"Where to, Governor?" asked the man.

"Number 5 Henrietta Street," said Frohman.

"No such place in Maidenhead," said the driver.

"Oh, I mean the place opposite Covent Garden in London."

The old cabby wasn't a bit fl.u.s.tered, but he said, "I will have to get a new horse."

He changed horses and they made the long way to London, arriving there considerably after nightfall. When Frohman asked for his bill the old man said, with some hesitation:

"I'm afraid it will cost you five pounds."

"That's all right," said Frohman, and paid the bill.

To his great surprise, the cabby showed up next morning, saying: "I like London. I think I'll stay here." It was with the greatest difficulty that Frohman got rid of him. When the cabby finally started to go he said:

"Well, Governor, if you want to go back to Maidenhead I'll do it for half-price."

A short time after this incident Frohman, whose purse was none too full then, asked some people to dine with him at the Hotel Cecil. By some mistake he and his party were shown into a room that had been arranged for a very elaborate dinner. Before he realized it the waiter began to serve the meal. He soon knew that it was not the menu he had ordered, and was costing twenty times more. But he was game and stuck to it. It was midwinter, and when the fresh peaches came on he said to the woman on his right:

"This will break me, I know, but we might as well have a good time."

Frohman almost invariably took one of his American friends to England with him. It was usually Charles Dillingham, Paul Potter, or William Gillette.

On one of Gillette's many trips with him Frohman got up an elaborate supper for Mark Twain at the Savoy and invited a brilliant group of celebrities, including all three of the Irvings, Beerbohm Tree, Chauncey M. Depew, Sir Charles Wyndham, Haddon Chambers, Nat Goodwin, and Arthur Bouchier. In his inconspicuous way, however, he made it appear that Gillette was giving the supper.

Midnight arrived, and Twain had not shown up. It was before the days of taxis, so Dillingham was sent after him in a hansom. After going to the wrong address, he finally located the humorist in Chelsea. He found Mark Twain sitting in his dressing-gown, smoking a Pittsburg stogie and reading a book.

"Did you forget all about the supper?" asked Dillingham.

"No," was the drawling reply, "but I didn't know where the blamed thing was. I had a notion that some one of you would come for me."

Mark Twain and Frohman were great friends. They were often together in London. Their favorite diversion was to play "hearts."

The great humorist once drew a picture of Charles, and under it wrote:

_N. B. I cannot make a good mouth. Therefore leave it out. There is enough without it, anyway. Done with the best ink.

M. T._

Underneath this inscription he wrote:

_To Charles Frohman, Master of Hearts._

Few things in England pleased Frohman more than to play a joke on Gillette, for the author of "Secret Service," like his great friend, relaxed when he was on the other side. When Frohman produced "Sue" in England an amusing incident happened.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _OTIS SKINNER_]

Frohman had brought over Annie Russell and Ida Conquest for his piece.

The actresses were very much excited before the first night, and went without dinner. After the play they were very hungry. On going to the Savoy they encountered the English prohibition against serving women at night when unaccompanied by men. After trying at several places they went to their lodging in Langham Place almost famished.

In desperation they telephoned to Dillingham, who was playing "hearts"

at the Savoy with Frohman and Gillette. He hurriedly got some food together in a basket, and with his two friends drove to where the young women were staying. The house was dark; fruitless pulls at the door-bell showed that it was broken. It was impossible to raise any one.

Dillingham knew that the actresses were occupying rooms on the second floor front. He had five large English copper pennies in his pocket, and so he started to throw them up to the window to attract their attention.

He threw four, and each fell short.

"This is the last copper," he said to Frohman. "If we can't reach the girls with this they will have to go hungry."

Whereupon Frohman said: "Let Gillette throw it. He can make a penny go further than any man in the world."

Such was Charles Frohman's English life. It was joyous, almost rollicking, and pervaded with the spirit of adventure. Yet behind all the humor was something deep, searching, and significant, because in England, as in America, this man was a vital and constructive force, and where he went, whether in laughter or in seriousness, he left his impress.

XIII

A GALAXY OF STARS

The last decade of Charles Frohman's life was one of continuous star-making linked with far-flung enterprise. He now had a chain of theaters that reached from Boston by way of Chicago to Seattle; his productions at home kept on apace; his prestige abroad widened.

Frohman had watched the development of Otis Skinner with great interest.

That fine and representative American actor had thrived under his own management. Early in the season of 1905 he revived his first starring vehicle, a costume play by Clyde Fitch, called "His Grace de Grammont."

It failed, however, and Skinner looked about for another piece. He heard that Frohman, who had a corner on French plays for America, owned the rights to Lavedan's play "The Duel," which had scored a big success in Paris. He knew that the leading role ideally fitted his talent and temperament.

Skinner went to Frohman and asked him if he could produce "The Duel" in America.

"Why don't you do it under my management?" asked the manager.

"All right," replied the actor, "I will."

With these few remarks began the connection between Charles Frohman and Otis Skinner.

It was during the closing years of Frohman's life that his genius for singling out gifted young women for eminence found its largest expression. Typical of them was Marie Doro, a Dresden-doll type of girl who made her first stage appearance, as did Billie Burke and Elsie Ferguson, in musical comedy.

Charles Frohman saw her in a play called "The Billionaire" at Daly's Theater in New York, in which she sang and danced. He had an unerring eye for beauty and talent. With her, as with others that he transported from musical pieces to straight drama, he had an uncanny perception. He engaged her and featured her in a slender little play called "Friquette."

Miss Doro made such an impression on her first appearance that Frohman now put her in "Clarice," written by William Gillette, in which he also appeared. Her success swept her nearer to stardom, for she next appeared in a Frohman production which, curiously enough, reflected one of Frohman's sentimental moods.

For many years Mrs. G. H. Gilbert was a famous figure on the American stage. She had been one of the "Big Four" of Augustin Daly's company for many years, and remained with Daly until his death. She was the beloved first old woman of the dramatic profession. When the Daly company disbanded Mrs. Gilbert did not prepare to retire. She was hearty and active.

Frohman realized what a warm place this grand old woman had in the affection of theater-goers after all the years of faithful labor, so he said to himself: