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Copyright 1921, 1922, by the Curtis Publishing Co. 

Printed in the United States of America 



The publishers are doing all they possibly can to 
a success of this book they call it a book and they 
asked me for a dedication. 

After the manner of mid- Victorian poets, I could 
made the dedication mysteriously to "Dear I 

M ," but I used to know a girl of those initial: 

wife also knew her. Her name was Mary Brani 
But nobody of intelligence is going to be deceived 
mere transposition of initials, so I thought I migh 
as much as I stood to lose by coming right out w 
and saying Brander Matthews. 

I learned in the railroad yard that separate cars tl 
in on the same track could subsequently be couple 
then hitched to something with power enough to 
or pull them out as a freight train; perhaps with 
ful attention to the English market I should say, " 
train/ 5 Nobody knows better than yourself the < 
ence between push and pull, and having both you ; 
be willing, I thought, to assist a fellow who has ne 
especially as my cars when they are not empty cc 
stuff that is perishable. 

Then I had another idea. There is a story of G< 
Custer at the head of a marching column on our Am< 
plains one day in the middle seventies. He sud 
threw up his hand after the manner of Western 
manders, gave a signal, and moved sharply "cc 

dried Drusn was me nest ui a, mcauuw - 
was frightened and had flown, but the ne 
eggs in it. 

At the head of the marching column of re^ 
gesture has all the authority that Custer's ha< 
troopers, and you have the same sympatheti 
sion of possibilities. Many readers will i 
infer the low and defenseless character of m; 
incubations when I simply say Dear Brandei 

And some critics are as gentle as cavalrym 
Affectionately yours, 































INDEX . . 


Augustus Thomas Frontispiece 


imogene Garrettson I nomas, mother of Augustus Thomas, at 
eighteen years of age ' , 

Sarah Wilson Garrettson, Mr. Thomas's grandmother, in her 

fifties I0 

John W. Norton g 

John Peck Colby, father of Mrs. Thomas. 1865 . . . . no 

E. B. Thomas, father of Augustus Thomas. 1865 . no 

Cartoon drawn by Mr. Thomas for the St. Louis World in 1880 124 

Two scenes from "The Professor," in which William Gillette 

appeared. 1882 138 

Delia Fox and trie curl she made famous 156 

The Dickson Sketch Club, at Minnehaha Falls, Minnesota. 

1884 162 

Edwin Booth as Hamlet 230 

Julia Marlowe as Juliet. 1889 248 

Maurice Barrymore in 1888 262 

Augustus Thomas in 1888 262 

Charles L. Harris and E. M. Holland as Squire Tucker and 

Colonel Moberly in "Alabama" 294 

Charles Frohman 302 

Caricatures from Mr. Thomas's Sketch Book. 1891-93 . . 326 
L. J. B. Lincoln, F. W. Ruckstull, Augustus Thomas, E. W. Kemble, 
Francis Wilson, Frederic Remington 

Caricatures from. Mr. Thomas's Sketch book. 1891-93 . . 424 

Sydney Rosenfeld, General George Sheridan, William Marion Reedy, 
Cyril Scott, Henry Guy Carleton 

tin n;i\ i < n MY iii' 


< i\ it, v* \j; nvi 

t ji* * 



the second time the question of the liberty of the ne 
slave, Dred Scott. Mr. Lincoln, at Springfield, \' 
anxiously awaiting their decision before expressing hi 
self as he subsequently did in such immortal fashion 

On the eighth day of that month, in that year, I v 
born in a little house in what was then the outskirts 
St. Louis, Missouri. 

Of this important concurrent event none of the gre 
personages above referred to knew anything at first har 
which must not fairly imply neglect on their pa 
because all of my own impressions of them were su 
sequently and slowly formed on hearsay and report, 
mention these great personages principally to fix in t. 
reader's mind some conditions and the time. But th< 
are mentioned, also, because most of them began sex 
afterward to take place and shape somewhat distort< 
shape, perhaps in my first permanent memories. 

Buchanan took office under the handicap of our fami. 
disapproval, because responding to certain preelectic 
pledges he permitted the recall from Falmouth, Englan< 
of my maternal grandmother's second husband, who ba 
been sent there as United States consul by Frankli 
Pierce; and, without generalizing too hastily, I may sa 
that a similar lack of judgment, according to my peopl< 
characterized nearly the whole of Buchanan's adminis 
tration. Grandmother was there with this second hu$ 
band. I don't know how the wife of a consul at Fa] 
mouth could do it, but in some way grandmother, whil 
in England, arranged a presentation to the Queen, s< 
that with us in North St. Louis, Victoria was a householc 

I was two years old when John Brown was hanged 
and, of course, understood nothing of it. Victor Hugo 

I t 


meaningless sound of f Grant/ which seems to have some 
trouble with another called 'Fort Donelson/ There are 
shouts and salvos, and mingling with the cheers there is 
the derisive song: 

" 'It was on the tenth of May, 
Captain Kelly was away, 
The Hessians surrounded Camp Jackson/ 

"Years afterward I learned that the Hessians were 
the loyal Germans of St. Louis, who under Francis P. 
Blair marched to her defence. 

"Another happening of that Homeric day is a fair 
where my mother holds me high in the crowd that I may 
see a child impersonating the old woman who lived in a 
shoe, and had so many children she didn't know what 
to do. That little girl with the cap and spectacles is 
Nellie Grant, selling her dolls to buy clothes for soldiers; 
and now there drifts into my ideas vaguely the concep- 
tion that this echo, this shibboleth, this Grant is a man, 
a father, not nearly so kind and low-voiced as my own 
father, not so tender, nor so full of laughter, nor so long 
away from home as my father, but still a father, tangible 
and human, and maybe good to that little girl at whom 
the men and women wave their handkerchiefs. 

"Then there is the illumination, when the night is 
come. The candles stuck in potatoes behind the tri- 
color tissue-paper in the windows; and the tar barrels 
are crackling in the street. Suddenly all is dark. I am 
frightened by an undefined menace. The young mother, 
in her night-robe, is kneeling with me at the open win- 
dow, one blanket above us both, the sky filled with the 
twinkle of the summer stars, and the air heavy with the 
weedy smell from the bottom-lands of Illinois. Yet it is 


none of these, but rather a tump-tump-tump-like pulse, a 
rhythm that my mother whispers is the tramp of soldiers. 

44 II was the heartbeat of a startled nation. I can re- 
call it now, with all the mystery and magic of the potent 
and unseen, ancl It is moving to some ghostlike place 
called Island Number 10 or Vieksburg, and Grant is 
there in whispers. 

"That is my Grant, a member of that Apocrypha of 
the nursery to which belong the Bluebeards and the 
Giant Killers. 

"I saw him nnee, in the winter of 1870, at Washing- 
ton, when the Senate and House had gathered in the 
Hall of Representatives, at the funeral of General George 
II. Thomas. The imperial Blame was in the chair, and 
in a semicircle of seats in front of his desk were the 
cabinet and a short, hitfh-siwuldered, round-headed man 
with whiskers. Grunt! I felt the same shock that a 
!ii t!r tfirl <>f to-dny, full of * Alice in Wonderland/ would 
fed if she were shown Lewis Carroll and told, 'That is 
your story/ " 

Brfoir the war my father was associated with Mr. 
\V. N. Wrl!% nitum^ othrts in the formation of the Re- 
publican Party in the St. Louis district. They were in 
(uru'.iunui onre-.jxwdrmT with Mr. Lincoln at Spring- 
ing L not \rl tftr gfr;it emancipator, but just a clever 
ddutrr \\ho was attracting attention in the West. One 
of th*,r nii/inal Icttn*;, addressed to Mr* Wells, not to 
inv t'lihrr, is hrtwrrn two panes of glass in a frame and 
11 ii*Idrr in mv libiary. It dors ru)t add much to the 
\nfiititr oi !,iiu>in's piHtiui't, but as it has been in print 
onl> in ronnfvti'u with my play, "The Copperhead/* 
this cxtiait may ha\e fur many a genuine interest: 


""" ~~ ~1 

All dallying with Douglas ay Republicans, who are 
is at the very least, time and labor lost; and all sue! 
with him, will yet bite their lips in vexation for their 
policy which rigorously excluf es all idea of there b 
in slavery, does lead inevitabfy to the denationalizat 
stitution; and all who deprecate that consummati 
seduced into his support, do but cut their own throat 
las has opposed the administration on one measur 
on some other; but while he Upholds the Dred Sc< 
clares that he cares not whether slavery be voted do 
that it is simply a question of dollars and cents, a 
mighty has drawn a line on one side of which labor m 
by slaves, to support him or Buchanan is simply t< 
goal by only slightly different roads. 

Very respectfull 

I remember vividly incidents of the pre 
paign, when I was three years old, that 
coin's first election. Father and the fam 
Republicans, but in my private heart I v 
Bell and Everett of the so-called Union 
torchlight processions were the most pictu 
intervals in their lines animated men rs 
with now and then a larger one on a wage 
have been older spectators and auditors 

I remember the neighborhood rejoicing 
tion and, very soon thereafter, everyboc 
diers . singing, "We are coming, Fathe 
hundred thousand strong." St. Louis, 
Germans, was predominantly a Souther 
vided feeling ran high; neighborhood B 
intense. There was a builder named Me 
other side of our street who had threai 


father. The opportunity apparently never safely offered, 
but that and other hatred lasted. For example, the war 
had been over ten years when on a local election day 
McCormick, who was a powerful fellow, came behind 
a buggy in which I sat with my father and endeavored 
to overturn it by lifting the rear axle. I was big enough 
to engage in the contest that followed, but the police 
prevented a decision. 

These Civil War events and childish impressions from 
them have no historic value, but they are the stuff that 
focused and perhaps formed my tendencies; the stuff 
that influenced my mature associations and endeavors, 
and became the background and much of the material 
of my professional work. When I compare these early 
influences to determine which of them was the most po- 
tent in fixing whatever may be persistent in my course, 
I think I must give predominance to the influence of 
the grandmother already mentioned. She was so un- 
swerving in her intentions toward me, so positive in her 
assumptions, so constant that I remember her influence 
not only as personal and intimate but also as oracular 
and imperative. I have written her into three different 
plays quite intentionally, and perhaps into forty others 
by some indirection. I think, therefore, that a fuller 
statement of grandmother is pertinent. 

Her father's name was Wilson, her mother's name 
was Walker both names recently crowded from the 
advertisements, but they had spirited associations even 
in my childhood. William Walker, who led his filibusters 
into Nicaragua, was grandmother's cousin, and she was 
proud of him. Her only brother was killed on that ex- 
pedition. Grandmother's first husband was Daniel 
Garrettson, a boat-builder of Cincinnati. He was lost 


in a river "accident while my mother was still a little 


The second husband was an actor turned editor when 
Pierce gave him the consulship at Falmouth. After 
Buchanan's inauguration this second husband made his 
home in Washington City, while grandmother lived in 
St. Louis to be near us and as far as possible from him. 
I remember his monthly remittances, which were regular 
and not large, but beautiful. They came during the 
early war period in newly printed paper shinplasters, 
in sheets measuring each about eighteen by twenty-four 
inches; each sheet having one hundred pieces of frac- 
tional currency and each piece with a value of three, 
five, ten, or twenty-five cents, according to the respective 
denomination of the sheet. 

When I grew big enough not to make the sport too 
expensive I was permitted to cut these sheets into their 
component units. Any one who has ever cut a coupon 
from a Liberty Bond that didn't belong to him can esti- 
mate my thrills over these small, crisp steel engravings 
of historic Americans serving as scenery for federal 
promises to pay on demand. A percentage of these re- 
mittances each month went into the war relief of the 
time. Recruits from Illinois and Iowa passed -grand- 
mother's door and cheered it. The flag with its thirty- 
four stars hung from her window, and whenever a march- 
ing detachment swung ino view a table draped with 
bunting in her little dooryard was quickly equipped with 
refreshments. Some of the fellows needed them. For 
any chap especially distressed a reviving nip could be 
unostentatiously produced. At that time whiskey, which 
had cost eighteen cents a gallon when Lincoln kept store 


in Sanj*amon County, had risen to thirty-five cents a 
gallon. You can't stop the profiteers. Between times 
grandmother elk! volunteer work on uniforms. 

On the mantel-shelf of the study in which I am writing 
in New RocheUe is a black wooden crucifix about six- 
teen inches high supported by a base. The brass figure 
of the Saviour is apparently a copy of Donatelfo. This 
was always a prominent object in grandmother's parlor. 
Archbishop Pureell, of Cincinnati, returning from a visit 
to Rome, had brought it to her when she was first mar- 
ried, with the blessing of Pius IX. (iranclmof her was 
then a Catholic, but some act. or failure to act, some ut- 
terance or some silence by some Missouri churchman 
upon the question of secession .sent grandmother over 
to the M. E. Church North. 

In Simpson Chapel, Union sentiments were vocal 
and extemporaneous, ant! there* grandmother inhaled and 
exhaled an atmosphere of militant loyalty. Twice every 
Sunday and at least one night of tin* week she went there 
to meeting. With father at the front, I war; the* only 
male 4 creature in our two households, and though mother 
thought a boy of siv or seven shouldn't be tip so late, I 
loved In act as the old lady's escort. The streets of North 
St. I,uui; at nij'ht were not lighted at that, period; the 
chaprl was four blocks away ami the natives were not 
fi fetidly. But grandmother hud a square lantern such 
as iJo^brrry carries, with three sides of tin, perforated 
like a hnp.eradish Crater, and a fourth side of j'Jass. It 
held a candle and swum*; by a tin rin>; larger than a muffin 
mold, \\ilh that candle lighted and the ri/.ht win;*; of 
her Valley f ; or*jc circular thrown over her Irit shoulder, 
the handsome old lady, then about fifty, used to jo forth 
with me. In that fashion I be^an to save the nation as 

At tnat time our nome was still in my Din 
end house of a dozen called Bates' Row on Tc 
brick buildings of almost toy dimensions, h< 
rooms and a lean-to kitchen each, and little 
back and front. Grandmother occupied the 
to us with her widowed sister and a pretty n 
Alice Witham. As a youngster I thought s 
Sweet Alice discussed in the lyrical appeal t< 
and I had Ben cast in the person of a sturdy 
called irregularly until a black-bordered en^ 
crossed flags on it explained his absence. ." 
Alice still disconsolate as a handsome youth, 
in the same row and not quite old enough fo 
except as drummer-boy, which he was for a 
under her window. The police then tolerate 
turnal custom. This singer was J. K. Em] 
sixteen years old at that time. Grandmot 
him when he sang, as everybody did, but at 
he was on her bad books. His sister Eliza 
tralto voice as fine as Jo's tenor. Eliza sai 
son Chapel, and Jo, who came to take her ho 
then, preferred to practise jig steps on the 
in front rather than wait inside, where vocifr 
and grandmother's and the little congregat 
were passing swiftly by." Eliza Emmett Wj 
one of the notable singers of the city. With 
Our Fritz, the women of two continents fell 
true to precedent forgave completely his ma 

Grandmother's opinion was the most dec 
family. I had no way of knowing it wasn't i 


tion. Her impatience with McCIellan and Grant and 
even Lincoln seemed to have an effect. At any rate, 
things happened when she got mad enough. She per- 
manently affected my early admirations. After a sol- 
dier, an orator was the finest type. She had heard Web- 
ster in the Senate and Andrew Jackson elsewhere, and 
gauged my early diction by those standards. As I re- 
view it mentally, I think there may have been a little of 
the theatre about her, but it was good theatre; a sense 
of the effective, nothing of the insincere. In her prophecy 
I joined her strangely assorted gallery of the great, and 
always found her hope and her belief associating me with 
Jackson and Webster, Lincoln, Edwin Forrest, Char- 
lotte Cushman and Archbishop Purcell. It was a good 
deal to ask of a lad of seven, but I took a run at it. 

My father, as a bachelor aged nineteen, had gone to 
the Mexican War via Leavenworth on the historic Doni- 
phan Expedition and during the subsequent experience 
was an aide-de-camp on General Taylor's staff. He 
sustained there an injury that disqualified him somewhat 
from extended service when he raised a company of 
volunteers for the Civil War, and therefore as soon as 
the immediate menace to Missouri was past he resigned 
from the army, and was elected to the Missouri Legis- 
lature. When Farragut ran the blockade at the mouth 
of the Mississippi and took New Orleans there was a 
demand for entertainment by the Northern troops who 
occupied the city similar to the demand that came from 
the American Expeditionary Forces recently in France. 

Father thereupon resigned his seat in the legislature, 
and together with Ben de Bar, one of the foremost comic 
actors of America, the only great Falstaff I ever saw, 
and a manager named Tom Davey who subsequently 

YYcto Aii. WAV* JL^V** -- - - -^ * - 

Revel family, dancers and acrobats, and among others 
a comedian named George Chapman. 

Although New Orleans had fallen a year before, the 
Mississippi for much of its length below St. Louis was 
sporadically commanded by Confederate guns, so that 
this little theatrical company had to run their blockades 
on a steamboat protected by piled-up cotton-bales. 
There was a long, successful season at the theatre, which 
those lessees closed at the end of March in 1865. I dis- 
tinctly remember my father's return, bringing with him 
a large cage holding two mocking-birds, which had to 
have boiled eggs, and also carrying several bunches ; of 
bananas protected by pink mosquito-netting. A third 
item in his baggage was a box of photographs of theatrical 
celebrities who had been visiting stars at the theatre. 
Among these were some pictures of the talented and 
eccentric Adah Isaacs Menken. According to my mother, 
these photographs did not warrant my father's estimate 
of Adah's beauty. I remember the pictures too imper- 
fectly at this date to umpire the difference of opinion. 

Another attractive photograph was that of a young 
woman in a pancake hat, a short smart basque and a 
wide expanse of crinoline. She was the gifted Mathilda 
Heron, mother of Bijou Heron, now Mrs. Henry Miller, 
and grandmother of Gilbert Miller, who has recently 
been announced as the manager to succeed the late All 
Hayman in charge of the Empire Theatre, New York. 

There were a half dozen photographs of a singularly 
handsome man, each of them inscribed "To my dear 


Torn" -my father's friends called him intimately by 
last name in preference to the given one of Elihu 
signed John Wilkes Booth. Although my father was 
years Booth's senior, he and Booth had been rather I 
companions in New Orleans, and coming from the s 
theatre, wearing the same kind of mustaehios and 
clubbed hair of the period, were so alike that each 
sometimes mistaken for the other. 

Father had not been back long enough at our St. I 
home to lose the guestlike novelty of his presence, v 
on the morning of April fifteenth, something having j 
wrong the day before with the family baking, I was 
from the breakfast-table to the corner grocery foi 
extra loaf of bread. The weather was unusually \v 
for that season, even in St. Louis. Saturday was a sc 
holiday. I was barefoot in the first kid freedom of 
year, and snail-like on this errand I travelled the s 
block over the unpaved road, which was ankle-deep * 
its coo! bed of dust. 

At the grocery I was unable to get attention in 
group that had gathered there and was increasing, 
soon as I learned the cause of the excitement I ran h< 
burst into the little dining-room with a repetition oi 
cry * 4 Lincoln's been shot I" 

I can see the family at that table now, each in h 
her proper place, as definite as if the occurrence* * 
to-day. My mother and father, my cider sister at 
younger one, a baby brother, my grandmother, w 
hired girl. It was the democratic custom in that; set. 
and time for the hired girl to serve the food in bulk 
then sit with the family at the table. My fai 
refusing to accept my message, rushed to the sirec' 



scc the terror on my mother's face and the tragic in- 
tensity of grandmother. I am pressed with questions. 
I remember my inadequate replies, and then my father 
coming back, his face grown strangely older. ^As the 

women look at him he says, "Wilkes Booth- 

"Shot Lincoln?" 


As the women get this confirmation my mother sobs 
with her head upon the table; grandmother, erect, is 
making short dramatic denunciations, of which I have 
forgotten all except their vehemence. Not only that 
day but an ensuing period of dislocation and excitement 
followed; a period recalled as interminable compared 
to the swift actions that the records show. During that 
crowded time every word of the reports in every paper 
was read aloud and discussed; every rumor too. The 
subject occupied the talk and filled all minds through 
every silence. The apprehension and arrest of conspira- 
tors; the pursuit and killing of Booth; the arrangements 
for the dead President's funeral; the trial of persons 
charged with complicity in his assassination; bitter divi- 
sion on the question of the guilt of Mrs. Surratt, and 
upon the right at all to hang a woman; suspicions that 
arose and were increased concerning Vice-President John- 
son's possible knowledge of or blindness to the plot ban- 
ished all unrelated topics. Letters came, neighbors ran 
in and out to carry or to match their news. Persons here- 
tofore uncertain as to policies took a prompt stand in 
condemnation of the deed. Many Southern sympathizers 
honestly arranged themselves with the Northerners; 
some sullen ones closed their blinds and kept out of view. 
The excitement extended to the children; and picture 
papers were cut out, pasted into peep shows and reeled 
off in soap-boxes, back-lighted by bits of candles. 


The death of Lincoln came with crushing force to every 
household in the North. To these ours was an exception 
only in the added poignancy ^ivrri by our iainiharity 
\\ith tin* assassin's name and luuks ami my fatlicr's rtv- 
olhvtitjn^ c*f a rtvcnt playful co!npanins!up, Bunth's 
}-ihiilrnp-*ajiliH wore hn.nijht out, tli-A-ir^irtl in iniiriir anti 
thru put nway aiul uvoiiletl. In the next year or twci, 
thrfnig.h the willing agency -nf secesh playutates, I cjuirily 
Itiivr these pictures to other parents who pri/.od ami kept 

\\1irn Line* >In f s funeral was held at SpritvJifli! theu- 
was a eerejniny in St. Louis, \\ith a stately tepie .entati\e 
catafalque set in the rotunda tit the i I;t * teal euiiif fit MI* <% 
where thousands with Iowed head and revetent -trp 
passetf t<.* express (penly their -out\\. 1 ua* in that 
line* and though no tiiuht Inithfullv infuued at tin* 
time* for year*. I retained the- fnlir! that LiniiIu"' Idv 
had Keen under those U^wer; autl j],i,, . 'Ilute niiir.t 
have Lent many who thought the same. 



Soon after that time my father was planning and si 

veying what was called the St. Louis and Glencoe R 

road. There was an onyx quarry at one end of it 1 

other end, I think. Grandmother called it a mare's-ne 

which seems to be bad rating for a new railroad, a 

father suffered in the enterprise in other ways. He t 

to go to New York about bonds and money, ^and tc 

me with him to Brooklyn, where his sisters lived. 

that visit I learned that father himself had a mater 

grandmother, who before her marriage had been a N 

La Farge. It required half a day to get from Brook 

by ferry-boat to New York and by Broadway stage 

her house in a thinly settled district near Central P 

in the East Sixties. She spoke with a French accen 

difficult for me to understand. The only topic on wl 

we got earnestly together was the Civil War gra 

mothers seemed to be unanimous on that but she 

a dark and very old lady and in no wise comparabL 

my grandmother. I felt sorry for father, but was car 

never to say anything about her that hurt his feelin 

We went back to St. Louis. An older railroad n 

the family said, named Colonel Tom McKissock, 

euchered father out of the Glencoe Railroad, and in 

historic apportionments McKissock joined Buchanan 

There was in those days a touch of economical man 

ment by my mother that will appeal to two classe 

readers. The first it will impress with mild astonishir 

and the second, millions in number, if the statei 



should reach them, ft will strike familiarly. The flour 
for the baking came in coarse cotton sacks. These sacks 
when empty and with their seams ripped open washed 
up into serviceable domestic cloth. For the five chil- 
dren in our household in 1868 this cloth was available 
as nightgowns. Sometimes the brand of the flour sten- 
ciled into the bag was indelible. One dealer, dyeing for 
immortality, identified his product by a pardonable pun 
which had for my parents a third application, gratifying 
though not prophetic, as they watched me bundle into 
bed with The Flower of the Family blazoned on the 
southern exposure of my gabardine. 

In similar ways and by like episodes my neighborhood 
horizon widened and took on state and national dimen- 
sions. Among father's optimistic friends was a man 
named Cavanaugh, with whiskers and blue eyes and a 
broad broken nose. Mr. Cavanaugh never put water in 
his whiskey, as General Frank P. Blair and father did 
while conversing at the Planter's House bar, but drank 
it with a nervous toss and considerable display of teeth 
under his wet mustache and then thoughtfully went 
"Ha" with a sandpaper exhaust. 

Then and again, years and other years afterward, 
standing at the same bar, I tried to dramatize for my 
own mind's eye the story of General Frank P. Blair, 
smiling and unarmed, saying, oh, so confidentially, to 
another man he had never met before: "Are you Billy 
Ryder? Well, I'm told you say you will kill me on sight. 
My name is Frank P. Blair, Mr. Ryder." 

"Right where we're standing," Cavanaugh explains, 
and Mr. Blair laughs it off and says something amusing 
about a bluff. 

Billy Ryder was a political Monk Eastman. As a 

jLi>Lemiig, rime years 01 age. nven at sixty- 
four I like it. 

My father was a fine man with a great brain, and now 
that he is gone I would say nothing of him that could 
prejudice a reader against him, but he always treated 
me as an equal. I knew his friends man fashion. They 
were many and important, and such informing anecdotes 
as the one just related he always told me in order that 
I might rightly measure men. On all public questions 
there was always also grandmother, sometimes mistaken 
but never in doubt, and from the time I was eligible at 
six years of age until the time I was indigent at twelve, 
I had an almost uninterrupted attendance at regular 
sessions of the St. Louis grammar-schools, including at 
that ^ period their compulsory study of German. When 
I finished I had a card publicly given me for my recita- 
tion of Marco Bozzaris. The scene is indelible. I had 
walked to the teacher's platform, as was then uniformly 
required, on tiptoe; we thought in order that our shoes 
should not squeak too much, but, as a matter of fact, 
to train us against falling arches. I see my teacher now, 
the bunch of lilacs on her desk and just behind her the 
Tropic of Capricorn. It had been there all winter, but 
never so plain as on that fragrant morning in the spring 
oi 1868, with the girls in white and ribbons, and through 
the open windows trees and grass and cowbells, and be- 
yond the sky-Ime of a great round world turning upon 
its own axis once in every twenty-four hours, except in 
February, which has twenty-nine. The safety of our 
republic rests upon our public schools. 

, and now 
;hat could 
fs treated 
3n. They 
)rder that 
eligible at 
at twelve, 
it regular 
Juding at 
n. When 
ny recita- 
[e. I had 
our shoes 
jr of fact, 
,cher now, 
id her the 
inter, but 
the spring 
d through 
>, and be- 
ling upon 
except in 
^y ojf our 

our plunder there were a few book-shelves well furr 
and some other volumes with bindings too dilapi 
to be shown. These cripples drifted to the garret, ^ 
I used to run across them on holidays. Three of 
old books I studied with keen interest. One was E 
"Rhetoric"; a second was Jefferson's "Manual on P 
mentary Law/ 5 which had evidently been useful to f 
at different times; a third was a small copy of Hai 
"Military Tactics." 

About this time the remittances of new money 
Washington City began to get irregular and no^ 
then to lack a few sheets of the stipulated limit, t 
be accompanied by peace-offerings of useless merchai 
stuff that the sender had probably got at little cost 
a War Department that was reforming. In one 
ment of that kind there came a pasteboard box coi 
ing a gross or more of officers' epaulets in gold and 
on different colored cloths, ready to be sewed 01 
shoulders of soldier coats. Nobody wanted these t 
apparently, not even grandmother, and they fell t< 
Nothing would have been more acceptable except 
haps a consignment of Indian war bonnets. I distri 
them among my comrades, and with the help of the 
dee "Tactics" organized two or three squads, fairlj 
ficient in the manual, with wooden guns, but com 
entirely of officers from brigadier-generals to cap 
When manoeuvring in the streets and encouraged b^ 
erans at the corner grocery we must have looked 1 
miniature and migratory general staff. 

This would be too trivial to record were it not fc 


fact that it was at a time when two national convention 
had made their nominations. With the entire countr 
still wrought up and resentful over the assassination o 
Lincoln, the Republican Party took no chances on th 
character of its candidate, and General Ulysses S. Gran 
was the nominee. His Democratic opponent, Governo 
Horatio Seymour, of New York, had smirched his recon 
a little by addressing an audience of draft rioters in Ne\ 
York in a pacificatory speech as "My friends." 

To offset the doubts which that phrase inspired, th 

Democratic convention gave Seymour as his runnin 

mate that gallant Democrat of undoubted loyalty c 

whom I have already spoken, General Francis P. Blai] 

My father was so fond of Blair that, partisan as he wai 

it hurt him to oppose him in the local districts, but h 

vigorously did so. I was by this time taking a wide 

interest in politics and on higher grounds than those whic 

I held in the Bell and Everett campaign. But still th 

theatrical features of the contest were the ones that ir 

terested me most. 

In the torchlight processions the marching voters, b< 

sides their soldier caps and capes, wore little aprons, b< 

cause their candidate, U. S. Grant, when a boy, ha 

worked in his father's yards as a tanner. More than i 

any other district that I have ever observed, and moi 

than in any other campaign, the juniors took an intere: 

in this one, doubtless because of the contentious atmo 

phere in which they had all been raised. The men ei 

couraged them and there were many marching clubs < 

boys. My organization of shoulder straps was actr 

two or three nights in the week at the tail end of the ta: 

ners 5 procession. 

It is probable that neither Seymour nor Blair, expe] 


enced politicians as they were, had much hope of elec- 
tion. At any rate, upon many occasions in which I saw 
him soon after the decision, I could discover nothing 
crestfallen about our Missouri member in particular, nor 
did he carry any animosity against the comrades who 
had remained loyal to the commander in chief rather 
than support their local favorite. Blair and my father 
were warm friends as ever, and Blair himself was in- 
fluential in having me appointed a page in the Missouri 
legislature the following session, at which time I was 
eleven years old. 

There were five page boys in the Missouri House of 
Representatives at that time. They were appointed by 
the clerk, and there was considerable political compe- 
tition for the places. As the boys were paid ninety dol- 
lars a month, the appointments came under the head of 
patronage. There were plenty *of competent lads in Jef- 
ferson City who would have been glad to get the work 
at twenty dollars a month, but under the spoils system 
the clerk endeavored to distribute the appointments 
through different sections of the State. The salary was 
fixed upon the knowledge that the boys would be under 
considerable expense away from their homes, and per- 
haps the committee on appropriations justified the 
amount also under the theory that the work was educa- 
tional and to a boy the opportunity would be a kind of 

Any man who can remember working as a page boy 
in any legislative body will approve this theory. Every 
session was punctuated by points of order from the mem- 
bers and rulings by the chair, and perhaps because their 
attention to these contests was not so divided a$ that 
of the members, the boys were better average parliamen- 

pencils, a fcuppij ui 41^11 y^c, s>- * - 

man still provides for Richelieu, and a pocket-knite to 
keep these pens in order. The same allotment was made 
to every official employee and to every member. In 
excess of this the members received a supply of black 
sand, for which a box sat on each desk. Most of the 
members preferred blotting-paper to the use of the sand 
boxes, but as blotting-paper was a novelty some of the 
old men shook sand on to their wet letters and then shook 
most of it back again into the perforated lignum-vitse 
boxes. I remember the page boys laughing over an edi- 
torial comment of one of the St. Louis papers concern- 
ing the city's oldest representative then in the house, a 
certain erratic Doctor Smythe. The paragraph said: 

Doctor Smythe writes his letters with a lead-pencil and uses the 
blotting-paper, which he says is much superior to the old sand. 

Our duties as page boys were to carry a bill or a reso- 
lution from the member who introduced it to the desk 
of the clerk who was to read it aloud; to take messages 
from one member to another or to go to the other end 

of the building on some errand to the senate; or to one 
of the departments under the same roof. We were sel- 
dom sent outside of the capitoI. We were not always 
busy and our leisure naturally fell when the members 
themselves were most engrossed; that is to say, when 
something of real interest was proceeding in the house. 

There were generally two sides to every question that 
came up, and it would be difficult to conceive of any 
method more instructive than that with which the boys 

I 1. 


That winter of '68 in the Missouri legislature, oi 
which John D. Orrick was speaker, is notable for three 
events: The Fifteenth Amendment, giving the vote tc 
the negro, was adopted; Miss Phoebe Couzins, a prettj 
girl, then in her twenties, just graduated as a lawyer 
addressed a joint session upon the question of female 
suffrage; and Carl Schurz, at the end of a spirited joim 
debate, was elected to the United States Senate. 

Miss Couzins made a pretty picture as she finishec 
her address to the legislators, and with a graceful wav< 
of a white-gloved hand closed by saying, "Let it b< 
flashed across the continent that Missouri leads the van 
and the nation must follow." 

In Broadway parlance of to-day that would be callec 
hokum, but at that time every listener, to use anothe: 
phrase, ate it up. Opinion on the policy was divided 
but nobody doubted Missouri's ability to lead the van* 
Phoebe Couzins, the first woman to hold a Federa 
executive appointment, served during President Arthur*; 
administration as deputy for her father, who was Unitec 
States marshal for the Missouri district, and upoi 
Major Couzins' death the President appointed her t< 
the office. She was an earnest suffrage advocate fo 
years, and an ardent prohibitionist, but before her deatl 
in 1913 her accumulated experience, and it may be he 
wisdom, led her to oppose both measures. 

Carl Schurz electrified his hearers. He then had beei 
only sixteen years in America, during which time he ha< 
rallied his German-American fellow citizens to the sup 
port of abolition, ha served with distinction throug] 
the Civil War, had acquired a perfect mastery of th 
English language, and as he said to his fiery little op 
ponent in the debate, Senator C. D. Drake, who chal 


me mcinners 01 me senate crowueu iiuo me larger nouse 
and the lobby holding on its full benches more than one 
distinguished man who thought the lightning might 
strike him. I remember first seeing at that time the 
romantic-looking David P. Dyer, the scholarly John I ; . 
Benjamin, and ex-Senator John B. Henderson, who lie- 
cause of his vote in the United States Senate against the 
impeachment of Andrew Johnson was no longer accept- 
able to liis Missouri constituency as United States sena- 
tor, Mr. Henderson was the author of the Thirteenth 
Amendment, which in regular form made Lincoln's pro- 
claimed emancipation part of the Constitution. At one 
stage of the proceedings in these joint debates, in re- 
sponse to many calls for an expression, Henderson, in- 
stead of taking the speaker's rostrum as Drake and 
Schur/. had done, arose* modestly from a chair well back 
in the chamber, and beginning to speak in playful fashion 
moved with much charm and persuasiveness to such 
dangerous ground that the partisans of the more promi- 
nent candidates broke in upon his address. 

The page boys* hours were about nine to four. We 
liked to sit up late occasionally but not repeatedly, and 
in front of the Wagner House, where I roomed with an- 
other boy, the local statesmen, when the weather per- 
mitted, had a convention fashion of holding group con- 
sultations on the* sidewalk. My first active service* as 
a member of the Vigilantes grew out of that. Our or- 
ganisation was not extensive, containing, in fact, only 
this other boy of about my own age, Robert H. Cornell, 
now a prominent citizen of St. Louis, and myself. 

mash we compressed moderately into missiles of the size 
of a football. Our rooms were on the top floor of this 
five-story hotel. At what seemed the proper hour for a 
curfew Bob would lean from one window and I from an- 
other and at a concerted signal intrust these heavy and 
mushy bundles to that power described in the Newtonian 
law. Under favorable conditions one of them would 
cover an entire committee meeting. We had to judge 
the effect of our attack only by what we heard, as by 
the time these things had travelled their distance we 
were back in bed. It was a disgraceful and lawless pro- 
cedure and we both deserved the house of correction at 
least, but now that I tell of it under the protection of 
the statute of limitations, and think of the frequent pro- 
tests against the destruction of our national forests, I 
am not sure that any other equal amount of paper pulp 
has finally performed more useful service. 

Another source of annoyance on these open-window 
nights was a card-room behind a saloon extending at 
right angles to the rear wall of the Wagner Hotel. We 
couldn't reach or appeal to these offenders with the lit- 
erary matter that was so useful in front of the house, but 
the Wagner Hotel dining-room was separated from its 
supply department only by a wooden partition eight 
feet high. As Cornell was the lighter of us boys, I used 
to boost him over this partition when the help had re- 
tired, and from the inside, standing on one of the shelves, 
he would procure and pass back a hatful of raw eggs. 
At the rear of the hotel on every story, there was a 
Southern gallery or porch. 


The one on our floor commanded the tables nearest 
the door of the card-room just mentioned. 

Oliver Herford once answered a lady who asked him 
if he had any one unsatisfied ambition in life by saying 
that he had always wanted to throw a raw egg into an 
electric fan. I have never seen that done, but I am sure 
that whatever would be lost in mechanical regularity 
from that reaction is fully compensated by the human 
interest that can be elicited by two raw eggs suddenly 
exploded in a pinochle foursome. Let me say to any 
immature readers that this was very reprehensible con- 
duct, and that on my part there has been complete ref- 

I cannot speak so hopefully of Cornell, because when 
I last saw him in 1917 he was trying to sell real estate. 

