Maude Adams as John Drew's leading woman. He had
watched her development with eager and interested eye. She had made good
wherever he had placed her. Now he gave her what was up to this time her
biggest chance. The moment her name became bracketed with Drew's there
was a feeling of satisfaction over the choice. How wise Charles Frohman
was in the whole Drew venture was about to be abundantly proved.

* * *

Charles Frohman not only made John Drew a star, but the nucleus of a
whole system. It was a time of rebirth for the whole American stage.
Nearly all the old stars were gone or were passing from view. Forrest,
McCullough, Cushman, Janauschek were gone; Modjeska's power was waning;
Clara Morris was soon to leave the stage world; Lawrence Barrett and
W.J. Florence were dead; Edwin Booth had retired.

Frohman realized that with the passing of these stars there also passed
the system that had created them. He knew that the public--the new
generation--wanted younger people, popular names--somebody to talk
about. He realized further that the public adored personality and that
the strongest prop that a play could get was a fascinating and magnetic
human being, whether male or female. The old stars had made
themselves--risen from the ranks after years of service. Frohman saw the
opportunity to accelerate this advance by providing swift and
spectacular recognition. The new stars that were now to blossom into
life under him owed their being to the initiative and the vision of some
one else. Thus he became the first of the star-makers.

Charles was now all excitement. He had the making of his first big star,
and he proceeded to launch him in truly magnificent fashion.

A play was needed that would bring out all those qualities that had made
Drew shine in the drawing-room drama. The very play itself was destined
to mark an epoch in the life of a man in the theater. Through Elizabeth
Marbury, who had just launched herself as play-broker in a little office
on Twenty-fourth Street, around the corner from Charles Frohman's, his
attention was called to a French farcical comedy called "The Masked
Ball," by Alexandre Bisson and Albert Carre. Frohman liked the story and
wanted it adapted for American production. It was the beginning of his
long patronage of French plays.

"I know a brilliant young man who could do this job for you very well,"
said Miss Marbury.

"What's his name?" asked Frohman.

"Clyde Fitch, and I believe he is going to have a great career," was the
answer of his sponsor.

Fitch was given the commission. He did a most successful piece of
adaptation, and in this Way began the long and close relationship
between the author of "Beau Brummel" (his first play) and the man who,
more than any other, did so much to advance his career.

For Drew's début under his management Charles spared no expense. In
addition to Maude Adams, the company included Harry Harwood (who was
then coming into his own as a forceful and versatile character actor),
C. Leslie Allen, Mrs. Annie Adams, and Frank E. Lamb.

With his usual desire to do everything in a splendid way, Frohman
arranged for Drew's début at Palmer's Theater, the old Lester Wallack
playhouse which was now under the management of A. M. Palmer, then one
of the shining figures in the American drama, and located opposite
Drew's former scenes of activity. Thus Drew's first stellar appearance
was on a stage rich with tradition.

"The Masked Ball" opened October 3, 1892, in the presence of a
representative audience. It was an instantaneous success. Drew played
with brilliancy and distinction, and Frohman's confidence in him was
amply justified.

[Illustration: _CLYDE FITCH_]

[Illustration: _HENRY ARTHUR JONES_]

The performance, however, had a human interest apart from the star.
Maude Adams, for the first time in her career, had a real Broadway
opportunity, and she made the most of it in such a fashion as to
convince Frohman and every one else that before many years were past
she, too, would have her name up in electric lights. She played the part
of _Zuzanne Blondet_, a more or less frivolous person, and it was in
distinct contrast with the character that she had just abandoned, that
of _Nell_, the consumptive factory-girl in "The Lost Paradise."

[Illustration: A CHARACTERISTIC FROHMAN BLUE PENCIL SKETCH]

As _Zuzanne_ in "The Masked Ball," Miss Adams went to a ball and
assumed tipsiness in order to influence her dissipated husband and
achieve his ultimate reformation. The way she prepared for this part was
characteristic of the woman. She wore a hat with a long feather, and she
determined to make it a "tipsy feather." This feature became one of the
comedy hits of the play, but in order to achieve it she worked for days
and days to bring about the desired effect. The result of all this
painstaking preparation was a brilliant performance. When the curtain
went down on that memorable night at Palmer's Theater the general
impression was:

"Maude Adams will be the next Frohman star."

The morning after the opening Frohman went to John Drew and said: "Well,
John, you don't need me any more now. You're made."

"No, Charles; I shall need you always," was the reply.

Out of this engagement came the long and intimate friendship between
Drew and Frohman. The first contract, signed and sealed on that
precarious day when Frohman was seeing the vision of the modern star
system, was the last formal bond between them. Though their negotiations
involved hundreds of thousands of dollars in the years that passed,
there was never another scrap of paper between them.

Seldom in the history of the American theater has another event been so
productive of far-reaching consequence as "The Masked Ball." It brought
Clyde Fitch into contact with the man who was to be his real sponsor; it
made John Drew a star; it carried Maude Adams to the frontiers of the
stellar realm; it gave Charles Frohman a whole new and distinguished
place in the theater.

Frohman was quick to follow up this success. With Drew he had made his
first real bid for what was known in those days as "the carriage
trade"--that is, the patronage of the socially elect. He hastened to
clinch this with another stunning production at Palmer's. It was Bronson
Howard's play, "Aristocracy."

The play, produced on November 14, 1893, was done in Frohman's usual
lavish way. The company included not less than half a dozen people who
were then making their way toward stardom--Wilton Lackaye, Viola Allen,
Blanche Walsh, William Faversham, Frederick Bond, Bruce McRae, Paul
Arthur, W. H. Thompson, J. W. Piggott. "Aristocracy" was Bronson
Howard's reversion to the serenity of the society drama after the
spectacle of war. The first night's audience was fashionable. The
distinction of the cast lent much to the success of the occasion.

* * *

When John Drew called on Charles Frohman for the first time at his
offices at 1127 Broadway, his way was impeded by a bright-eyed, alert
young office-boy who bore the unromantic name of Peter Daly. He
incarnated every ill to which his occupation seems to be heir. Without
troubling himself to find out if Mr. Frohman was in, he immediately
said, after the grand fashion of theatrical office-boys:

"Mr. Frohman is out and I don't know when he will return."

"But I have an engagement with Mr. Frohman," said Drew.

"You will have to wait," said the boy.

Drew cooled his heels outside while Frohman waited impatiently inside
for him. When he emerged at lunchtime he was surprised to find his man
about to depart.

Daly was immediately discharged by Julius Cahn, who was office manager,
but was promptly reinstated the next day by Frohman, who had been
greatly impressed with the boy's quick wit and intelligence.

This office-boy, it is interesting to relate, became Arnold Daly, the
actor. No experience of his life was perhaps more amusing or picturesque
than the crowded year when he manned the outside door of Charles
Frohman's office. Instead of attending to business, he spent most of his
time writing burlesques on contemporary plays, which he solemnly
submitted to Harry Rockwood, the bookkeeper.

During these days occurred a now famous episode. Young Daly was
luxuriously reclining in the most comfortable chair in the
reception-room one day when Louise Closser Hale, the actress, entered
and asked to see Charles Frohman.

"He is out," said Daly.

"May I wait for him?" asked the visitor.

"Yes," answered Daly, and the woman sat down.

After three hours had passed she asked Daly, "Where is Mr. Frohman?"

"He's in London," was the reply.

Afterward Daly became "dresser" for John Drew, the virus of the theater
got into his system, and before long he was an actor.

Thus even Charles Frohman's office-boys became stars.

* * *

Epochal as had been 1892, witnessing the first big Frohman star and a
great artistic expansion, the new year that now dawned realized another
and still greater dream of Charles Frohman, for it brought the
dedication of his own New York theater at last, the famous Empire.

Ever since he had been launched in the metropolitan theatrical
whirlpool, Frohman wanted a New York theater. As a boy he had witnessed
the glories of the Union Square Theater under Palmer; as a road manager
he had a part in the success of the Madison Square Theater activities;
in his early managerial days he had been associated with the Lester
Wallack organization; he had watched the later triumphs of the Lyceum
Theater Company at home and on the road. Quite naturally he came to the
conviction that he was ready to operate and control a big theater of his
own.

The way toward its consummation was this:

One day toward the end of the 'eighties, William Harris came to New York
to see Frohman about the booking of some attractions. He said:

"Charley, I want a theater in New York, and I know that you want one.
Let's combine."

"All right," said Frohman. "You can get the Union Square. The lease is
on the market."

"Very well," said Harris.

On the way down-stairs he met Al Hayman, who asked him where he was
going.

"I am going over to lease the Union Square Theater," he replied.

"That's foolish," said Hayman. "Everything theatrical is going up-town."

"Well," answered Harris, "C. F. wants a theater, and I am determined
that he shall have it, so I am going over to get the Union Square."

"If you and Frohman want a theater that badly, I will build one for
you," he responded.

"Where?" asked Harris.

"I've got some lots at Fortieth and Broadway, and it's a good site, even
if it is away up-town."

They went back to Frohman's office, and here was hatched the plan for
the Empire Theater.

"I can't go ahead on this matter without Rich," said Harris.

"All right," said Frohman. "Wire Rich."

Rich came down next day, and the final details were concluded for the
building of the Empire. Frank Sanger came in as a partner; thus the
builders were Al Hayman, Frank Sanger, and William Harris. Without the
formality of a contract they turned it over to Charles Frohman with the
injunction that he could do with it as he pleased.

Frohman was in his element. He could now embark on another one of the
favorite dream-enterprises.

He was like a child during the building of the theater. Every moment
that he could spare from his desk he would walk up the street and watch
the demolition of the old houses that were to make way for this
structure. Often he would get Belasco and take him up the street to note
the progress. One night as they stood before the skeleton of the theater
that stood gaunt and gray in the gloom Charles said to his friend:

"David, just think; the great dream is coming true, and yet it's only a
few years since we sat at 'Beefsteak John's' with only forty-two cents
between us."

Naturally, Frohman turned to Belasco for the play to open the Empire.
His old friend was then at work on "The Heart of Maryland" for Mrs.
Leslie Carter. He explained the situation to Frohman. As soon as Mrs.
Carter heard of it she went to Frohman and told him that she would
waive her appearance and that Belasco must go ahead on the Empire play,
which he did.

Just what kind of play to produce was the problem. Frohman still clung
to the mascot of war. The blue coat and brass buttons had turned the
tide for him with "Shenandoah," and he was superstitious in wanting
another stirring and martial piece. Belasco had become interested in
Indians, but he also wanted to introduce the evening-clothes feature.
Hence came the inspiration of a ball at an army post in the far West
during the Indian-fighting days. This episode proved to be the big
dramatic situation of the new piece.

Then came the night when Belasco read the play to Frohman, who walked up
and down the floor. When the author finished, Frohman rushed up to him
with a brilliant smile on his face and said:

"David, you've done the whole business! You've got pepper and salt,
soup, entrée, roast, salad, dessert, coffee; it's a real play, and I
know it will be a success."

Having finished the work, which Belasco wrote in collaboration with
Franklin Fyles, then dramatic editor of the New York _Sun_, they needed
a striking name. So they sent the manuscript to Daniel, down at the
Lyceum, for Charles always declared he had been happy in the selection
of play titles. Back came the manuscript with his approval of the work,
and with the title "The Girl I Left Behind Me." This they eagerly
adopted.

Long before "The Girl I Left Behind Me" manuscript was ready to leave
Belasco's hands, Frohman was assembling his company. Instead of having a
star, he decided to have an all-round stock company. The success of this
kind of institution had been amply proved at Daly's, Wallack's, the
Madison Square, and the Lyceum. Hence the Charles Frohman Stock Company,
which had scored so heavily with "Men and Women" and "The Lost Paradise"
at Proctor's Twenty-third Street Theater, now became the famous Empire
Theater Stock Company and incidentally the greatest of all star
factories. William Morris was retained as the first leading man, and the
company included Orrin Johnson, Cyril Scott, W. H. Thompson, Theodore
Roberts, Sydney Armstrong, Odette Tyler, and Edna Wallace. The child in
the play was a precocious youngster called "Wally" Eddinger, who is the
familiar Wallace Eddinger of the present-day stage.

The rehearsals for "The Girl I Left Behind Me" were held in the Standard
Theater, which Frohman had already booked for productions, and were
supervised by Belasco. Frohman, however, was always on hand, and his
suggestions were invaluable.