The year before this one at Jefferson City parts of 
Kansas and a part of Missouri had been seriously over- 
run by a plague of grasshoppers. The United States 
Government had sent a distinguished entomologist by 
the name of Riley to study the conditions. I don't know 
what Mr. Riley was recommending to the legislature, 
but at the Wagner House dinner-table, where for a few 
days he had a seat next to mine, he advocated eating the 
grasshoppers. He used to bring to the table a paper- 
bag, holding about a quart of them, roasted and but- 
tered. These he put on a platter and was just as un- 
selfish with them as a dog is with fleas. Very few of his 
neighbors joined him in their consumption. I ate two 
or three and found that they tasted not unlike peanuts. 

As I try now to recall the impelling motive of this 
courageous deed on my part I think it was a combination 
of curiosity, a wish to please Mr. Riley, a desire to re- 
port the occurrence at home, where it did make a sensa- 


tion, and also my recollection of the Sunday-school ve] 
which I used to recite about John the Baptist's lit 
for them. Perhaps it was the absence of wild honej 
our table that accounts for my lack of sustained ent 

The old capitol building of which I write was destro 
by fire in February, 1911. It was of the dome-and-wi 
type, like the National Capitol, and stood a few \ 
dred feet nearer to the river than its handsome succes 
and on a bluff. The muddy Missouri rolled almost 
neath, and wild woods and bushes were on the oppc 
bank, where we looked for Indians and sometimes 
them, but disappointingly reconciled and orderly, 
our bank one day my father, who paid us a visit 
session and from whom until his death I was always 
ting some new glimpse of a varied experience, poi: 
out to me, on the Missouri Pacific track below, the 
where in 1861 an engine and baggage-car had stoj 
after a record run from St. Louis to unload some 
self-organized patriots who came with revolvers 
clambered up the bank Indian fashion just as Gove 
Claiborne Jackson and a majority of the legislators, 
were trying to pass an ordinance of secession over 
buster of a loyal minority, took to their heels and 
souri stayed in the Union. Father was one of that 

My father introduced me to the Honorable Er 
Wells, then a congressman from a St. Louis district. 
Wells had some boys himself. One of them, RoIIa \ 
when he grew up, became mayor of St. Louis. 

If a man likes your dog heartily he probably owns 
A father of two boys is an easy acquaintance for 
other's boy, I don't think I was especially forward 


after two or three talks with Erastus Wells he had prom- 
ised me to do what he could to get me a pageship at 
Washington. He sicked me onto D. P. Dyer and John F. 
Benjamin, who were also visiting Jefferson City, and told 
them I was Tom's boy. As a result all of the nine con- 
gressmen from Missouri signed my application for the 



A powerful publisher in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 
when he knew I planned to write these recollections, 
sent a word of caution to me by a friend. He didn't 
come himself. A rash or inexperienced or undiplomatic 
publisher, seeing a sign, "Angels Wanted," might have 
rushed in; but knowing that Napoleon even in his high- 
est power sent M. de Narbonne to represent him at 
Vienna, this prudent printer, moving by indirection, said 
to his ambassador, "Tell Thomas to raise a mustache in 
his story as soon as possible." By which he meant, get 
through with his boyish memories briefly. 

The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, one morning in 
1858, said to his fellow boarders: "My hand trembles 
when I offer you this. Many times I have come bearing 
flowers such as my garden grew; but now I offer you 
this poor, brown, homely growth; you may cast it away 
as worthless. And yet and yet it is something better 
than flowers; it is a seed-capsule. Many a gardener will 
cut you a bouquet of his choicest blossoms for small fee, 
but he does not love to let the seeds of his rarest varieties 
go out of his hands. You don't remember the rosy 
pudency of sensitive children. The first instinctive 
movement of the little creatures is to make a cache, and 
bury in it beliefs, doubts, dreams, hopes, and terrors. I 
am uncovering one of these cades" 

Some day when my Philadelphia friend outgrows his 
timidity he and I will meet, and not chiding him openly 


for this threatened surrender to the material rush of his 
generation and his calling, I shall say: "Is your great 
paper, founded by a great, unhurried American phi- 
losopher, read principally in subways and on commuta- 
tion trains or in simple households after nightfall, with 
mother and the children near the lamps? And what 
are the passwords to those family groups?" I shall show 
him those breakfast-table lines of Doctor Holmes and 
remind him also of some religionist who somewhere said 
to somebody in what must have been a mood and mo- 
ment of great intimacy, "Give us the children before 
they are seven and you may preach what you will to the 
adults." Give us the sensitive and malleable retentive 
soul tissue when it is tender and impressionable and later 
try what intellectual veneer and overlay you like. 

I shall remind him of weary little Dick Whittington 
day-dreaming on the wayside boulder and listening to 
the distant London bells; remind him of the German 
manikin Diogenes Teufelsdrockh in the sunset with his 
porringer on the coping of the orchard wall at Entepfuhl. 
I shall say: "Recall to your mind Sir John Millais' can- 
vas, famous by the personal question of those enter- 
prising soap-makers, showing the English boy on the 
cottage doorstep in rapt wonderment at his iridescent 
bubbles." I shall say: "Think of the face of Richter's 
Neapolitan Boy of the unutterable poetry in the eyes 
of the winged youth between the supporting knees of 
Dore's grim-sculptured Fate; think of Eli's little kneel- 
ing Hebrew protege listening to answer, "Speak, Lord, 
for thy servant heareth/ " And I shall say: "Except 
for your inhibiting honk about a mustache I would have 
opened my heart to that subscribing brood around the 
family lamp. I would have given the high sign of 

32 THE pniM 

brot!u'i!>^- !;i '" 
who knw *'*' *; ' * 
and \\!^ t- ft :j " " ; - 
of Kiplin/ 1 -- A',A*:,i. 

AV,!V: . 

I \vnt!l !--i"'C- ! ! ; * 

thrU;-!l tv- ::;. ' . 

mr vj;m t-i " : < - : ' 
the s.ilu .-J- v < ; ' 
dusk in a t :r. -: s. 
thiiu: likr t ; ..4 s i . 
wouldn't lu-iir", r f : A* 
sippi Kivrr MI ;i i- < 
gahlr atlit t .>;!*! ! .'. 

<>f lu'l" lnl f ; U:r!.i*-- '--- 

coming in was thr /ir 


oUluTli II\i !' I * 

only then !>tv. i " 
thr A f cifrlir,% ll.- H \ 
scores tif iih< , .,,, 
shore, and liui, r * * ! 
such stunts ;i* \I. ' .. 
the hearts ni f j .nu!.. 
types of till 1 a-- 1 *' 
business mm \. t 
tax, I \\anini \n i* 


that is good enough for a play about Colonel Jim Bowie, j 

who got a big steel file from the engineer on the boiler j 

deck and ground it into a knife with which he killed the $ 

other man in a duel on an island where the boat stopped | 

to let them fight it out; a bigger knife than Buffalo Bill I 

had in his duel when he killed that Indian chief, while $ 

both their fighting crowds looked on A good friend j 

of mine when I got to be a man. I hope I don't forget : | 

to speak of Buffalo Bill later. i 

In the early winter of 1870 I left St. Louis for Wash- i 

ington City, after getting a letter about it from Mr. { 

Wells. I had a funny little sole-leather trunk of anti- \ 

quated pattern, of which I was told to take good care, j 

as it had held father's luggage when he went from Chi- ;, 

cago by the Fox, Illinois and Rock rivers with a group f 

of pioneers who founded Winona, Minnesota. At the 
O. & M. depot in East St. Louis father gave me into the 
care of General Blair and his friend, Mr. Cavanaugh, i 

who were going on the same train. I am not sure f ' 

of Mr. Cavanaugh's business or his exact relation to 
General Blair, but I have recently seen something like 
the relationship in that of Mr. Steve Reardon to Georgia 
Cohan: unswerving admiration and solicitude, coupled 
with a capacity to give comfort in times of threatened 
depression. Along with General Blair and Mr. Cavanaugh 
were two others whose names I forget, but who owned 
the poker chips and parted with them only temporarily. 
I can't remember General Blair as playing. He was early 
pointed out on the train by some who knew him,, and 
many passengers introduced themselves, so that his trip 
was a reception for most of the way* 

On our O. & M. and B. & O. trains there were no din- 
ing-cars, no automatic brakes, no system of heating ex- 



cept the stoves, one to each car. We stopped twenty 
minutes for breakfast, dinner, or supper, and with no 
uncertainty about dinner being the midday meal, and 
into the high-toned heater the porter fed anthracite coal, 
the first I had ever seen. 

The engineer whistled one short sharp call for brakes, 

with staccato repetitions in moments of emergency, and 

then blew two reassuring toots for their release.^ Five 

blasts then, as now, sent back the brakeman with his 

red flag and track torpedoes when we made unscheduled 

stops, and four whistles called him in. There was no 

auditor on the train and the conductor unprotestmgly 

took money where the tickets had not been provided. 

The trim of our sleeper was of black walnut; the 
upper berths when closed had flat surfaces, angular cor- 
ners instead of the slightly convex mahogany boards 
that now furnish them; and when open they were not 
held down with the wire cables that now anchor upper 
berths. That security was introduced in the late seven- 
ties, after an upper berth in an overturned private car 
had shut up and smothered its occupant, Mr. Taussig, 
the treasurer of the old Kansas City and Northern Rail- 
road. In this old-style Pullman the rails for the curtains, 
stout horizontal bars, ran the full length of the car on 
each side, supported by uprights at each section. The 
water in the wash-rooms did not flow under pressure as 
now, but at each basin passengers worked a brass-and- 
ebony puinp handle. Watches were to be set forward 
nearly an hour to adjust the difference between St. Louis 
and Washington City time. In our party there was un- 
certainty about this interval, and I recall the astonish- 
ment of the men when I calculated it for them mentally, 
as the dullest boy or girl in our Webster School class of 


_ \ , 

fifty would have done, and in order to do so knew, of 
course, the meridians of the two cities in the problem. 
I couldn't do it now without complete quiet, a large atlas, 
and paper and pencil. Can any settled citizen do it, or 
has any the needed items of information except perhaps 
Mr. Edison? 

At Washington our B. & O. train on that earlier B. & 
O. Railroad was some hours late, and arrived in the col- 
lection of sheds that then did duty as a station a little 
north of the Capitol somewhere near midnight. My 
father had arranged for me to board with an army friend 
and printer companion of his, Major Stone, popularly 
known in St. Louis as Fighting Harry Stone because of 
his gallant conduct at the battle of Wilson's Creek, when 
General Nathaniel Lyon was killed. Harry Stone's wife, 
who was a friend of my mother's, had been Alice Buck, 
a celebrated soprano associate upon concert programmes 
with Eliza Emmett, the talented sister of the famous 
J. K. Emmett already mentioned. Mr. and Mrs. Stone 
had three children. One of the daughters, Patti Stone, 
became well known in light opera on Broadway in the 
early nineties; a son, Blair, became a star acrobat. 

In this winter of 1870 patriotism, rewarded by a job 
in the public printer's, took Mr. Stone to Washington, 
where he found for his family a house on F Street near 
Fifteenth, in what is now the Shoreham Hotel district. 
Before leaving St. Louis I had taken the precaution to 
find a map of Washington City in the public-school 
library and get a fair idea of the relative location of this 
address. A December rain was falling as General Blair 
and his group of politicians came from the station with 
me. I saw the looks of amusement on the faces of his 
friends as they considered the General and his embarrass- 


ing protege, and was quick to tell him I thought I could 
find my way if he would start me right as to the points 
of the compass. There was a little council between the 
men, and after further insistence on my part I was put 
alone into a bobtail car drawn by a mule and carrying 
a Slawson box for the passengers' fares, all reassuringly 
like our St. Louis horse-cars. 

Upon my arrival at the house I was a long time waking 
the family, and was finally admitted by Fighting Harry 
himself. He sleepily showed me to the room that was 
to be mine and said good-night. I don't think at any 
time in my life since has there been an equal feeling of 
loneliness to what I then had as I put down my bag and 
took off my wet clothes in an unheated room. The house 
had only open grates, and there was no fire for this be- 
lated guest. As I stood on the sagging mattress to reach 
the gas-jet when I turned it out for the night I found 
that I was still a little seasick from the oscillating beau- 
ties of the Susquehanna Valley. 

The next morning, one of those crisp sunshiny winter 
days that Washington can show in early December 
cheered me completely. Mrs. Stone I had known as a 
neighbor all my life. She gave me a hot breakfast passed 
from stove to table just as my own mother would have 
done it, and I set out for the Capitol in the best of spirits. 
I knew which was the House end if I could strike the 
familiar view shown on the two-dollar bill on which my 
father had indicated it. I soon found this, and the door- 
keeper, Mr. Buxton, was expecting my report for duty. 
In that handsome Hall of Representatives, at ten 
o'clock on that morning, there were besides myself 
twenty other page boys. The layout of the place and 
its relation to the larger building conformed with the 


understudied impressions I had from the State capitol 
at Jefferson City, but on a scale of true magnificence for 
which I was unprepared. I think the Capitol at Wash- 
ington is the only building I ever saw while a boy which I , , 
after a lapse of years did not seem smaller on a second <* 
view. At that time it fully symbolized what I felt was / . 
the grandeur of the nation and the power of the Govern- i 
ment with which I was officially connected. '& 

When the House assembled at noon in its semicircle i 

of dignified desks and chairs, with aisles converging at 
the tables of administration, I felt more at home than '* 

I had thought I should. \ 

The statesmen of that day were the successful soldiers 
of the earlier part of the same decade. In that historic / 

Congress of reconstruction there were more than a dozen *' 

faces with which I was already familiar by their por- 
traits in the heavy album that stood on the little oval 
marble-topped table in its place of honor in grand- J 

mother's parlor. Among those whom I soon identified 
were Generals Banks, Logan, Butler, Schenck, Garfield, 
and Slocum. I do not name them alphabetically, but as i 

I see them now in a mental picture of the chamber, read- 
ing from left to right as the modern group photograph 
instructs. j 

That night as I sat at supper with Fighting Harry r 

Stone, the grand army comrade of these heroes I had 
left in the Capitol, and felt myself the son of another J ' 

soldier and prompt fighting man off there in Missouri I ! 

so undeniably of their company, too, I refrained from -j-l 

all mention of the close association, but in my heart I j * 

longed for a confidential and glowing hour with grand- ^ 

mother and her noble gallery. *; 

All of these fellow page boys of mine were away from C * 


their homes proper and many of them without super- 
vision. It was a rule of the then superintendent that 
each boy should take two baths a week in one of the sev- 
eral large bathrooms provided for the House. An adult 
interpretation of Article VIII of the Constitutional 
Amendments made things easier for the statesmen them- 
selves. These bathrooms, of which there were four or 
five, were built of marble, with a tub cut from a solid 
block, the cavity of which must have been quite eight 
feet long and proportionately wide. A boy of twelve or 
thirteen could take a good swimming stroke in one of 
them. In the winter these baths had a touch of regimen 
about them. The tickets, two a week, were issued on 
certain days at the doorkeeper's desk and had to be re- 
turned by the attendant in the bathroom as used, but 
it wasn't always possible to make the lad to whom the 
ticket was given take the bath it called for. And so as 
the weather grew warmer and it can grow warmer in 
Washington and as the asphalt began to run and it 
does the boys with hotel tubs sold a government ticket 
now and then to a comrade not so well fixed. 

This is the time for me to state a fact heretofore with- 
held because its earlier telling would not have been an 
economy of attention. Grandmother's second husband, 
the Honorable Augustus Wallace Scharit, was the half- 
brother of my father, born of an earlier marriage of 
father's mother. A. W., as he was usually called by our 
family, was about fourteen years father's senior, and 
being at once his stepbrother and by marriage his step- 
father-in-law, bore to my father a complicated relation- 
ship that made father's qualified support of A. W.'s wife 
in the differences between that pair difficult for A. W. 
to tolerate. These two half-brothers were not hostile, 


but they had little correspondence. I had been in Wash- 
ington only a fortnight when a letter from father with- 
drew all implied restraint and gave me A. W/s address. 
My short note to him I was his namesake was an- 
swered by a call at the Capitol, and A. W., of whose dis- 
tinguished bearing any boy could be proud, took me to 
his home and arranged for my stay there during the rest 
of my time in Washington. 

In appearance A. W. strongly reminded me of Carl 
Schurz, minus the whiskers; the same alert, wiry figure; 
the same brow; the same full shock of hair; the same 
tragic directness of glance and an actor-orator's de- 
veloped power in the mask. He lived apparently alone 
in his own house and took his meals at the table of an 
attractive widow whose house adjoined his in the one 
detached garden of some two hundred feet frontage next 
to Waugh Chapel, on North A Street, three blocks east 
of the Capitol. My meals were arranged for at this 
widow's, and as the widow had a son the prospect was 
agreeable. The experience did not disappoint the 
promise. This boy, then at the age of fourteen, was 
being trained for the stage. For some reason of her own 
his mother gave him the invented family name Palmoni. 

A. W. took a deep interest in him, and while I was 
there generally had me share his theatrical lessons. A. 
W. was encouraging to me in his early questionnaires, 
and was especially amused with my giving grandmother's 
version of Charlotte Cushman's reading of the lines, "In- 
fix m of purpose ! Give me the daggers." At unexpected 
and genial moments he would sometimes even ask for 
its repetition. Until then I had not suspected that 
Lady Macbeth was anything of a comedy part. 

In the rear of the acre garden was a stucco stable and 


any of the three roles named could I trace an identifying 
resemblance between Mr. Davenport and the handsome 
steel engraving of him in the part of Benedick that was 
in the 1855 edition of Ballon 9 s Pictorial. 

In that meeting Mr. Davenport said nothing that I 
remember about his son Edgar or his daughter Fannie. 
I had no way of foretelling that I should one day know 
and admire them both and be friendly with them, or 
that his younger son, Harry Davenport, probably not 
born at that time, would be a member in my company. 

Among other theatrical friends who came there was 
the actor James Murdock, whose recitation of "Sheri- 
dan's Ride" made the popularity of those verses by 
Thomas Buchanan Read. 

Another visitor at A. W/s table, Margaret Meade, a 
distinguished spinster, aged perhaps fifty years, brought 
with her sometimes her two adopted daughters, who, 
however, retained the family names of their dead soldier 
fathers. One of these girls, two or three years my junior, 
was named Marie. I have forgotten the name of the 
other. Marie, not yet too old to slump on Miss Meade's 
lap and lean her blond head against her guardian's lace 
collar, had steady gray eyes, big as an Angora cat's. 
She almost made me forget the thirty-year-old Sunday- 
school teacher who had owned my heart since I was eight. 
Margaret Meade had two religions Catholicism and 
her distinguished brother, General George Meade, of 
Gettysburg fame. 

Margaret told us one day that while the Battle of 
Gettysburg was on, its uncertain tide in ebb and flow, 
she had gone to the White House and sent her card in 
to Abraham Lincoln. When admitted she asked the 
President if he had any word of the issue. He answered no. 


carriage-house some three years old, finished perhaps 
about the time that the paper money remittances began 
to be irregular. It had evidently never been used as a 
stable, but was what the contractors call broom clean. 
A. W. helped the boy and me rig it as a little playhouse. 
There was a box of army things in it which came in use- 
fully and reminded me to tell A. W. of my having got 
the shipment of epaulets. He affected astonishment 
that grandmother had not wanted them at least wanted 
a pair of them. Among this army stuff were two sabers 
that A. W. had cut off to a proportionate length and with 
which he taught this boy and me such broadsword exer- 
cises as would be useful in the theatre. 

For that family playhouse I did my first dramatic 
writing. It must be truthfully told that it was largely 
in collaboration. Having seen two performances of Mr. 
Joseph Jefferson's "Rip Van Winkle" I made from 
memory a juvenile condensation of Mr. Boucicault's 
book. As author I cast myself for Rip and my boy friend 
played Nick Vedder. 

Few dramatists begin with more distinguished even 
though unwitting collaborators than Dion Boucicault 
and \\ashington Irving. With the insistence of A. W., 
I also tackled Sir Walter Scott, and made a workable 
dialogue of the principal conflicts in "The Lady of the 

ayed Roderick Dbu > 

p " rehearsed ^ in the 

between Brutus and Cassius. 

At the widow's table, where he was A W's truest I 

L a 

> Hamlet, and Sir 
him dosel y> * neither as himself nor in 



She said: "Neither have I; but I'm George Mead 
sister, and I thought you might like to know that wh 
ever he undertakes he carries through." 

It was small assurance, but there arc crises in wh; 
even a word from a courageous heart is of help. Una 
thanked her for her call and said it had been of comft: 
My own anxiety about Marie lasted longer than 1 
Battle of Gettysburg, and nobody helped any. 

During all that season about twice a week A. W. tci 
the other boy and me to the theatre, and was a!w 
particular when the curtain fell after an act to indici 
what he thought had been excellent in the perfonnan 
At that time the street-cars from the National Thea 
stopped at the west front of the Capitol To roach hoi 
we had to circle its big hill on foot and walk three m< 
blocks to the house. One jolly winter night, after a p 
formance with a stiff north gale in our faces, A. W. tci 
us boys both up this hill, one on each side, comploti 
covered and protected under a great black broadck 
circular, with velvet collar and throat clasps of sib 
lion's heads linked together, a counterpart of the < 
that grandmother wore in St. Louis. Both were of Hi 
lish make. 

O uie individual nies, so that each member 
of the two hundred and twenty-six then there, as he came 
to the daily session, found under his desk the measures 
that would come up for consideration. On the busy days 
work was generally through in an hour, and on' other 
days there was nothing to do, which gave us always two 
or three hours before the gavel fell at noon. 

The official guides now in the Capitol had not; then 
seen appointed; the page boys took visitors to the points 

- a of 
than the rotunda 
for Geor 


Crypt> Several aoors '""'IT 
y the "^ a s a tuml, 

at that time oly 
paU that five years befo 

a " d s " ml "' 

eyerj- visitor had one 


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Vf In <t4lrr ill. tf t!*r Iiiilitlitl 

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and *<; .jii]' , 
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session that \isjtur, 0| r , lit 
us ^t it. I'msi ' 

tat ion I ever li<-; ir ,J a ,., v ( , , , , ( ' 
m-causY it is so n-! : ,,.,i ,,'. . 

JU'tcr and in tinu- I h,^,. { ' r . t . '-.",. ' 

ii'oin its dciWivti date uf I. ' 

was very rt-sju-ctiuilv !},'! .',! ,*-" ' 
o< men at a small clinnrr-,. ,',"., ' '" 

i . 

4 , ^ 5 * ;, r V * 1 ' , ,. 1 1 1 

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lacuon, a!ld ,!: ,'. . . 
Mr. Uiyrv/ . ' 

script!' n ! t I 

givc-n mr aj .- , 

teds I Mr ,1 ti"' ! I . 

Iti^uhltM.^ \ , Jf^ M 

j)r\\ \ su f < -,! 
iMnri'SMii 1 ', l! r ^ 
nl tht* v, hitr I . * ' , 
If;;riu! of l.M.i- 1 4 j 
Mr. DtpcV*. * i i, 

(Inscriptions *,f manm 

itsrlf in the iiiim! *it , 
juditvd l)ny. iii:i\ n,,i 
Miff by anothrr r\.i 
of Daniel \\VI.sirr in i 

does not roiiu*? 

t4 Hr pauses, put . 
think thru thi-iv \^i% 
not; then Iu- j m t s | IK 
l's brrast uiulrr hi-, v 
to tlie bottom ofliis !< 

IS hound to COinr; } ir 

>H*S with a Inip. an 
on thoScnatr." 

Mr. \VVhsttT coult! 
Ocnoral Benjamin I 
similar conditions, ( 
the proper word, whi 

I : 

V 1, 

h u 


, i - 



stay after school. The members departed until only 
three or four were in the chamber finishing some belated 
correspondence. Among these was General Butler at 
his desk. The doorkeeper told me to follow him. 

When he reached the desk he said, "General, this is 
the boy who has been making those caricatures/" 

The general laid down his pen, looked up either at me 
or the doorkeeper he was very cross-eyed and after 
an intimidating pause, rose to his feet. 1 watched both 
men. I won't pretend to interpret what passed between 

The silence was broken by General Butler saying, 
"Go to the cloakroom and bring me my hat and cloak/' 

His cloak was a military cape, not so large as some I 
knew; the hat was of the kind subsequently called the 
Hancock because General Hancock wore it long after it 
had been abandoned by others: a high, soft crown, with 
a stiff, sharp, uncurved brim of felt. The gentleman 
from Massachusetts took his hat, regarded me calmly 
for a moment, blew his soft cheeks with a sudden puiF, 
as John Drew does when making a comedy point, and 
then dropped the hat over my head with the brim rest- 
ing on my shoulders. I can still revive the reeking berga- 
mot with which it was redolent. My mother had used 
bergamot on my curls, and grandmother's antimacassars 
smelled of it. After a time of penance beneath this 

snuffer, where I feared to move, I heard the general's 

mushy voice: 
"When you can fill that hat, young man, you make 

caricatures of General Butler." 
I was sent home for the day with a caution from the 

doorkeeper instead of the dismissal I had earned. I have 

always remembered this act of generosity to a fresh kid 


to interrupt in the cause of decorum, Imt tin* : rnr ' il 
disposition was to let Mr. Butler unsuer. (*t\ t""k hi . 
seat amid a buzz of expectancy. (leiuTal Bnflt t !> ^rJ 
over at him with that ambiguous i\:nc I Ita\r irii IN -I 
to, paused for a moment while the silomv fell, aiul I hi t % > 
half turning away as though the \\Iiofr <]! ndi v, in- 
closed, and with a wave of his left hand in d*',ni r .d ^1 
the little member from New York, he v.tid: "1 v. .*:.* 
reply to the gentleman as any ne\\sU>v on thr 'tn<! 
would answer him, 'Shoo, fly, don't bothn utr, f \1- 
Cox was on his feet in an instant, \\ llli a \ $ l!i MI! 1 1 * " f 
bitter and extended, but unheard by an\ < \i nf f 1 ^ - 
nearest him as the House and the gullrn i <il w t 1 : 
laughter, and as the nation did the follow in;; tfa> , 

On strictly party measures the Dcntoeiut . \sri* r- 
capable of any action other than to pn*h 1 1 tl^ii n-* .o i 
The country paid more attention to the d;iff\ JI.M ir ! 
ings of Congress then than it seems to mm, ami mi all 
important questions the votes were pubfrfud, Dm ^ 
crats, unable to make a dent in the su-am-iolln pi,,. ir%% 
of legislation and unwilling to listen to inurlt uf tlr de- 
bate upon a measure, frequently passed tin tiuu- at ih.i^ 

General Robert C Schenck, of Ohio, uhn onlih,-,! ih,- 
rules of this noble national game, was a ,.,!-, ,,| 

, ,.,-, ,, ttt 

Congress, and his very presence was a t ,mMant .,.,!,- 
of the recrea 

, resence was a t ,mMant .,., 

of the recreation Just across from tlu . (: ilnl , 

w <> f Poker outsic!,- oi ( ih.n 

were conducted there 


whatever was in hand and in the language of the spright- 
lier symbolists do a Paul Revere to the Casparis House, 
and the adjacent committee rooms in the Capitol itself; 
to dash without ceremony into the rooms where the men 
were handling the chips and pasteboards and cry, 
"Calling the roll on the admission of Virginia/' or what- 
ever the measure happened to be. The players would 
then make the best time possible to their places in the 
House, where it was each member's privilege before the 
vote was announced to get the recognition of the chair 
and have his name, which in the case of his absence had 
been called twice by the clerk, again repeated and his 
answer registered. The roll call began with Adams, Al- 
lison, Ambler, and so on, and proceeded alphabetically. 
We could generally get our reserves into the House as 
the clerk was doing the Whitmans and Wilkinsons. The 
telegraph thereupon carried to his district this evidence 
of a member's vigilance which cost but slight interrup- 
tion to the game. 

On one of these Marathon round-ups I made my last 
call at the room of the Committee on Indian Affairs. 
This committee was not in session; but two or three 
members, including Mr. Cox, were sharing with some of 
the visiting Indians whose claims were before the com- 
mittee a bottle of fire-water. Mr. Cox, who was just 
my own height, but protected from page-boy calls by 
as many whiskers as Secretary Hughes, did not need 
support; but he threw his arm around my neck, partly 
as a result of the entertainment they had been sharing 
and ostensibly to show to the petitioning chiefs that 
even a little boy was safe with him. The other arm he 
threw around the waist of Red Cloud himself, who on 
that formal visit was in buckskins, blanket and feathers, 

soun, down the miuucoioica c 
of Jefferson and past EmanucI Lcutze's mural painting, 
" Westward, Ho I " We would have so appeared upon the 
floor if a doorkeeper in Grand Army uniform had not 
helped Red Cloud and me to get away. 

Night sessions were pretty hard on the boys. \vc had 
come from school and home life, where though tiu! 
mothers would shepherd us at bedtime, and the night 
session, with its droning monotony of soporific drivel 
intended only for print, would sometimes lag on until 
two in the morning. There was little for the page boys 
to do at such a time but sleep on the marble stops ui the 
Speaker's stand, so we took turns at night duty in squads 
of seven. These sessions were always thinly attended* 
Sometimes the attendance was so slack that it was im- 
possible for a self-respecting orator to maintain the pre- 
tense that he was in any way persuading his colleagues. 
It was then within his right, if joined by a definite num- 
ber of others, to demand a call of the House. This call 
was made by a sergeant-at-arms and his deputies, which 
force was for the time increased by the use of the pages 
present and on duty. Each was given a list of absent 
members with their addresses, and while the night ses- 
sion took a short recess these process servers moved 
throughout the city, hunting the delinquents. 

On one of these calls my list contained the name of 
General Butler. He had a residence then somewhere in 
the neighborhood of the old Arlington. It was a snowy 
night. Although his house was brilliantly illuminated, 
I could make no impression with the front doorbell. 

A1H 1 \!f KI'S OF A PA(,K BOY 

MIWN; 'r 
thr buiM 


,it l! 


v,n, ai-i tra:*ts \\rrr 

tin i.M LimS-antl- A iu 

', I ttrpt |a tilt* f!r uf" 

thr uuu*i, a piti a<liu ( 

Irtitn , a * , :MI. tiair. 1 la I)tii,;!.t** I .tit I,tnL' 

valin^, pu I m . * .i- 1 j.-.i at ti ,t! tinr irn zun, hn! tlu-tr 

V, rir | r! *ja! r .jn" - * t . i>\ } ,/ T K ? it", and r! c-\\ hrir that 
hi-lj'rii t. H , t ! ?M thr t'jt **i f*i ', 4 <IJ", . Ill lu* M! ihr 
liiilhaalK h f 5 : ! i 11 4* ml ( H MM.I' Il ( j!ri al thr hrml 
uf a tai>!r - H n; t r',r*i 5\ -,* n 1 ^ffi m ii t\*rnt\ ifinn 
hrl % nf C *; j r . ,, ji I P* nl ; ' ^ ! j } A j , .M j ii ril tu .< t* 
ill -a** h a 4.!.r i *a' 'ji^t aMi i ! h 1! l^f.Iilr a!tilu!r 
III thr 1 I ' . * , i 1 r 1 1 .*! h ,* I < !i .apj M an 1. (,'*{( rr t tijr* 
anf ii ;; ,!\ ! r.^^.'.M AM* t 1 thr 4. f *!!i anil a inir <li*. 
pla'* t ;l* *. >,i', ^si'^r:!, v/h !:* ! ;!! ha*, r an/Aijrd 
ihr *!u*.j nil */,i j i ",Jat*'!ii, 4 a,ainJ tiir v.all; all \\rir 
r\ iifriit) 1 ' *'L f ^ * ta< a-i|. 

It v. a-, a \t*A i,iau!f* !>c!iir l!i\ tnli! tapping uii ihr 
\^intl*'i', , *} a" -.<! i!j a : *'M f!n % \M *!*!'* ;tni! Iau t hfi^l, 
amf t*r f i \il\f l' r\ Haun 1 t.tmr in lliiuii^ji ihr tiprii 
\\iulrA \.Illi l *, tUU.rK n;r nu'*".if,r. Ol!r O! t\\u uf 
fhr i:,rin! ri '< , ? up a . if t* *!*r\ llir 4 ia!!, hill t*n thr lid- 
ihr f (ianal H<tlii flit"' tiMttftn! ffirii **rat . ant! I 
v a^ M-iil !ii I ! ^ irp**il p!t, ir'/. At that tiiiir ihr ni!r 
**| fht* !I .;->r i, M i l ,nl a fnir ul trii cfttflai Ini .1 fniluir 
IM it >p i:f |u a ^ j!L f Lr r< \t d;i\ t 'inmu;' othri i^rnf h* 
itirn. <iin ti it i ;- *! fhr laif Ii i tliiiiiri -t;ilIr |a%M*cl in iinnl 
uf thr Npriktti !iir!li lt iiiuiii ihmi dtllririit c \t usr%, 

\\hni if t t."tr 1*1 tin* luiu *{ driirta! Built r hiinsflf 
ir MUilril up a! thr jiirsiili'V. eitttcri 1 , ftUtl \\avillf rt new 

trf^'iiuflii , 'uiuh "Mr. Speaker, thru is my 

r\i li *r/ r 


The method has been progressive. To-day, from 
Washington to Reno, few excuses go better. 

That Congress was overwhelmingly Republican. In 
those days of the spoils system I think that very few 
Democrats were upon the appointive list. Certainly 
among the pages not any besides myself was there at the 
request of a Democratic delegation. This fact humor- 
ously and mildly singled me out for as much attention 
from the Republican members as from any of the mi- 
nority. One Republican, who was at times inclined to 
wait until I could run his special errand for him, was 
Mr. Ebon C. IngersoII, of Illinois, familiarly known to 
his friends by his middle name, Clark, which is what his 
brother, Colonel Robert G. IngersoII, called him. 

Speaker Blaine was rather partial to Mr. IngersoII as 
a chairman when the House resolved itself into a com- 
mittee of the whole. As this temporary presiding officer 
it was his job to listen to the long talks often made only 
for purposes of publicity and requiring little activity on 
the part of the chairman. As the season advanced and 
the weather grew warmer Mr. IngersoII more than once 
intrusted to me the delicate mission of going to the 
restaurant in the basement, kept at that time by a mu- 
latto named Downing, and bringing back to him one of 
the tall mint juleps of which he was fond. One door to 
the Hall of Representatives is immediately to the right 
of the Speaker's desk. By reaching this through what 
was called the Speaker's lobby a boy could pass from the 
door up four or five marble steps to the Speaker, com- 
pletely hidden from two-thirds of the House, and, if he 
moved quietly, almost unnoticed by the rest. 

Following the chairman's careful instructions I used 
to wrap the glass of julep, its crown of green and its pro- 

that session Virginia, Georgia, Mississippi ana 
were asking to come back. In certain sections of the 
South recognized government was under negro domina- 
tion, and testimony before committees was burdened 
with almost unbelievable stories of violence. 

A most bitter speaker against the South was Mr. John 
A. Bingham, of Ohio. He was a nervous man, with a 
pale face that resembled the current pictures of Lord 
Alfred Tennyson. His seat was in the front row of desks 
immediately facing the Speaker and near the steps on 
which the page boys rested. We were always in for an 
almost dime-novel description of horrors whenever Mr. 
Bingham began upon the subject of the unregenerate 
South or the outrageous Ku-KIux Klan. 

One of the most collected and methodical speakers in 
that Congress was Fernando Wood, of New York; sel- 
dom eloquent, never stirring that I can recall, but with 
an enamelled precision and accuracy, and with that al- 
most invariable note of regretful finality that accom- 
panies the public utterances of our own Elihu Root. 

GarfiekTs style was orotund, authoritative, Mid- West- 
era and homely. He talked easily, often with one hand 
in his pocket, and generally with a kind of good humor 
in his manner that would have been completely winning 
except for the suspected presence of a condescension not 
easily separable from any genial reception of grave topics. 

One member who never spoke but was always pointed 
out to the visitors was the ex-champion prize-fighter, 
John Mornssey, of New York. 

ne coma nave taken a couple oi beaded 
squaws and a band wagon and made an equal success 
anywhere west of the Mississippi with patent medicine. 

And speakin' again of Injuns, it is interesting to note 
the debate pro and con on the measure passed at that 
session to send the Indians from Kansas to other reserva- 
tions and to remove the Osage Indians to a territory that 
is now Oklahoma. According to current reports, in the 
present year of 1921, each of these Indians, owing to the 
oil struck in their territory, is individually worth thirty 
thousand dollars. I have recently seen numbers of them 
riding about in their own automobiles. Another legis- 
lative landmark which will help measure the rate of our 
progress is the law passed at that session to put a tax 
on brandy made in this country from apples, peaches, or 

I heard Proctor Knott deliver his celebrated Duluth 
speech in January of that session. It was unquestion- 
ably the most famous speech of the Forty-first Congress. 
Mr. Knott had decidedly the Mark Twain manner of 
the conscious humorist. As he proceeded with his speech 
and gained the confidence that palpable success brings 
to a speaker, he grew even more at ease and his man- 
nerisms more pronounced. In appearance he had what 
might be called the Civil War make-up plenty of hair, 
worn fairly long, parted on the side, and a mustache. 
The Duluth speech ran about five thousand words, and 
punctuated as it was by the laughter of his great audi- 
ence, laughter growing more prolonged and hysterical 
as he progressed, must have in his slow manner easily 

Knott began to speak page Doys were seat m VLHWW<> 
directions to call in absent members and^even to notify 
the senators at the other end of the Capitol. 