"The Girl I Left Behind Me" was tried out for a week at Washington. The
company arrived there on Sunday afternoon, but was unable to get the
stage until midnight because Robert G. Ingersoll was delivering a
lecture there. At the outset of this rehearsal Belasco became ill and
had to retire to his bed, and Frohman took up the direction of this
final rehearsal and worked with the company until long after dawn.

The week in Washington rounded out the play thoroughly, and the company
returned to New York on the morning of January 25, 1893. Now came a
characteristic example of Frohman's resource. At noon it was discovered
that the new electric-light installation was not yet complete. Added to
this was the disconcerting fact that the paint on the chairs was
scarcely dry. Sanger, Harris, and Rich urged Frohman to postpone the
opening. "It will be useless to open under these conditions," they said.

"The Empire must open to-night," said Frohman, "if we have to open it by
candle-light."

In saying this Charles Frohman emphasized what was one of his iron-clad
rules, for he never postponed an announced opening.

That January night was a memorable one in the life of Frohman. He sat on
a low chair in the wings, and alongside of him sat Belasco. His face
beamed, yet he was very nervous, as he always was on openings. At the
end of the third act, when the audience made insistent calls for
speeches, Belasco tried to drag Frohman out, but he would not go. "You
go, David," he said. And Belasco went out and made a speech.

"The Girl I Left Behind Me" was a complete success, and played two
hundred and eighty-eight consecutive performances.

The opening of the Empire Theater strengthened Charles Frohman's
position immensely. More than this, it established a whole new
theatrical district in New York. When it was opened there was only one
up-town theater, the Broadway. Within a few years other playhouses
followed the example of the Empire, and camped in its environs. Thus
again Charles Frohman was a pioneer.

The Empire Theater now became the nerve-center of the Charles Frohman
interests. He established his offices on the third floor, and there they
remained until his death. He practically occupied the whole building,
for his booking interests, which had now grown to great proportions, and
which were in charge of Julius Cahn, occupied a whole suite of offices.
He now had his own New York theater, a star of the first magnitude, and
a stock company with a national reputation.

When the Empire Stock Company began its second season in the August of
1893, in R. C. Carton's play, "Liberty Hall," Charles Frohman was able
to keep the promise he had made to Henry Miller back in the 'eighties in
San Francisco. That handsome and dashing young actor now succeeded
William Morris as leading man of the stock company, Viola Allen became
leading woman, and May Robson also joined the company. "Liberty Hall"
ran until the end of October, when David Belasco's play, "The Younger
Son," was put on. This added William Faversham to the ranks, and thus
another star possibility came under the sway of the Star-Maker.

The Empire became the apple of Charles Frohman's eye, and remained so
until his death. No star and no play was too good for it. On it he
lavished wealth and genuine affection. To appear with the Empire Stock
Company was to be decorated with the Order of Theatrical Merit. To it in
turn came Robert Edison, Ethel Barrymore, Elita Proctor Otis, Jameson
Lee Finney, Elsie De Wolfe, W. J. Ferguson, Ferdinand Gottschalk, J. E.
Dodson, Margaret Anglin, J. Henry Benrimo, Ida Conquest, and Arthur
Byron.

The Empire Stock Company became an accredited institution. A new play by
it was a distinct event, its annual tour to the larger cities an
occasion that was eagerly awaited. To have a play produced by it was the
goal of the ambitious playwright, both here and abroad.

Through the playing of the Empire Company Frohman introduced Oscar Wilde
to America, and with the stock-company opportunities he developed such
playwrights as Henry Arthur Jones, Haddon Chambers, Sydney Grundy,
Louis N. Parker, Madeline Lucette Ryley, Henry Guy Carleton, Clyde
Fitch, Jerome K. Jerome, and Arthur Wing Pinero.

Having firmly established the Empire Theater, Charles now turned to a
myriad of enterprises. He acquired the lease of the Standard Theater
(afterward the Manhattan) and began there a series of productions that
was to have significant effect on his fortunes.