A trip to the Senate was among my assignments, and 
I made it in great haste in order to miss as little as pos- 
sible of the speech. Ten minutes after the speech began 
more than half the senators were in the Representative 
chamber; clerks, and employees had left the committee 
rooms and supply departments and crowded into the 
cloakroom. The galleries were full. 

Mr. Knott pronounced the name "Duluth" with a 
caressing coo that was funny the first time and grew 
irresistible with the repetitions, of which there were some 
fcrty-two. The Speaker interrupted him when his time 
had expired, but there were loud calls from all parts of 
the House for him to go on, and in the absence of objec- 
tion he did so. 

His ridicule defeated the measure against which he 
spoke, which was to construct a St. Croix and Bayfield 
railroad, but his ironical references to the future of the 
city in a territory of wonderful resources, its beauty and 
iuture greatness, read now like prophecy instead of ridi- 


There was also a touch of antiquity for present-day 
readers when in his reference to possible future amend- 
ments to the Constitution that should cover the growing 
greatness of this Duluth he enumerated supposititious 
^vpteentn, Eighteenth, and Nineteenth Articles, but 
*aia oi a Sixteenth: <It is, of course, understood that 


None of these privileges is longer in debate. 

James G. Elaine was a greater man at that end of the 
itol Building than he ever became in the Senate, 
active work of the larger body gave finer opportunity 
Kis extraordinary power. I have seen many presid- 
officers, but not any who was his equal for prompt- 
of decision, clarity of its statement or vigor of its 
Defense, if needed. On two or three occasions, when a 
legislative measure was before the House on which he 
^vished to express himself more fully than would have 
t>een becoming to a presiding officer, he called a mem- 
ber to the chair and went upon the floor himself. I don't 
Recall his equal in that body for swift and forceful state- 
ment; of his views and aggressive attack upon the op- 

Of all the orators in that brilliant galaxy, however, the 
idol of the page boys was John A. Logan, whose speeches 
did not read so well as those of more than one other, but 
Ine was personally so picturesque, and the fact that he 
*wa,s descended from Black Hawk and showed it in his 
ta,wny skin and jet-black hair, gave him a romantic in- 
terest that no other had. He had a fine voice and an 
earnest intensity we liked to believe characteristic of the 
I ndian, with the added fire of a Spaniard or an Italian. 
And then we knew of him as Fighting John Logan too. 

Mow many of those men were to us colossal from the 
nation's use of them as symbols of power! General 
Thomas was the Rock of Chickamauga; when Blair 
joined somebody it meant that food for an army had 

pion's Hill, a division thereby arrived; the enemy's re- 
treat was cut off. There were giants in those days; men 
more interested in the conformation of the continent 
and in the majesty of the Constitution than in the dis- 
tribution of garden-seeds. 

When I left Washington at the end of that July and 
started back for Missouri I said good-by to my uncle- 
grandfather, A. W., never to see him again. I have al- 
ways been curious to know what prompted his parting 
gift to me. It was made with considerable impressment 
a plate of copper about eight by ten inches in size, 
holding in bas-relief in the smallest agate type the full 
text of the Declaration of Independence set around a 
miniature circular medallion reproduction of TrumbuIPs 
picture of the signing of the document, and holding in 
an open margin of about an inch below the text almost 
microscopic but most accurate bas-reliefs of the auto- 
graphic signatures to the document. A delicate raised 
moulding of the same copper framed the entire plate. 
This work of art must have been the combination of 
several mechanical and manual processes, and is evi- 
dently one of several copies. Perhaps there are elsewhere 
in the United States other men who possess this pass- 
port and by its virtue belong to my lodge. 

When I got home I found that my father estimated 
more highly than could any boy of my age the events 
with which I had had such modest association. The 
more bitter rancor of the Civil War was gone; I had 
witnessed the long session of the Reconstruction Con- 

uisconneccea events are more 
wisely associated than we surmise. A mystic that au- 
tumn walking through his quiet path at Concord, from 
which a specific fruit takes its name, wrote in his private 
diary not meant for publication but for his own refresh- 
ment only, "The grape is fruitful this year that men 
may be genial and gentle and make better laws/' 


In October of 1871, three months after my return from 
Washington, the St. Louis papers were filled with mount- 
ing reports of the Chicago fire. Extras issued; the people 
of our older and larger sister city, moving leisurely in 
their dominantly Southern fashion, slowed down a little 
further to discuss the alarming news of destruction in 
the lake-shore town, and then waked up to a rescue as 
characteristic in its impulsive generosity and dash as a 
cavalry charge by Early. My interest was local and my 
contributions of curiosity principally obstructive. 

One idol of our St. Louis boys was H. Clay Sexton, 
the head of the fire department. Sexton was the typical 
fire chief of that time: red leather helmet with white- 
and-gold escutcheon; flannel shirt; broad belt and 
buckle; trousers in high boots. He carried a silver 
speaking-trumpet presented by admiring citizens and 
insurance companies. But behind the picturesque make- 
up and inside the burly body there was a real man with 
a brain. Ahead of the newspapers the telegraph brought 
to this chief constant news of the fire's progress and the 
work of the fighters; and then suddenly the alarming 
report that the flames in the acres of wooden houses that 
made the Chicago of that period had got beyond con- 
trol by the local department. The water system was 
unequal to the drain upon it. Engines able to work and 
men eager to do so were without hose enough or water. 

6 4 

ana nose rceis, cue uruau-ureas icu, 
the stock cars ready for them at the chutes, the flat cars 
with skids and blocks and ties for the machines, the fast- 
est passenger engines, the ablest engineers all at readi- 
ness and attention. Then the call. 

Daily express-train time from St. Louis to Chicago 
was nine hours. Clay Sexton, with his train of stock 
cars and flats, with nine fire-engines, reels, horses, and 
firemen, went up there in a fraction over five hours. The 
gallant feature was the readiness and the run. The work 
after arrival was prosaic enough, though vital. The visit- 
ing engines dipped their suckers into Lake Michigan and 
fed water by constant relay to the local men more 
familiar with the ground. The fact that two hundred 
and fifty persons met death in that fire and ninety-eight 
thousand were rendered destitute I heard many times. 
The oral message was tame, however, and fleeting in 
effect compared with the picture of the old General Lyon 
Number 4, our neighborhood engine, 'swinging out for 
her part in that enterprise of relief. 

Another outstanding feature of those days is a noon- 
hour book of weekly newspaper illustrations of the 
Franco-Prussian War, none now definite but all making 
a vague mental frame and background somehow insepara- 
bly tied to an otherwise unconnected statement of General 
Phil Sheridan's. The general had seen somewhat of the 
French and German conduct in that war. As the result 
of his observations he thought that the German soldiers 
could, on equal terms, conquer those of any other nation 
except the American; that the American's superiority lay 

I I' 

uismon even ni,',nt IK IMM . , < , ' 

essential things fur hit:, i '! -, .' - , , 

In Sheridan's belief, p<!:t\.il fit,.' if...], 
sibility had produeed a bet!, i .- 1 | - , .. ' 

been at Chateau-Thirm . IV-' i , ; ,- , . \ ; 
rate, his eommendatiim oi >,,' . : -' - .ii.-,,- 
lasting importance in n:\ ; ;: , , 

I hope I may tell f an..;!-,, j r; . , ; - 
million boys, perhaps nun a t' < ' , ... 
determine one or tuo emhivu J.t,. < M \ , \\ 
Halfway up the steps to the ( ':i\,h ' 
there used to he a door, ''i ... .:. 
wherein were the imttni.-s ,,f t j ,. 

of 1870. If a boy dipped hi-. Liu', '., , ,. 

many jars of eopperas sulutimt i' ,< ... ... .. ,1 .' ;' ', 

shelves, and let the blade diy },,., ,,,,,.' ..' ,-, .' ,'" 
m appearanee turned to eoppei. \\ ] ,.,,' J V ' ', ,',, ' 
cally tried that on father's knife at a , ;...?' , ,,',, '^ 
tery m bt. Louis my pride was tempr-d !., J-- , / { -,' ' 
that the color was aeqnired, , ul J jLt ., t , ' , ,,!,", 
luster, by the copper's eating into the Me,! ,nd , , K 
slight degree dulling its edge !al 

With a tolerant wisdom that uniin,,..K i,j,.,! r , ., r 

until it had a full eoating of^nsc tl-a "' il1 "*'"" 

then with one point of a broken steel n f ^V'^V """' '' : 

my name through the black field ' IU ' * nl< ' 

To tbs writing he had me apply a fm ^.^ ||f ^ 

I f 


wets mere, etcnea into tne Diaae 01 
the owner's knife. 

That year in the high school I bit a score of autographs 
on schoolmates' knives. Among the beneficiaries in the 
senior grade was a boy named Will Harlow. Harlow 
had literary ambitions, a hand-printing press with a six- 
by-eight chase, and possessed a curling, back-blown 
pompadour that should have had an Eton collar with 
it. He was a typical RoIIo. Aware of my ability to do 
outline drawings, such as they were, and seeing in this 
litho-crayon-and-copperas combination a way to simple 
etching, Harlow proposed the publication of a magazine. 
Together we undertook it. The magazine was named 
Scratches and Sketches. We issued five numbers, I think, 
at irregular intervals, approximately a fortnight, with 
some paid ads eight pages of short stories, verse and 
local comment, all furnished by Harlow, and three or 
four pages of alleged etchings made by me. 

These etchings were done on zinc plates bought at the 
tinsmith's, laboriously burnished with a hand burnisher 
by me, coated with lithograph crayon, drawn with a 
pen and bitten with a saturated solution of copperas. 
The prints were made on superior paper as inserted etch- 
ings should be, at a professional shop, and then pasted 
into the letter-press stuff. 

Subscriptions were few despite our courageous procla- 
mations, but enough copies were issued to embroil Har- 
low and me. His playful comment upon our ac- 
quaintances in North St. Louis met with several demands 
for retractions and apologies. Some real enmities were 


One bellicose warning delivered to me to transmit to 
Harlow, who was keeping out of M;:ht, us gnmn-up edi~ 
tors are said sometimes to do, carried a descriptive word 
for our magazine that stuck. The complainant \\as one 
William F. Putnam, a fine youngster, uho brcamr in 
early manhood an influential miller in Cleveland, where 
he had as a side line a stable of trotteis, one of \\htch in 
fraternal recollection lie called Cats 'Ihomas. Hilly in 
our St. Louis days was a handy hoy uith Ins list--; a ^ood, 
clean, upstanding, handsome lad, looking, the world in 
the eye as I am sure he still does. 

Holding my lapel after our second or third issue he 
said, "You tell Mr. Harlow that if he e\er mentions my 
name in his damned almanac ar.ain/* and M mi. 

I never recovered from **a!manae." Nine \ cat's later 
in the playlet of u Editha*s Burglar" 1 had the burglar 
refer by that term to the j>aper <.f Iuhthu\ papa, and I 
spoke the burglar's line myself some tour hundred con- 
secutive times, but with no ultimate relief. 

The rector of Grace Church in our distiict also found 
some ethical Haws in our unopened policy. Thrse and 
similar incidents, and the expense account, decided liar- 
low's mother, who was a widow in modest circumstances, 
to withhold further financial stippoit. Somt* yrais later, 
when for a partner's guaranty to a. ihratiieal manager 
the sheriff took our printing ofiice in Kansas City and the 
ill will of a weekly paper that languished therein, the 
funeral wasn't nearly so depressing as our farewell to the 

In writing one's recollections for publication the* ex- 
perienced advise cautious utterance concerning living 
persons, and a news sense that shall choose as subjects 
men already in the public notice. I am unaware of any 


notorious interest in Frederick W. RuckstuII, though I 
am not ignorant of his claim upon Fame herself. Mr. 
RuckstuII, who to-day is still young and a few years my 
senior, is the author of that Victory monument in Ja- 
maica, Long Island, against which from four directions 
sober motorists used to drive on foggy nights until the 
city authorities, after the manner of ruling minds in nor- 
mal democracies, concluded that four iron lamp-posts 
were cheaper than numerous rosewood coffins, and there- 
upon set up a cordon of strong lights. 

That Victory identifies Mr. RuckstuII for the sporting 
New Yorker. The tourists will recall his beautiful fe- 
male nude of Evening in the American Hall of Sculpture 
in the New York Metropolitan Museum. Pennsylvania 
has his equestrian Hartranft in front of her capitol; St. 
Louis his decorative Mercury and eagle in Portland 
Place; and the Southland his cavalier, General Wade 
Hampton, and four or five Confederate monuments. 
Washington and other cities have from his studio other 
mature and classical performances. 

RuckstuII, an Alsatian by birth, was brought to St. 
Louis by his parents at the age of two. Fifteen years 
later he attracted the attention of my father. Into the 
profound talk of this wise man of forty-three and that 
positive philosopher of seventeen I gradually won my 
way. My father respected me either already or still; 
I had to prove it to Ruck. I wish to mark the boy Ruck- 
stuII now in this year 1871, when he first comes into 
my ken, because he still is there in 1921, the least deviat- 
ing note in this revolving rug of life. Whenever after 
any sentimental vertigo I can first get my feet on the 
floor and partly retard the vibrating patterns in the car- 
pet and on the wall-paper, as soon as I can locate Ruck 

as n% Sir O!nc 

haijfii, i'!.*. i. i * i \ 

chattel"* L* >r ,> ! 

ttir ,/, 
our rnr\! f| , , i t \ 
still tliiL-! , , 
IV; .,;.! f ., ,, 

tlf Uiuk !",! - K, ** 

rtthrr Li.i 5 ; 

would in- a I! . f ( s 
an ! ; j4iuo;.fc! t >r i , ' 

Ktiflfi Si. I ^ ,., , . 
CiHitT tih^jj. 1 K- 1 >> 

Mitu*, \Wiri ,t, 

Iracf fur ji! t; Ma 


s ht-r !i%* ! : ^ : ^ 

US a JrjSrtv.s, I 

\r;ii t,. f i^ r , ;,/ 

VMt , 

came a fim* ,!ci , 


ihan in Bernard's play, "On His Last Legs/' manifestly 
.dapted from Moliere's " Le Medecin Malgre Lui." Dil- 
Dn's performance was a masterpiece of finish in technic, 
ich in byplay and pause, and as liberal an education in 
fhat added expression can give to mere lines as is Frank 
iacon's "LightninV 

Both Cornell and Mittens, superior in serious work as 
hey were, insisted that this comedy part of O'Callaban 
yas for me. The play was even then a fifteen-cent 
Bellow-back, available to any buyer. We gave it many 
imes in parlors, in the parsonage, in the hall over Stur- 
geon Meat Market, and on the road. I shall recur to 
;hat compact little two-act farce; once when it pays a 
company out of Canada and once again when in ample 
iisguise it rescues Mr. De Wolf Hopper from a temporary- 
apse and restores him to Broadway and opulence and 
natrimony. And when I do so perhaps such of my 
youngish readers as continue to trail may note a con- 
lection between those grown-up enterprises, running in 
^he Hopper instance into a fortune, and these small be- 
ginnings, like learning in amateur days a good play well. 
Fhey may infer that the money side of the return is of 
:he lesser worth; that the big value is the self-expression 
obtained; that the debating society, the dramatic club, 
the singing school, the art class, the pursuits that invite 
Drain to the finger-tips, and to become articulate, are 
the interests that make life eloquent. They may even 
:ome to have opinions and to believe that the amount 
Df self-expression encouraged and protected in any coun- 
try is the measure of liberty in that country. 

I shall tell stories of these adolescent years only when 
the incidents are influential in later results, not simply 
important to me privately, but with some color of general 



interest or possibility of serviceable application. AH 
children of parents in modest circumstances have their 
trials. It is only the little rich who have the right to say 
with a great American: 

"Am I not too protected a person? Am I not de- 
frauded of my best culture in the loss of those gymnastics 
which manual labor and the emergencies of poverty con- 

Therefore, that I took a job to write and deliver freight 
notices to St. Louis consignees for the Vandalia office, 
and had to be in East St. Louis to receive waybills from 
an incoming train at 7 A. M., is not important. Many 
another boy of fourteen years, three miles from work, 
to which he must go on foot, is called an hour and a half 
before the shop time. If the call is 5.30 and the season 
winter, he will dress by candle-light; the kitchen will 
glow with the genial presence of the stove; and the smell 
will be domestic and stimulating, to the capacity of the 
family purse. 

But not every boy will have a frozen Mississippi to 
walk over, with the Great Dipper half upside down in 
the sparkled sky, holding its long pointers to the North 
b*r on his left and underneath on the massive ice an 
endless tram of coal-wagons with four horses to each, 

At rn;- 1 * way the IIIinois side > while off to 

te eit Eads r S e ' en 

t S t VV nde , r f ^ e world > arc as yet only a few 

Vel . their great dam ^eakwaters 
agamst tKe f *en current, whose 
Wln f *ave piled like sculptured 

dnver could run ahead of his 


team, which would keep its place in the plodding train, 
and get a drink and a thaw and pick up his wagon as it 
went by. 

To see the chance for that squatter barroom, to fore- 
see that endless train of wagon traffic, and a day after 
the ice quit moving to be out there with boards and nails; 
with that degree of skill and attack and the sporting 
willingness to wager this lumber and labor and a stock 
of whiskey against the changing elements, indicated a 
vanguard imagination quite kindred to that which 
planned and set up the cantilever double span at St. 
Louis or devised and drove the jetties at the Delta below 
New Orleans. The difference was the trained engineer's 
mathematics that Eads possessed and that Kelly had 
never had the chance to get. 

James Buchanan Eads, who died in the Bahamas in 
his sixty-seventh year, was born on the Indiana prairie 
in 1820. When he was forty-one he designed and built 
that Mississippi fleet of ironclads and monitors without 
which Grant's western campaign might not have been 
so successful. I met him when I was a young man and 
he about sixty. I remember his modest and gentle bear- 
ing, and the deference that the important men of that 
occasion instinctively paid him. 

The years between that date and the earlier winter 
when I trudged twice each day past the looming piers 
of the Eads Bridge had been wonderfully filled with in- 
cident for me. To relate those incidents would be un- 
pardonable trespass upon type and eyesight. An earlier 
writer recording his landlady's appeal to sympathy by a 
recital of her history says, " It was as though a grain of 
wheat that had been ground and bolted had tried to in- 
dividualize itself/' 

claim the nutritive percentage obtained by the process. 

I recently heard a Yale professor refer to newspapers 
as destructive of thought. He had in mind the gossipy 
hours spent in their reading, and the dissipation of nearly 
a!! serious attention on the part of those addicted to 
them. Some day an equal censor may attack the week- 
lies, and if we guilty contributors and readers can here 
and there point to a paragraph of right intent and per- 
haps helpful issue, we may quit the field retreating in 
good order and not in panic rout. 

Will it not be an orderly method if, reporting myself 
a man at nineteen and omitting the hurtful things, I 
tell those physical experiences that built a margin of 
muscular gain; and if, eliminating the wasteful lures 
and attractions, I recount the better mental interests 
that won out for such equipment as has served in a pro- 
fession that is without curriculum or diploma; and if I 
can find the skill to do so without offending, may I not 
imply or hint the developing factors in that third ele- 
ment of human tissue which we call spiritual? 

Somebody said that the military victories of England 
were won on the cricket field. I believe a right American 
is as much better than a similar English soldier of 
equal training and experience as baseball is better than 
cricicct. I wish some alchemy could give us the percent- 
age ol baseball that was in the Argonne victories. I 
f ing ? at Cquips a b y on the diamond, 

f ^ fiHed ' t0 Pick U P a batted % d 
a fraction of a second's wait to put it to the 


iirJit spot is^as lineal preparation for the market, the 
I*at\ UK- pulpit, the forum, the surgical clinic especially 

the- surgical clinic --and the battle-field as any physical 

cxi-rcisc in the world; and yet If 1 had to choose as one 

who knew both between baseball and boxing I'd tell my 
!x*v to box and I'm writing these recollections for boys. 
I hope the girls too, will like them, but I know a good 
deal less about girls. With the fellows past forty yes, 
sa> past thirty I don't expect to change a vote. Mr. 
Franklin Haven Sargent, president of the American 
Academy of Dramatic Arts, asked me some years ago to 
suj'^'st any additional course for his pupils. 

1 said, "Teach them to box/' 

Mr. Sargent was then past thirty. Before I offered 
that advice I had found in several years of professional 
rehearsals that men and women, self-conscious on the 
staj'.e, were so principally on account of their hands. 
There is the same embarrassment in some public 
speakers. The boxer is free from that; to see his hand 
in front of him in an instinctive gesture does not fill him 
\vith sudden fear, and if the hand as placed stands for 
snwe mental attitude lie is at ease in leaving it there as 
Imttf as he asks attention to that fact. The most grace- 
fa! man in tin* use of his hands on the stage thirty years 
iigi* was Maurice Barrymore, who had been the champion 
amateur boxer of Hnfj[Iand. One of the most graceful 
to-day ^ Eddie Foy, another boxer. I have never in 
many talks with William Favcrsham mentioned the 
subject* but I am confident that he was a skilful boxer 
in !iis younger days. 

My fnt her was a boxer, and despite mother's most 
feminine protests he began to teach me the art when he 
had to sit on a low chair to make my level After I was 


fourteen there was never a time when I was not at least 
part owner of a set of boxing gloves. Father's persis- 
tence in teaching me may seem trivial, but will it take 
on value if I can show a valid connection between it and 
the important diplomatic communications of others? I 
fancy I shall do that a little later. 

There were two youngsters with whom I learned much 
in sparring. The first and most constant one was Charles 
A. Beamer, now a merchant in St. Louis and a man ac- 
tive in high Masonic circles. Charley had a very effec- 
tive right, and two or three times a week used to leave 
my face looking like an August sunset. But better than 
his right was his great good humor, and I learned from 
him as much as from all others that the control of one's 
temper, a prevailing good-nature, was one object of every 

From the Vandalia office when I was fourteen and the 
St. Louis Transfer Company when I was fifteen years of 
age, I went to the old St. Louis, Kansas City, and North- 
ern Railroad at sixteen. The work was principally on 
the freight platforms and in the freight-yard as a clerk. 
The platform men, the switchmen, the engineers and 
firemen of that period were almost exclusively Irish. 
The play of our resting intervals was boxing. As I de- 


veioped and grew in the exercise my opponents were 
truckmen, trainmen, coal-shovellers, and mechanics 
none of them spoiled by pampering. In that K. C. & N. 
yard was the second lad I refer to, one OIlie Crockett, as 
handsome and as continually smiling as a lithograph of 
Douglas Fairbanks. 

Once in the switch shanty in my nineteenth year this 
debonair youngster, half a head shorter than myself, 
knocked me out with an eight-ounce gl ove . A report 



of it can be defended as a reply to the gentlefolk who 
decry the brutality of the sport. On that occasion no- 
thing described my own sensation so accurately as a line 
in the George Ade pugilistic Fable in Slang, that "some- 
body turned off the daylight." When I came to I was 
looking into Crockett's smiling face and wondering only 
what had interrupted our fun. 

In later years and fuller manhood I had some pro- 
fessional mates. I never got any medals, but I received 
consoling compliments. Bob Farrell, a lightweight who 
had fought a couple of good old-time bare-knuckle 
matches with Billy Edwards, the champion whom the 
old Hoffman House patrons will remember, was among 
the number. Let me join these references pertinently. 
One night after he had lost the championship to Fitz- 
simmons, Jim Corbett was one of fifty guests at a dinner 
to Mr. Otis Skinner in a Chicago hotel. Both he and I 
had been called upon and had spoken and Corbett had 
temporarily taken a seat next to Otis for a laughing ex- 
change with him. 

Seeing the intimacy of the two men, I took the same 
chair when Corbett left it and expressed to Otis my ad- 
miration for Corbett' s talk. I finished my comment by 
saying with stage-manager bumptiousness, "I could 
make a speaker of that fellow/* 

Mr. Skinner laughed more immoderately at this than 
either its conceit or its improbability called for, and then 
explained that Corbett had come there the moment be- 
fore to say of me, "I could make a fighter of that fellow." 

Mr. Corbett was unaware both of my stale years and 
my timidity; but that my estimate of him was right his 
finished and artistic ability as a public speaker to-day 
is proof. 


Professional baseball of the middle seventies differed 
materially from that of to-day. It was not less rigorous 
or less athletic; in some respects it was more so. The 
old-fashioned pitched ball, which had more speed than 
would be believed by one who had not seen the profes- 
sional pitcher deliver it, was giving way to the under- 
hand throw, which was probably quite as fast as the 
best delivery now. No catcher, however, wore a padded 
glove or mask. Little red-haired Miller, the first catcher 
of the St. Louis Browns, wore on his left hand an ordi- 
nary buckskin glove with the fingers cut off; his right 
hand was bare. His face had no protection; there was 
no padding over his body or guards over his shins. Dur- 
ing the second season, facing Bradley, he introduced the 
use of a rubber wedge about the size of a domino, which 
he held between his teeth and let protrude slightly from 
his lips. ^ This was suggested by a catcher on another 
nine having had the dental processes broken by a foul 
tip, and taken by the Harvard College catcher, Horatio 
S. White, later dean of the university. 

In those days a batter had the right to call for a high 
or a low ball, and the pitcher was required to put it above 
or below his waist, according to his demand. Moreover, 
a pitcher once in the box went through the nine innings, 
or it changed was changed for some other member of the 
nine whom he replaced in his position from the in or out 
held. Generally a third baseman or a fielder was en- 
gaged for his ability as a change-pitcher. One or two 
S attended the game > but ^y w ^nt in only 

f our St * Loufs > 

the Chicago White Sox. One never 


gets this partisanship out of the blood. Only last Sun- 
day the sculptor, RuckstuII, now sixty-eight, and sunk 
deep in the hollow of a library leather chair from which 
he was freely reading Montaigne's archaic French, paused 
at some mention of memory and said: "What a heaven- 
sent gift a good memory is !" And then, with an accus- 
ing challenge, "Can you name the whole nine of the first 
St. Louis league team when they won that first series 
from Chicago in 1874?" 

And trying to beat each other to it, we alternated and 
interfered and reached a flushed crescendo in a run of 
competing explosions, telling: "Bradley, pitch; Miller, 
catch; Dehlman, Bannon, Hogue on bases; Dickey 
Pierce at short; and in the field? Cuthbert, Chapman, 
and and Haight." 

But we couldn't remember Chicago. We remembered 
the whiskers on some of those Lake Front athletes, as 
luxuriant as those now worn only by the Cough Drop 
Brothers. And all the time the sculptor was command- 
ing attention with a hand on which the hypnotic feature 
was an ossified contusion of the first phalange of the 
little finger, pitched to him on our old railroad nine of 
that epoch. 

A third gymnastic field is one to be noted but not 
recommended. In the seven years amidst the freight- 
cars and switch engines one acquires the average brake- 
man's ability to get on and off a moving train. Twenty 
years after I had left the service I was still annoyed if a 
street-car stopped or even checked its speed to let me 
either board or leave it, and then one day in New York 
as a Broadway car passed the Empire Theatre, which 
was my destination, I stepped from its platform onto 
the wet asphalt as gracefully as the president of the con- 

analogous about political platforms, but the times are 
hard enough as it is. 



My interests and ambitions were threefold poetry, 
painting, and the theatre. Let us try to agree about 
poetry. Poetry is the feeling that there is soul behind 
all form; such feeling is not religion, but it is the source 
of religion. The difference between poetry and fact is 
like a sailor's difference between the North Star and 
lighthouses. The lighthouse marks the irregular and 
charted coast. The North Star fixes a permanent di- 
rection. Now wait a minute ! You boy in Cheyenne or 
Manistee or Talladega, and you men with blue pencils, Fm 
trying to tell something; nothing too highbrow for a 
boy that is allowed to sit up after supper and the some- 
thing is useful. 

A capacity for poetic feeling is the receiving end for 
all those messages throughout life that the recurring 
seasons, the grass and leaves, the winds and clouds, the 
stars, the nostril-dilating odors of the fields, the hum of 
insects and the sound of ocean waves are trying to get 
through to us. The fogs of the rough surfaces on which 
we ride obscure and hide the polar direction of the poetic 
call, and we move along the prudent shore line and sound- 
ings of supply and demand and cent per cent, but the 
refreshing reaches are when the star is now and then in 

This occasional glimpse through the clouds, which is 
poetry, has been appraised by William James, our de- 


it is irom nis cnapier on uic 

"Most of us can remember the strangely moving power 
of passages in certain poems read when we were young, 
irrational doorways as they were through which the mys- 
tery of fact, the wildness and the pang of life, stole into 
our hearts and thrilled them. The words have now per- 
haps become mere polished surfaces for us; but lyric 
poetry and music are alive and significant only in propor- 
tion as they fetch these vague vistas of a life continuous 
with our own, beckoning and inviting, yet ever eluding 
our pursuit. We are alive or dead to the eternal inner 
message of the arts according as we have kept or lost 
this mystical susceptibility." 

During the years leading to and including my nine- 
teenth I not only read poetry; I learned it by rote when 
it appealed to me, and I recited it. There is no wish to 
compete with Jean Jacques Rousseau in self-abasement, 
but I did recite it, in public, at church festivals and the 
like. I don't defend the term "festivals/ 5 but the his- 
toric fact is that they were so called. Once when my 
friend James Whitcomb Riley and Bill Nye were jointly 
lecturing, Riley, who was nervous at the game, peeped 
through the curtain before beginning in a little Minnesota 
lowland then hurried to Nye, who was still adjusting 
his^vmte tie in the dressing-room. 

"Bin!" he exclaimed. "There are only about twenty 
people m the house!" 

U I can't understand that/' Nye answered. "We've 
never been here before/' 


And now with the confession that I recited on these 
church occasions I want to plead that I was paid to do 
so, and that sometimes I got return dates. 

Noting this disposition to memorize verses, my father 
said to me, "What you fill your head with in that fashion 
now will stay with you for a long while. It is a good 
plan to select the best." 

I tried to keep his advice in view. The old McGuffey 
School Readers, it seems to me, were well-chosen selec- 
tions. They ranged from Shakespeare to Patrick Henry 
and Webster, and included such sonorous stuff as 
Macaulay's and such gentleness as Whittier's. In the 
full editions of the poets I devoured Tom Moore, Scott, 
Burns, Longfellow, Bryant, Tennyson, Keats, and others. 
The inference might be that this crowded out the trash, 
but it didn't. Nothing is so omnivorous as the mind of 
a growing boy bitten with the theatre and romance. 

Before we quit the subject of poetry I want to say to 
those who admired "Ivanhoe" and "Marmion," and 
other thrilling things by their author that Sir Walter 
Scott once said nothing had so influenced him through- 
out his life as four lines of verse in a poem called "Cum- 
nor Hall," by William Julius Mickle, a Scot, who died 
when Walter was seventeen years old. 

"The dews of summer night did fall, 

The moon (sweet regent of the sky) 
Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall, 
And many an oak that grew thereby/* 

For Walter Scott those words never became mere 
polished surfaces, but remained always alive and held 
their strangely moving and beckoning power. "And 
many an oak that grew thereby/' Change that line to 

so busy that he cannot leave the store, is asked to remem- 
ber the regretful words of that successful scientist, 
Charles Darwin, who, looking back in his seventieth 
year, said 

If I had my life to live again I would have made a rule to read 
some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week; for 
perhaps the parts of my brain now atrophied would thus have been 
kept alive through use. The loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness 
and may possibly be injurious to the intellect and more probably 
to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our na- 

Some great editors have read those lines of Darwin, 
and grown thoughtful about them. 

In my wish to write for the theatre, my father thought 
I would meet with fewer obstacles in the degree that I 
knew the theatre itself behind the curtain. I saw no 
betraying twinkle in his eye as he talked to me about 
it, but he was a person of cultivated self-control. He 
reminded me quite seriously how Shakespeare had been 
an actor, and had begun to write his plays from that 
standpoint. He told me of Moli^re and of others that I 
have forgotten, but particularly of Boucicault, so that 
He built up a fair determination in my mind to get all 
the experience I could. In the absence of a professional 
association he approved of the amateur work, always 
cautomng me that it would have some features that 
mould have to be unlearned. 

Louis amateur theatricals soon took on a semi- 


professional tone. Those were the days of the Jay Gould 
ownership of railroads. The enginemen were already 
organized in discontent; the trainmen were following 
their example. The managements were anxious and con- 
ciliatory. So whenever the conductors, looking for ways 
and means, invited our club to play for their "benefits" 
at Moberly, the headquarters of our division, the super- 
intendent promptly passed our little company; some 
other influence fixed us with the Pullman people. Great 
occasions, those, with all expenses paid; a full house 
secured by the tickets the trainmen sold weeks ahead; 
the local volunteer band at the depot when we arrived; 
the big posters on the opera-house walls; the selected 
orchestra that had just doubled in brass; and in front 
every shopkeeper, barber, saloonist, hotelkeeper, attor- 
ney, and family doctor who wanted to hold his railroad 
clientele, each with his lady. Add to that a brave repre- 
sentation from the local fire department in uniforms; 
two policemen and the waitresses from the hotel, all 
crowded into that second-story uncushioned auditorium, 
impatient for the curtain to ring up, and you have a com- 
bination equalled only when the state standards mass 
round a national nomination to make it unanimous. 

The freight agent at St. Louis, Captain P. Flanigan, 
who had to deplete his force of some twenty clerks for 
the day by excusing Matt Cooper, Fred Naylor, and me 
for each of these rural assaults, was an able transporta- 
tion man who had learned his business on the Mississippi. 
He was of quite the better class of river captain, con- 
siderably travelled and by no means unread. 

Matt Cooper had a tracing department shut off from 
the main office. The captain unfailingly visited him the 
day after such a trip and heard every detail of it. I found 




Cooper in a gale of laughter after one such visit. He 
closed the door to impart the joke to me in confidence. 
The cue had been Cooper's narrative of the play of which 
I was the author. 

The proud captain had taken it seriously and his side- 
splitting line from Cooper's view-point, not from mine 
was "Why, if Gus can write that he may some day 
be as big a dramatist as Boucicault." Cooper had con- 
trolled his mirth till the captain left the room, and now 
he was pounding me on the back to force me to see it. 

The first steady job I got in New York was twelve 
years later, when A. M. Palmer at the Madison Square 
Theatre engaged me to take the place of Mr. Dion Bouci- 
cault, who wished to retire. I tell it now in no prideful 
flush whatever, but mainly in a gentle retrospect of dear 
old P. F., and partly for its associative value: in the be- 
ginning, my first boyish writing, a frank forage on Bouci- 
cault's Kip; in the middle field that ridicule that Cooper, 
of course, passed out for me to our little company; and 
the finish Boucicault's desk. 

It was during this period that I got my first long coat. 
There is nothing now extant by which with one indica- 
tion it can be pictured. It was not so long as a Prince 
Albert, nor so closely joined below the waist; not so cut- 
away as the English morning coat of recent years, but 
something between the two. Fashion dictated that it 
should be made of what then was known as basket-cloth, 
a prominent weave looking like a diminutive checker- 
board with squares of one-half-inch. The material was 
black, and when made-up was bound with the broadest 
possible braid. With its arrival the women of the house- 
hold thought I was entitled to an evening at a theatre 
in company with some nice girl. My preference was for 


a piquant young person of about fourteen years of age 

named Dickey B . It had been an unexpressed fear 

of my mother's that I would so choose. Dickey was a 
bit the neighborhood soubrette in her way. She had an 
elder sister, neither so good-looking nor so lively, whose 
name I think was Louise. I don't remember inviting 
Louise to go with me. That was arranged through some 
conferences between the families; all now confused in 
my memory perhaps because I wasn't aware of them. 
No ladies went into the parquet of those days; I bought 
two seats for a dollar each to the old Olympic dress circle, 
which was sufficiently lifted at centre to allow patrons 
of the parquet to pass through the gangway beneath it. 
There was only one opposition theatre so the choice was 
not wide, and the other attraction was a burlesque of 
some kind to which a very young man with his girl 
couldn't go. I can remember no occasion on which my 
embarrassment was so great as when I sat in that thin 
audience, the only man in the front row of a dinky dress 
circle, and saw a performance of the serious history of 
"King John." The poor girl and I tried to make con- 
versation. I think she was depressed by the fact that 
she had been wished onto me. I was depressed by the 
same belief, and the much more overshadowing tragedy 
of my basket-cloth coat which looked well in front of 
the tailor's mirror but came up unpleasantly behind the 
collar when I sat down; and persons looked at us in the 
street-cars on the trips both ways. It was many years 
before I was able properly to assess the memory of that 
evening. It gradually turned from bitterness to indiffer- 
ence and then to a comic recital, and as time went on to 
a veritable treasure, as I found I was one of the very 
few Americans who had seen a performance of "King 


John," by Junius Brutus Booth, the elder brother of 
Edwin, with his new wife Agnes Booth playing Constance, 
and that sterling young actor of those days, Joseph 
Wheelock, playing Faulconridge. I never met Junius 
Brutus Booth, but his son, Sydney, and I are friends. 
Mrs. Agnes Booth and I worked in more than one play, 
and on her last appearance in Boston, in 1892, in a one- 
act sketch called "After Thoughts" which I had written 
for her and Ed Bell of the Madison Square Theatre, I 
was her leading man. Joseph Wheelock I came to know 
very well and rehearsed both him and later his son, 
Joseph Wheelock, Jr., now both dead. 