In May, 1893, he produced a comedy called "Fanny," by George R. Sims, of
London, in which W. J. Ferguson, Frank Burbeck, and Johnston Bennett
appeared. It was a very dismal failure, but it produced one of the
famous Frohman epigrams. Sims sent Frohman the following telegram a few
days after the opening:

     _How is Fanny going?_

Whereupon Frohman sent this laconic reply:

     _Gone._

Now came another historic episode in Frohman's career. He was making his
annual visit to London. The lure and love of the great city was in him
and it grew with each succeeding pilgrimage. He had learned to select
successful English plays, as the case of "Jane" had proved. Now he was
to go further and capture one of his rarest prizes.

Just about this time Brandon Thomas's farce, "Charley's Aunt," had been
played at the Globe Theater as a Christmas attraction and was staggering
along in great uncertainty. W. S. Penley, who owned the rights, played
the leading part.

Suddenly it became a success, and the "managerial Yankee birds," as they
called the American theatrical magnates, began to roost in London. All
had their claws set for "Charley's Aunt."

Frohman had established an office in London at 4 Henrietta Street, in
the vicinity of Covent Garden. His friendship with W. Lestocq, the
author of "Jane," developed. Lestocq, who was the son of a publisher,
and had graduated from a clever amateur actor into a professional,
conceived a great liking for Frohman. While all the American managers
were angling for "Charley's Aunt," he went to Penley, who was his
friend, and said:

"Frohman has done so well with 'Jane' in America, he is the man to do
'Charley's Aunt.'"

Penley agreed to hold up all his negotiations for the play until Frohman
arrived. A conference was held, and, through the instrumentality of
Lestocq, Frohman secured the American rights to "Charley's Aunt."

At the end of this meeting Lestocq said in jest, "What do I get out of
this?"

"I'll show you," said Frohman. "You shall represent me in London
hereafter."

Out of this conference came one of the longest and most loyal
associations in Charles's career, because from that hour until the day
of his death Lestocq represented Charles Frohman in England with a
fidelity of purpose and a devotion of interest that were characteristic
of the men who knew and worked with Charles Frohman.

[Illustration: THE DOVER STUDIOS. LONDON

_W. LESTOCQ_]

Frohman now returned to America to produce "Charley's Aunt." In spite of
the success of the Empire, Frohman had "plunged" in various ways, and
had reached one of the numerous financial crises in his life. He
looked upon "Charley's Aunt" as the agency that was to again redeem him.
For the American production he imported Etienne Girardot, who had played
the leading rôle in the English production. He surrounded Girardot with
an admirable cast, including W. J. Ferguson, Frank Burbeck, Henry
Woodruff, Nanette Comstock, and Jessie Busley.

Frohman personally rehearsed "Charley's Aunt." He tried it out first at
Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, where the reception was not particularly
cordial. He returned to New York in a great state of apprehension,
although his good spirits were never dampened. On October 2, 1893, he
produced the play at the Standard, and it was an immediate success. As
the curtain went down on the first night's performance he assembled the
company on the stage and made a short speech, thanking them for their
co-operation. It was the first time in his career that he had done this,
and it showed how keenly concerned he was. It was another "Shenandoah,"
because it recouped his purse, depleted from numerous outside ventures,
inspired him with a fresh zeal, and enabled him to proceed with fresh
enterprises. It ran for two hundred nights, and then duplicated its New
York success on the road.

While gunning for "Charley's Aunt," Charles Frohman made his first
London production with "The Lost Paradise." He put it on in partnership
with the Gattis, at the Adelphi Theater in the Strand. It was a failure,
however, and it discouraged him from producing in England for some
little time.

These were the years when Frohman was making the few intimate
friendships that would mean so much to him until the closing hours of
his life. That of Charles Dillingham is an important one.

Dillingham had been a newspaper man in Chicago at a time when George
Ade, Peter Dunne, and Frank Vanderlip (now president of the National
City Bank) were his co-workers. He became secretary to Senator Squire,
and at Washington wrote a play called "Twelve P.M." A manager named
Frank Williams produced it in the old Bijou Theater, New York, just
about the time that Charles Frohman was presenting John Drew across the
street in "The Masked Ball." Dillingham had previously come on to New
York, and his hopes, naturally, were in the play. "Twelve P.M." was a
dismal failure, but it brought two unusual men together who became bosom
friends. It came about in this extraordinary way:

During the second (and last) week of the engagement of "Twelve P.M." at
the Bijou, Dillingham, who came every night to see his play, noticed a
short, stout, but important-looking man pass into the playhouse.