Those were thk transition days in the professional 
theatre. The local stock company engaged to support 
the visiting stars was gradually making place for the 
visits of entire organizations. A local company might 
work three or four weeks with as many different stars, 
and then be laid off a week while Shook and Palmer or 
Augustin Daly came in with a full cast for some success- 
ful play from New York; or Tony Pastor brought a full 
variety company. Some stars came with one or two 
supporting actors for the second roles and filled the re- 
maining parts from the resident stock. The uncertainty 
of such a broken season quickly weakened the local com- 
panies in both ability and number, so that at times in 
St. Louis the house manager had to wire a hurry call to 
Chicago or Cincinnati or in an extremity use even some 
available amateur. 

My first professional calls were of that origin, and 
were soul-stirring occasions. I have in later years, as 
have other authors for themselves gone on in some 
New York emergency in some play of my own to replace 
Maurice Barrymore or other actor of note in a stellar 


r6Ie with less feeling of importance than I had in those 
salad days as Mr. Fawnsgaines or C. F. Loon cream- 
faced loon on the handbill, carrying a spear or serving 
a letter on a salver. After a year or so this furtive asso- 
ciation with the business put a fellow on the free list; I 
began to desert the gallery and to nod familiarly to the 
front doorkeeper as I went into the playhouse, leaving 
him. to convince the visiting manager that I was entitled 
to the privilege. 

As I look back to the wonderful characterizations of 
those days by the great men and women, Booth, McCuI- 
lough, Barrett, Fechter, Davenport, Edwin Adams, Ben 
De Bar, Barry Sullivan, the elder Sothern, Salvini, Kean, 
Adelaide Neilson, Charlotte Thompson, Mrs. D. P. 
Bowers, Janauschek, and a host of others in the legiti- 
mate and romantic plays, I find that I remember vividly 
the stage position of each of them at all times throughout 
any performance. Not only was the reading of every line 
impressive; the composition of the picture and the ways 
of its acquirement were equally so. After the last days 
of the resident stock, John W. Norton, a fine actor-mana- 
ger, excellent as Othello, /ago, and Master Walter in the 
"Hunchback," and to my mind the equal of any I ever 
saw in Don Cesar de Bazan, St. Pierre, and the cloak- 
and-sword heroes, continued a kind of paper organiza- 
tion capable of quick mobilization for any chancy week 
that threatened to leave a theatre dark in Louisville or 
other near-by city. Of that Norton company I became 
the juvenile lead, playing the seconds to Norton's first 
parts; and although the hurried calls were few, one or 
two only in a season, the hope for them colored and 
buoyed every day, and filled many night hours with soli- 
tary recitations of the possible roles. 


The sure-fire comic character of the stage in those 
days was German. His delineators were called Dutch 
comedians. Their prince was the gifted, magnetic, 
adored, and regretted Jo Emmett. The vaudeville or, 
as we said then, variety representative was Gus Wil- 
liams; later ones were Frank Bush and my next door 
neighbor, Clark Fogel, known on the bills as Bert Clark. 
Each of them struck twelve in a kind of "Lieber Augus- 
tine" song, broken and emphasized by a rough dance in 
wooden shoes. The German revolution of 1 848 had filled 
America with a lovable immigrant of the Carl Schurz 
frame of mind and longing for liberty, made still more 
popular by their stalwart service as soldiers in the Union 

This type gave way in the theatre to the stage Irish- 
man, irresistible in Handy Andy blunder and volatile 
humor. The greatest Irish comedian that I ever saw, 
not excepting Mr. Boucicault, was Hugh Fay, of the old 
firm of Barry and Fay. Mr. Fay was a tall, intellectual- 
looking person with deep-set eyes and very scholarly 
gentleness and repression. Perhaps these effects were 
heightened by the contrast to his partner, Barry, who 
was a short, roly-poly, rather rough-and-tumble per- 
sonality. They made a great contrast in their several 
vehicles, especially "Muldoon's Picnic," which had been 
gradually elaborated from a vaudeville sketch to a three- 
act comedy. This play is coupled in my mind with 
"Florence's Mighty Dollar" for ability to rock its audi- 
ence with laughter until persons here and there left the 
auditorium for momentary escape from the side-ache of 
it. The Irish impersonator was applauded and undis- 
turbed until he forfeited support by his exaggerations; 
until Irish-Americans revolted at the extravagance of 



green whiskers and egg-sized lumps raised on bald heads 
by cave-man shillalahs; after which the Irishman in 
turn gave way to the stage Jew. 

The most popular Jewish character actor of those days 
was M. B. Curtis, who sprang into sudden popularity 
in a drummer-salesman character called Samuel of Posen. 
This play had the same progressive history of commer- 
cial struggle that one gets glimpses of in "The Auc- 
tioneer" and "Potash and Perlmutter," which play and 
dramatization were both made by that talented Jewish 
author, the late Charles Klein, and in which respectively 
appeared David Warfield, Barney Bernard, and Alex- 
ander Carr. The rise of Curtis financially was a phe- 
nomenon of that time. The play had been done in the 
East, and when it came to St. Louis its arrival was her- 
alded by lithographs which showed Curtis as Samuel of 
Posen mounted on a racing horse taking hurdles over 
the field. These hurdles grew in the number of bars as 
the horse progressed. Each hurdle had on it the name 
of the city, with the bars carrying the advertisement of 
the gross receipts of the play. We had often had in plays 
the Jewish character, both sinister and comic, but aside 
from the classical Jews, as Shylock and the Jew of Malta, 
I do not recall the Jew as being a dominating character 
of a play before that. Following Samuel of Posen, there 
was an invasion of Jewish impersonations. This char- 
acter bids fair to continue his comic tenure, because his 
present exponent, engaged by a Jewish manager, is him- 
self Jewish, and has his material furnished by observant 
male and female writers of his race. 

To go back just a little farther in the period we are 
considering: The first time I ever sat in a dress circle 
without my father was when my boy pal, Charley 



Beamer, bought the tickets. The attraction was Lydia 
Thompson's "British Blondes." We were in^ the front 
row of that horseshoe as one would be to-day if on a de- 
pressed balcony. The burning, the unforgetable feature 
of that Christmas matinee was the appearance of six 
girls in tights. To-day I should know it was a bum- 
front scene with two baby spots arranged to let the Car- 
penters set the stage behind. Then it was an intoxicat- 
ing illusion with calcium lights that never were on land 
or sea. Three of those robust ladies I have forgotten, 
but Lydia Thompson, Pauline Markham, and Eliza 
Weathersby I remember. 

In the matter of stage effect that sextet of substantial 
femininity in a double cross current of prismatic splen- 
dor is my lost chord. Now and then at Easthampton, 
with the motor headlight making a profiled tunnel 
through a lane of pines at 2A.M., there has been a heart- 
throb of a former incarnation that I have been able to 
connote as that Christmas matinee, but it was ephemeral, 
tantalizing, fugitive, and mocking. The perfect ecstasy 
of that holiday disclosure will never come again. Lydia 
Thompson was playing Robinson Crusoe in a ballet skirt 
and shako of snow-white goatskin, the rest of her cos- 
tume, skin-white tights of silk. 

The man Friday was the wonderful Harry Becket, 
whose picture as one of its first officers now hangs in the 
Lambs Club, New York. Friday was in brown. He 
carried a large flappy valise and a dictionary, which, at 
every moment of linguistic doubt, he threw himself on 
his stomach and consulted violently. Each coveted 
stage prop was picked up, and with a repeated "put it 
m de bag" dropped into that insatiable receptacle. 
The chmax came with the arrival of the rescue ship, a 


stately frigate quite satisfying in stage perspective as it 
rode into view on the third set water cut in profile. Cru- 
soe was lyrically happy at the arrived relief; Friday stud- 
ied the distant, full-rigged boat a moment and then, 
striding by easy hurdles over the interposing waves, 
said "Put it in de bag," and did so. Is there such whole- 
some stage fun anywhere? 

It will be impressive and perhaps valuable to set the 
stage of that earlier amateur and professional environ- 
ment. Let us rapid-living, swiftly going, flying people 
of to-day try to realize that then there was not in all the 
world a telephone or electric light or trolley-car or auto- 
mobile; not even a bicycle had yet been evolved or in- 
vented. There had been the velocipede, a tandem two- 
wheel device with a saddle on which one wearing side- 
whiskers could sit in a high silk hat and other singular 
garments and propel himself by pushing along the ground 
with his feet and then lifting them for a glide of a rod or 
two; but nothing speedier or more automatic. There 
were no typewriters. The newest illumination was coal- 
gas; the quickest local communication was a longhand 
letter sent by a boy. All watches wound with a key; 
the stem-winder was not yet offered or introduced in 
our section. But goldsmiths were not idle; each proper 
shop tempted the ultra-fashionable by a tray of gold 

These fascinating implements, in a variety of decora- 
tions, some even jewelled, were composed of a thin cylin- 
der of precious metal three-quarters the length of a mod- 
ern cigarette and half the diameter, from which by 
turning the base of the tube one could cause to emerge 
a piston fitted with a thin spearhead of gold, designed 
to dislodge stubborn remnants of food from dental inter- 



vals. After such an interesting service the harpoon, on 
its disappearing gun carriage, moved into the cylinder 
again and the implement was replaced in the right-hand 
vest pocket. And for that meal^ as they say in diplo- 
macy, the incident was closed. 

Occasionally a young man in some older and more 
established family inherited one of these toilet acces- 


At the Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia in 1876 
the Bell telephone was regarded as a toy. Visitors per- 
mitted to listen to the voice of a friend speaking from 
the next room examined the legs of the table to find the 
tube which they were sure Mr. Bell had concealed to 
convey the sound. The first arc light in St. Louis was 
a few years later. This was a spitting and sparking 
and blinding globe suspended outside of a Budweiser 
beer bottler's on Sixth Street near Locust, and pedes- 
trians were astonished at the magic silhouettes of them- 
selves that it cast on the pavement. Street-car parties 
were organized like the rubberneck auto deputations of 
to-day to ride down-town and view this wonder. In- 
candescent lamps came later still. 

All that was but five and forty years ago. Statesmen, 
ministers of the gospel, bankers, and boys all wore boots, 
the leather legs of which reached halfway to the knees, 
either under or outside the trousers. Lincoln, Johnson, 
Grant, Hayes, and Oom Paul were inaugurated in such 
gun-cases. Before sending trousers home, the tailor or 
merchant of the ready-made faithfully obligated himself 
to press out the creases down the front now regarded as 
so desirable by the well-dressed. The well-to-do river- 
men, the romantic survivals from the Jack Hamlin 
period of Bret Harte, had soft-bosom shirts with wide 


plaits fastened by gold or jewelled buttons held in a set 
by a threadlike chain of gold, festooning from stud to 
stud outside the shirt-bosom. The average man, how- 
ever, had his shirt buttoning down the back to permit 
an unbroken expanse of impenetrable front, garnished 
by one large diamond mounted on a substantial crown 
of gold, and anchored to this linoleum breastplate by a 
tight-wormed spiral of the same metal. Tom Nast's old 
cartoons of Bill Tweed show that Tammany chieftain 
wearing one of these sparklers. Hotel clerks and negro 
minstrels competed and specialized in this single shirt- 
stud adornment. That the fashion had some intellectual 
approval is indicated by a comment of Colonel Robert 
IngersoII when in 1880 our city went Republican while 
the State had gone Democratic. 

He said, "St. Louis is a diamond stud on a dirty shirt." 
Let me make now one inclusive declaration of inde- 
pendence in belief. I wish to write through these 
memoirs now and then of spiritism, clairvoyance, telep- 
athy, and other psychic phenomena; and in order to 
forestall any apprehension on the part of those at all 
gun-shy on these subjects, to say that I am not a spiritist, 
although possessed of a very avid curiosity on all that 
authoritatively relates to spiritism. I am not a hypno- 
tist, but am intensely interested in the phenomena of 
hypnotism. I have no second sight, no clairvoyance, no 
abnormal or supernormal powers of any nature; and yet 
I think that perhaps more than the average man I have 
been in contact with soi-disant possessors of such powers. 
My father was one of the sanest and best-balanced 
men I ever saw. He had had many chances to observe 
the table tippings, rappings, levitations, and the like of 
spiritists. He was reluctant to characterize all of it as 


fraud and equally unwilling to accept it as any demon- 
stration from the so-called dead. The most experienced 
investigator of this class of phenomena that I personally 
know, outside of those actively interested in the work for 
psychical-research societies, is my present friend, Ham- 
lin Garland. Mr. Garland conducted a series of investi- 
gations some years ago for Everybody's Magazine, and 
wrote one book upon the subject, masquerading as a 
novel, under the title of "The Tyranny of the Dark." 
Garland has seen and experimented with the so-called 
materializations of spiritism. If I remember rightly, he 
thinks the power may be but an undeveloped psychical 
attribute of the race; that the so-called materializations 
are psychically induced emanations from the operator's 
own body, and that it is all a part of what we might call 
unexplored biology. 

Between the years of my father's cautious . dictum 
and the equally conservative conclusions of Mr. Garland 
I have read publications of the psychical-research socie- 
ties of both England and America, talked extensively 
with the late Doctor Hyslop, and had been asked by him 
to write of some personal observations. That I never 
did so was due to a congenital disposition to procrasti- 
nate. My mother shared my father's agnostic attitude, 
although surrounded by an atmosphere of the belief. 
My dear old grandmother, of whom I have written some- 
what playfully but with great reverence, had no doubts 
on the subject. As a young woman she had been rebuked 
for her opinions by her friend, Archbishop Purcell, who 
took the safe and wholesome attitude of the Catholic 
Church that the whole subject was an excellent thing 
for the simple layman to avoid. Personally, grandmother 
overrode this advice; she firmly believed that she was 


in communication with a spirit world. This was not an 
obtrusive or offensive or disquieting position with her, 
because she seldom talked of it. But there were occa- 
sions at home, some half-dozen notable instances, when, 
with sickness somewhere in the brood of children and 
the puzzled doctors in conference disagreeing, the old 
lady had not hesitated to give a definitive diagnosis of 
the trouble and prescribe a remedy. This she did with 
all the solemnity of a traditional oracle, quietly seated 
in her chair, but with none of the described theatricality 
of the cult except that she closed her eyes. 

On those remembered occasions there are no data for 
verifying her diagnoses; but her recommended remedies 
were completely curative, and although these were re- 
sorted to as a rule without my father's consent, and some- 
times against his opposition, their unbroken record of 
successes gradually won his silence and apparently his 
respect. This therapeutic assumption of grandmother's 
was her only spiritistic claim. She had no visions or pre- 
tended auditions; she told no fortunes; she attended no 
church or circle of spiritists; nor had she with their pro- 
fessed believers any relations whatever of which I ever 
knew. Years after the last of A. W.'s letters she an- 
nounced one day that he was dead. To use her own 
words, she "just received a feeling of it." We had then 
no acceptable way to verify her conviction. On my last 
visit to St. Louis during her life, when in her eighty- 
fourth year, she was but a shadow of the substantial and 
militant grandmother of the Civil War period, she held 
my hands as I bade her good-by for my return trip to 
New York, and she talked of her approaching departure 
to another world with the serenity of Socrates. 

I know how one's prudent friends advise against any 

lerson to a dinner in vvasnmgiou . 
ing to John G. Carlisle, then Speaker of the House, and 
Chief Justice Fuller of the Supreme Court, and knowing 
as he did Jefferson's predilection for all things spiritistic, 
he had felt it wise to caution Joe against showing that 
side of his credulity in the company that evening. He 
had explained that Carlisle was a hard-headed lawyer, 
trained in the presentation of evidence and not given to 
any vagaries unsupported by material testimony; and 
Chief Justice Fuller, of the Supreme Court of the United 
States, was eminently of the type of mind that his posi- 
tion required, and that any spiritistic statements would 
probably be prejudicial. 

The dinner had hardly started; the rain outside in- 
duced a serious atmosphere. Something was said that 
made an easy approach to the subject, when Carlisle 
himself introduced the question of spiritism, supporting 
it by a most extravagant story of his own experience. 
When Carlisle finished, Chief Justice Fuller followed 
with something from his recollections that topped the 
Carlisle story. 

Colonel Watterson relates, " I then threw up my hands 
and said, 'Joe, the bars are down.' " 

On the day that I was dictating my recollections of 
this story, in September, 1921, I had a telephone com- 
munication from a mutual friend telling me that Colonel 
Watterson was confined to his room with a slight attack 
of bronchitis in the Prince George Hotel in New York. 
I went to see him. Our friendship has existed since 1888. 
I am happy to say that I found Colonel Watterson's 



confinement to his room more cautionary than impera- 
tive. In our rambling talk I reverted to this story of 
Jefferson, and Colonel Watterson verified my recollec- 
tions of it. 

I told him that I was writing it in a contribution to a 
paper, and said, "Why wasn't that in your own fine 

He said: "There was so much to tell that most of that 
kind of stuff was crowded out; and besides, my dignity 
sat on my pen." 

Perhaps by this implication, stimulating or restrain- 
ing, according to one's interpretation, dignity should 
drag a little here. But I feel the need, which Colonel 
Watterson did not have, of laying a foundation for some 
fuller expressions on the subject later on, all of them 
relating to experiences that culminated as far as I be- 
lieved the theatre then permitted an intelligent sum- 
mary in my play "The Witching Hour." Besides, a 
very wise counsellor once said: "We should be generous 
even of our dignity." And so, with what I hope was a 
cautious approach to the subject, and this explanation 
serving as a rear-guard, I leave my psychical preparations 
temporarily between them. 

My interest and practice in drawing were advanced 
by some experience nearly every day. Almost mechani- 
cally I filled the margins of car reports and chance news- 
papers with pencil sketches. During some winter nights, 
as late as two or three in the morning, huddled in the 
switch shanty in the railroad yard, waiting for the 
double-decked hog trains that were arriving at half- 
hour intervals, we used to get fun out of chalk or char- 
coal caricatures of some member of the crew, drawn on 
the walls of the dismantled box-car that served as our 

4 , 


refuge. Now and then a switchman of undeveloped 
taste would intrust to me a photograph to be enlarged 
in crayon. 