"Who is that man?" he asked.

He was told it was Charles Frohman.

A few days later he received a letter from Frohman, which said:

     _Your play lacks all form and construction, but I like the lines
     very much. Would you like to adapt a French farce for me?_

Dillingham accepted this commission and thus met Frohman. Dillingham was
then dramatic editor of the New York _Evening Sun_. One day he called on
Frohman and asked him to send him out with a show.

"When do you want to go?"

"Right away."

"Very well," said Frohman, who would always have his little joke. "You
can go to-morrow. I would like to get you off that paper, anyhow. You
write too many bad notices of my plays."

Dillingham first went out ahead of the Empire Stock Company and
afterward in advance of John Drew, in "That Imprudent Young Couple." He
left the job, however, and soon returned to Frohman, seeking other work.

"What would you like to do?" asked Frohman.

"Take my yacht and go to England," said Dillingham, facetiously.

"All right," said Frohman. "We sail Saturday," and handed him fifty
thousand dollars in stage money that happened to be lying on his desk.
Dillingham thought at first he was joking, but he was not. They sailed
on the _St. Paul_. Frohman had just established his first offices in
Henrietta Street. There was not much business to transact, and the pair
spent most of their time seeing plays. Dillingham acted as a sort of
secretary to Frohman.

One day a haughty Englishman came up to the offices and asked Dillingham
to take in his card.

"I have no time," said Dillingham, whose sense of humor is proverbial.

"What have you to do?" asked the man.

"I've got to wash the office windows first," was the reply.

The Englishman became enraged, strode in to Frohman, and told him what
Dillingham had said. Frohman laughed so heartily that he almost rolled
out of his chair. After the Englishman left he went out and
congratulated Dillingham on his jest. From that day dated a Damon and
Pythias friendship between the two men. They were almost inseparable
companions.

The time was at hand for another big star to twinkle in the Frohman
heaven. During all these years William Gillette had developed in
prestige and authority, both as actor and as playwright. The quiet,
thoughtful, scholarly-looking young actor who had knocked at the doors
of the Madison Square Theater with the manuscript of "The Professor,"
where it was produced after "Hazel Kirke," and whose road tours had been
booked by Charles Frohman in his early days as route-maker, now came
into his own. Curiously enough, his career was to be linked closely with
that of the little man he first knew in his early New York days.

Frohman, who had booked and produced Gillette's play "Held By the
Enemy," now regarded Gillette as star material of the first rank.
Combined with admiration for Gillette as artist was a strong personal
friendship. Gillette now wrote a play, a capital farce called "Too Much
Johnson," which Frohman produced with the author as star. In connection
with this opening was a typical Frohman incident.

The play was first put on at Waltham, Massachusetts. The house was small
and the notices bad. Frohman joined the company next day at Springfield.
Gillette was much depressed, and he met Frohman in this mood.

"This is terrible, isn't it? I'm afraid the play is a failure."

"Nonsense!" said Frohman. "I have booked it for New York and for a long
tour afterward."

"Why?" asked Gillette in astonishment.

"I saw your performance," was the reply.

[Illustration: _CHARLES DILLINGHAM_]

Frohman's confidence was vindicated, for when the play was put on at the
Standard Theater in November, 1894, it went splendidly and put another
rivet in Gillette's reputation.

Frohman now had two big stars, John Drew and William Gillette. A
half-dozen others were in the making, chief among them the wistful-eyed
little Maude Adams, who was now approaching the point in her career
where she was to establish a new tradition for the American stage and
give Charles Frohman a unique distinction.

VIII

MAUDE ADAMS AS STAR

When Charles Frohman put Maude Adams opposite John Drew in "The Masked
Ball" he laid the foundation of what is, in many respects, his most
remarkable achievement. The demure little girl, who had made her way
from child actress through the perils of vivid melodrama to a Broadway
success, now set foot on the real highway to a stardom that is unique in
the annals of the theater.

Brilliant as was his experience with the various men and women whom he
raised from obscurity to fame and fortune, the case of Maude Adams
stands out with peculiar distinctness. It is the one instance where
Charles Frohman literally manufactured a star's future.

Yet no star ever served so rigorous or so distinguished an
apprenticeship. Her five years as leading woman with John Drew tried all
her resource. After her brilliant performance as _Zuzanne Blondet_ in
"The Masked Ball," she appeared in "The Butterflies," by Henry Guy
Carleton. She had a much better part in "The Bauble Shop," which
followed the next year.

John Drew's vehicle in 1895 was "That Imprudent Young Couple," by Henry
Guy Carleton. This play not only advanced Miss Adams materially, but
first served to bring forward John Drew's niece, Ethel Barrymore, a
graceful slip of a girl, who developed a great friendship with Miss
Adams. Following her appearance in the Carleton play came "Christopher
Jr.," written by Madeline Lucette Ryley, in which Miss Adams scored the
biggest hit of her career up to this time.

It remained for Louis N. Parker's charming play, "Rosemary," which was
produced at the Empire Theater in 1896, to put Miss Adams into the path
of the man who, after Charles Frohman, did more than any other person in
the world to give her the prominence that she occupies to-day.

"Rosemary" was an exquisite comedy, and packed with sentiment. Maude
Adams played the part of _Dorothy Cruikshank_, a character of quaint and
appealing sweetness. It touched the hidden springs of whimsical humor
and thrilling tenderness, qualities which soon proved to be among her
chief assets.

Just about that time a little Scot, James M. Barrie by name, already a
distinguished literary figure who had blossomed forth as a playwright
with "Walker London" and "The Professor's Love Story," came to America
for the first time. For three people destined from this time on to be
inseparably entwined in career and fortune, it was a memorable trip. For
Barrie it meant the meeting with Charles Frohman, who was to be his
greatest American friend and producer; for Miss Adams it was to open the
way to her real career, and for Frohman himself it was to witness the
beginning of an intimacy that was perhaps the closest of his life.

Barrie's book, "The Little Minister," had been a tremendous success,
and, not having acquired the formality of a copyright in America, the
play pirates were busy with it. Frohman, after having seen the
performance of "The Professor's Love Story," had cabled Barrie, asking
him to make a play out of the charming Scotch romance. Barrie at first
declined. Frohman, as usual, was insistent. Then followed the
Scotchman's trip to America.

Under Frohman's influence he had begun to consider a dramatization of
"The Little Minister," but the real stimulus was lacking because, as he
expressed it to Frohman, he did not see any one who could play the part
of _Babbie_.

Now came one of those many unexpected moments that shape lives. On a
certain day Barrie dropped into the Empire Theater to see Frohman, who
was out.

"Why don't you stop in down-stairs and see 'Rosemary'?" said Frohman's
secretary.

"All right," said Barrie.

So he went down into the Empire and took a seat in the last row. An hour
afterward he came rushing back to Frohman's office, found his friend in,
and said to him, as excitedly as his Scotch nature would permit:

"Frohman, I have found the woman to play _Babbie_ in 'The Little
Minister'! I am going to try to dramatize it myself."

"Who is it?" asked Frohman, with a twinkle in his eye, for he knew
without asking.

"It is that little Miss Adams who plays _Dorothy_."

"Fine!" said Frohman. "I hope you will go ahead now and do the play."

The moment toward which Frohman had looked for years was now at hand. He
might have launched Miss Adams at any time during the preceding four or
five seasons. But he desired her to have a better equipment, and he
wanted the American theater-going public to know the woman in whose
talents he felt such an extraordinary confidence. He announced with a
suddenness that was startling, but which in reality conveyed no surprise
to the few people who had watched Miss Adams's career up to this time,
that he was going to launch her as star.

[Illustration: COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY CHARLES FROHMAN

_MAUDE ADAMS_]

Some of his friends, however, objected.

"Why split and separate a good acting combination?" was their comment,
meaning the combination of John Drew and Miss Adams. To this objection
Frohman made reply:

"I'll show you the wisdom of it. I'll put them both on Broadway at the
same time."

He therefore launched Miss Adams in "The Little Minister" at the Empire
and booked John Drew at Wallack's in "A Marriage of Convenience." His
decision was amply vindicated, for both scored successes.

* * *

Charles Frohman now proceeded to present Miss Adams with his usual