It may be because we young men were so much in the 
midst of it that I got the idea that there was a consider- 
able art interest in St. Louis at that period. Pictures of 
three painters whose reputations led and which in later 
years I had a chance to see again bear out the estimate 
in which they then were held. James M. Tracy, a 
painter of landscapes and animals, came afterward to 
New York, and made a considerable stir with his pic- 
tures of hunting dogs in the field. There was a time when 
the important magazines were glad to reproduce these 
canvases. J. R. Meeker, a man of heroic mould physi- 
cally, had made a study of Southern landscape with its 
hazy atmosphere, hanging moss, and brooding cranes.. 
Few men before or since have been so able to get the 
spirit of the hazy regions of Pontchartrain. W. S. Mar- 
pie handled landscape bits with the affection and delicacy 
if not the superlative skill that mark the gentlewomen 
that our present Thomas Dewing paints. About these 
three men were a score of lesser popularity, with here 
and there in the number men of equal craftsmanship. 
Carl Gutherz was a Munich graduate, as was also Paul 

At the Washington University there was a completely 
equipped and well-organized art school, founded by that 
administrator of international fame, Professor Halsey C. 
Ives, who later directed the art exhibit of the World's 
Fair in Chicago. In one of the university departments 
was the usual life class, and for the benefit of young men 
who were obliged to work in the day some of the sessions 
were held at night, In North St. Louis a little nucleus 


met in the rooms of the brothers, George and Edward 
Snell. A third companion there was the late Sylvester 
Rawling, who subsequently became an important mem- 
ber of the editorial staff of the New York World and an 
authority upon music. 

Four or five of us used to come together once or twice 
a week immediately after supper at George Snell's rooms, 
and start for our walk of two miles to the Washington 
University for the night class, and when that was over 
foot it home. We came back through the streets of sleep- 
ing and shuttered houses toward midnight, laughing and 
singing, as we knew from the stories of our elders the 
students laughed and sang in the Latin Quarter. 

Gutherz, one of the teachers in the life class, was a 
master draftsman. Howard Kretchmar, the sculptor, 
lectured on the skeleton and the muscular structures, 
and made them vastly interesting. I recall the astonish- 
ment with which I learned that a piece of sculpture in 
the making was built up and not chiselled out of some 
solid mass. This fact, so familiar to us older ones, now 
conies as a helpful surprise to most beginners in art. I 
recently saw a friend's wife who has considerable talent 
for modelling struggling to obtain a form by cutting clay 
from a sufficiently inclusive mass. She is a lady of thirty- 
two and fair general information, yet she came with as- 
tonishment to know that the sculptor in making a draped 
figure sets up first the frame that somewhat simulates 
the skeleton, and adds a sufficient outline to approximate 
a nude before he puts over the final drapery. 

About that time, encouraged by the three old artists 
first mentioned, we organized a sketch club in St. Louis 
with some thirty active members. Ihave been in many 
organizations since then, from labor-unions to academies; 


but none for sheer good fun, for emulation, for real 
progress, for general education, and for generosity has 
equalled that old St. Louis Sketch Club. We met twice 
a month, each member bringing in a sketch upon a sub- 
ject announced at the preceding meeting. The host of 
the night obligated himself to furnish some sandwiches 
and a keg of beer, and became the owner of the sketches. 

The principal art firm of the city gave us a rear gal- 
lery in which to have our fortnightly gathering, where 
the sketches were tacked up on the wall or placed upon 
proper pedestals, seriously discussed by all, constructively 
criticised by the men competent to judge them, and al- 
ways applauded when at all deserving. When we had 
talked ourselves out about the exhibition, sandwiches 
were opened up, the beer keg was tapped. Kretchmar, 
Meeker, or some other positive personality presided, 
with the beer mallet as a gavel, and there was such im- 
promptu entertainment as the vivacious spirits of our 
little artistic membership could give. The next day our 
commercial house had the place cleaned up; the art men 
on the local newspapers came in and wrote helpfully of 
the exhibition and for a week following it was open to 
the public. 

The entertaining character of our meetings gradually 
drew privileged citizens, and after a while it was our 
custom to have as special guests, who came in after the 
play was over, visiting actors of distinction. I made at 
such meetings my first acquaintance with Robson, Crane, 
Raymond, Wyndham, Florence, and other men. On her 
first visit to St. Louis, when she brought with her own 
art works, her little canvases and bronzes, the reception 
to Sarah Bernhardt was under our auspices, and her 
works were exhibited in connection with our own. We 


had a special meeting in the aftcrnnon for the divine 
Sarah. She stood in the salon of our little club to receive 
three or four hundred honored with invitations. I re- 
number her little flat but jaunty and bcplumed hat of 
that period, set high on her shapely head, and her tight- 
fitting gown of purple velvet, more like a riding-habit 
than any other style that would in a word describe it. 

Local interest in this little organization grew. Philan- 
thropic and discriminating men picked from our mem- 
bership the boys they thought capable of a career. 
George Snell went as the protege of a syndicate to Paris. 
A year or two later RuckstuII followed. About the same 
time Will 1L Howe, the eminent cattle-painter, who now 
lives at Bnmxville, where he may show his three medals 
that make him bors concours in the National Salon of 
1'Yanee, and who wears in his lapel the red ribbon of the 
Lr>;itm of Honor, was another. 

George Snell and Rawlings both are gone; a younger 
brother, Henry Bay ley Snell, with medals from Phila- 
delphia and Paris, the Buffalo and St. Louis expositions, 
and from Panama, is now president of the New York 
Water Color Club. One distinguished patron of art 
and an honorary member of this sketch club was Mr. 
John P. Colby, father of Bainbridge Colby, Secretary of 
State during the last year of the Wilson Administration. 
When our little gang in St. Louis said good-by to George 
Snell the night before he started for Paris, with a real 
sense of loss and more emotion in the Godspeed than 
one finds anywhere outside of a college commencement 
break-up, the parting ceremony was at John Colby's 
beautiful home, with the future cabinet oificcr and his 
younger sister tucked safely away in their beds. 

These gentlemen who financed the Paris studies of 


some of these boys made me a similar offer, but affairs 
at home were not in a condition that permitted my leav- 
ing. I had had some training for the disappointment 
three years before, when, after a competitive examina- 
tion, and by the help of the local Methodist minister, 
who upon grandmother's appeal tutored and brushed me 
up for the contest, I had won an appointment to West 
Point. This had been declined for the same domestic 
reasons. I write of both seeming deprivations to record 
an unmanly self-pity, although I hope I didn't openly 
confess it at the time. 

There were no appointed Spartan preceptors in the 
railroad yard to teach us to be calm above the aggression 
of our hidden foxes, but there were stoical traditions. In 
those days we used to injure in some degree or other an 
average of a man a month, and it was the sporty thing, 
with a foot that had just been mashed in a frog or a hand 
that had been caught between the bumpers, to sit tight, 
and while admitting it was tough luck to smile as gamely 
as one could. A sturdy freight conductor, Alex Beecher, 
with both legs run over and crushed at a siding some 
fifty miles out, had rallied his demoralized crew, made 
tourniquets of a couple of belts to stop the hemorrhage, 
cut out all but his engine and caboose, telegraphed for 
a clear track, sent a call to the St. Louis surgeons, and 
when he pulled into the terminal to meet the ambulance 
was sitting stoutly upright in his rude bunk calculating 
his run. Heroic examples of that kind shamed the spirit 
that could repine even to oneself over a disappointed 
dream. But art and Paris could not have had for me 
the varied experience that a catch-as-catch-can grapple 
with the world enforced for the work I was ultimately so 
glad to do. 



I referred in the last chapter to the number of men 
injured in the railroad yards before mechanical protec- 
tions had been invented. The absence of safety devices 
on the crude railroads of that day that made possible 
these frequent physical accidents, the keenness of the 
railroads to get the injured men to sign waivers of 
damages or to take mere settlement of surgical and hos- 
pital fees were among the many things of which the men 
complained. They had just passed through a period of 
payment by scrip; that is to say, paper promises by the 
railroad instead of the paper currency of the United 
States. This company scrip was discounted at the neigh- 
borhood groceries, which further reduced the compensa- 
tion of the men. Discontent was not local but nation- 

Terence V. Powder ly, the labor leader, visited each 
section of the industry and organized assemblies of the 
Knights of Labor. I was not yet of age, but men in the 
freight-yard closed their eyes to my disqualification. I 
became a member of the Missouri Assembly No. 9 and 
a subscriber to its oath. This assembly had about two 
hundred members recruited from the trainmen and the 
freight platforms. 

Their attempts at conducting business in parliamen- 
tary fashion were frequently confused, and after I had 
been called upon a number of times because of my page- 


asking this kid what to do when we know that if we put 
him into the chair we can get through with our business 
and get home to bed?" 

There was no dissent even from the incumbent officer, 
and with no outspoken opposition I was elected to the 
place of master workman. As a man, according to the 
laws of the organization, had to be twenty-one years of 
age, and I was two years shy of that, it is probably a 
fair assumption that I was the youngest master workman 
in the order. I went through a protracted local strike 
at that time with our men, and sat in councils that de- 
cided rather fateful questions. 

In any secret organization an oath with the accom- 
panying ceremonies and surrounding paraphernalia is an 
impressing thing. Although not a joiner, I have seen 
two or three kinds of initiation; but never an equal so- 
lemnity to that of those men, who felt they were uniting 
in a life-or-death class struggle. 

At that time it was not the avowed policy of organized 
labor to keep clear of politics. I think the leaders among 
them felt that to influence legislation was the way out 
of their difficulties. At any rate, in my twentieth year 
the Labor Party of St. Louis determined to make an 
organized protest, and although moving to an unques- 
tionable and thoroughly foreseen defeat in the elections, 
they decided upon the count of noses. In that forlorn 
hope, as an ineligible candidate for clerk of the circuit 
court, I made my first out-of-door, cart-tail speeches. 
The atmosphere was pretty thoroughly surcharged. The 
great railroad strike had swept the country. In Pitts- 


burgh the strikers had been victorious over the local 
militia. They had driven the Philadelphia Grays into 
a roundhouse upon which they trained their captured 
cannon, and into which they ran a car of burning oil. 
The Grays were many of them trampled to death. Mil- 
lions of dollars' worth of property was destroyed, and 
order was restored only when General Phil Sheridan, 
with United States troops, took charge of the situation. 

John Seott, the first Earl of Eldon, Lord Chancellor 
of England in 1821, is quoted as saying, when he was 
eighty years of age, and protesting against the rapid 
disposition of anybody in the possession of three acres 
and a cow to become conservative, "If I were to begin 
life again, I am damned but I would begin as agitator." 
I hud not read Lord Eldon, but I began as agitator. 

Through all this perilous time I had at my elbow my 
clear ukl father, wise in political and military fashion; 
and it may be that much of our organized activity was 
tempered by thoughtful things I was able to say to my 
men and of which father had in serious discussions in- 
formed me, 

\\V talk now of persisting forces that work at the foun- 
dation of our civilization either for its upbuilding and 
its support or its renovation or its decline; it is proper 
to be briefly serious concerning them. Associated as I 
was with men who were working with their hands and 
were constantly risking their lives, I have no apology 
for a sympathetic alignment with them in what was de- 
cided class feeling. In my immature and impulsive 
measurement of the field it seemed that money was heart- 
lessly exploiting the people. My father didn't believe 
that to be so desperately the case. Working as a printer 
at that time, he joined an assembly of Knights of Labor 

then I have had a boy of my own, and 1 know it was the 
supervision of an affectionate parent who felt that he 
must move somewhat cautiously to influence a rather 
impulsive son. 

Somewhere in his reading father had picked up ^the 
statement that when Arkwright invented the spinning- 
jenny there had been six thousand hand spinners in Eng- 
land, and that fifty years after the machinery was in 
fair operation the man-power of the machines represented 
the work of six hundred million spinners. He had a state- 
ment, probably gathered from the same source, or one 
similar, that when the hand spinners were undisturbed 
in their work the land of England had been under two 
hundred and fifty thousand separate owners; that after 
machinery had been in use fifty years the land of Eng- 
land had been concentrated into the possession of thirty- 
two thousand individual and corporate ownerships. I 
wasn't able to make any profound deduction from these 
two facts, but I remember my father saying to me: 

" Suppose we both were hand spinners competing, and 
that I suddenly came into the possession of a machine 
that could do the work of two hundred and fifty men, 
where would you be? Suppose I made money enough 
to buy a second machine, and I had five hundred man- 
power to oppose against the output of your two hands." 

Somehow he felt that the dominance of the machine 
was a factor in its present status that threatened civili- 
zation. He wasn't sufficiently Chinese to wish to destroy 
the machine, nor was he statesman enough or political 
economist enough to know the proper answer; perhaps 


there isn't anybody at Washington or Westminster that 
can give it now; but he thought he saw a gleam of 
promise in an income tax that could be wisely used. I 
had a groping apprehension of what he was trying to 
work out, and in my cart-tail speeches advocated an in- 
come tax. 

I talked it in every political campaign thereafter to 
which I was admitted or tolerated. America could not 
have played her part in the recent World War without 
an income tax which enabled her to take excess profits. 

To jump ahead chronologically, I remember meeting 
Mr. Charles Schwab in the foyer of a theatre when at 
his wife's solicitation he was taking a half-day off from 
his strenuous work in the war. 

With the utmost cheerfulness, he said to me, apropos 
of the government assessments, "I have to make one 
hundred dollars for every eleven I want to use for my- 

There was no color of complaint in this, but rather a 
pride in the resourcefulness of his country. But leaving 
the question of income tax aside, I wonder now if the 
insensate machine, still encroaching where it has not yet 
subdued, isn't largely responsible for part of the inter- 
national industrial mess. I wonder if our trouble is alto- 
gether a friction between capital and labor a matter 
only of production and markets; or if there is not more 
obliquely and obscurely some trouble still in that old 
menace that my father thought he sighted. 

One clause at that time in the constitution of the 
Knights of Labor provided that no lawyer should be a 
member of the order. The constitution was an emana- 
tion of Mr. Powderly's council, and I shall leave to him 
or others equally wise the reason for this precaution. 


But by the automatic action of that clause, when I en- 
tered the law office of John Colby to study law I had 
my Washington's Farewell to that assembly. 

John Peck Colby was born in Nunda, New York. He 
was the son of Luke Colby, a Baptist clergyman, promi- 
nent in educational movements of the day and identified 
with several institutes of learning which had their origin 
at that time. 

Young John, enlisting in the Union Army in the Civil 
War, attained the rank of captain. At the close of the 
war he married an Elmira girl, Frances Bainbridge, re- 
lated to Commodore Bainbridge, of Mediterranean fame, 
and became instructor of Latin and Greek in the local 
academy. After he was admitted to the bar he came 
to St. Louis with his bride to establish a home. 

My acquaintance with him had begun, as I have said 
before, in the circle of artists and his first interest in me 
had been along those lines. At that time his son, Bain- 
bridge, was not quite ten years of age; his little daughter, 
Lisle, was younger. Mrs. Frances Bainbridge Colby's 
father also was a clergyman the Reverend Doctor Bain- 
bridge, then of Elmira. 

As John used to say, "It was seldom that one saw such 
eminent piety concentrated in one family." 

In the law office I found the books unattractive, but 
I read Blackstone's "Commentaries," "Parsons on Con- 
tracts," and the other ponderous furniture of that sombre 

If, after my grandmother and my own parents, I 
named the most definite personal influence I had known, 
I should say it was probably that of Mr. John Colby. 
With the habit of his scholarly precision, he was very 
much more interested in the style of anything I had to 


compose in or out of business hours than he was in its 
legal accuracy. In both art and letters he was a patient 
advocate of standards, and he had a sensibility natural 
and cultivated that made him aware of any influence 
having a tendency to depress them. He had a love of 
simple Anglo-Saxon and a sense of fitness in its use or 
propriety in its elaboration. His reading was wide and 
selectively renewed, and he had that capacity for quick 
association or analogy that the psychologists note as a 
prime element of genius. In writing of his influence upon 
me I feel that I may claim as an effect of it only an "at- 
tention" on my part, and not a "forward march." 

His son, Bainbridge, was a sturdy boy with a well- 
balanced interest in books and play, and in the first days 
of our association intensely interested in my railroad 
activities and his occasional chance thereby to get among 
the cars and locomotives. A characteristic quality of 
the boy was his interest in affairs and his capacity for 
sustained attention. The shipping cards on the side 
doors of the cars indicating destinations and contents 
interested him. He had to know the reasons for these 
supplies going to certain places; the original shipping 
points of their production; the interrelation of the sec- 
tions of the country; and he took such information as I 
was able to give and made such pat application of it and 
such thoughtful associations of its parts that it was a 
source of constant astonishment to me. His father, who 
was a wise educator, had in the library of their home a 
large-sized terrestrial globe, so that the children had no 
distorted ideas of the relative extents of the different 
countries such as most of us get in school from the inade- 
quate systems of maps. Another characteristic of the 
boy was in the kind of questions he used to put to his 


father. I remember Colby, Sr., showing a. good-natured 
generalization of these attacks by replying to the first 
of an expected bunch of volleyed questions by a prompt 
resort to the established stencil. 

He said, "The gentleman of whom you ask is in the 
woodcnwarc and cooperage business; he makes barrels 
and buckets; he sends them to all sections of the coun- 
try; he is at the head of a very reputable firm; I think 
they do a large business," And the father finished with 
a hearty laugh at the boy's reception of this short circuit 
on his intent. 

All that delicate culture could give to him Bninbridge 
was getting from that household and its atmosphere; 
personally I was anxious to make him familiar with the 
rougher edges of life. My attempts at this often ran 
counter to the family's ideas. The Fourth of July was 
not then safe or sane, but their careful mother kept ex- 
plosives from the Colby children. There can never be 
any world conflagration in which Bambridge Colby, 
however active politically, will create .such a sensation 
as he did on our first Fourth together when we came 
back from the corner grocery, young Bambridge astride 
of my shoulders and holding in each hand, by the tail 
of its plaited fuses, a package, of exploding firecrackers, 
which of course very safely released themselves from 
the string before they fell and went off at our feet. 

At that time in Kansas City there were two girls to 
whom George Snell and I used to write from St. Louis. 
One Sunday w f c planned a visit to them, and by some 
relaxation of the rules I had persuaded the Colby parents 
to let us take Bainbridge along. lie was then a kid of 
ten, and roughed it quite manfully with us overnight in 
the chair car. The nearest station to our destination in 


Kansas City was a stop that as we neared it we learned 
had, for our train, been cut out; but we felt that we 
would not go by at a speed that would prevent our 
getting off. Snell took his place on the steps of the car 
in front of us ; we Bainbridge and I were on the plat- 
form immediately after. Following instructions, he had 
his arms wrapped around my neck and his legs around 
my waist I had a waist in those days. I dropped on to 
the platform, all right with the boy in the greatest glee; 
but the speed was too fast for Snell, who prudently stuck 
to the train as he blew us a kiss and went a mile farther 
on. My excuse for this foolhardy act is that I was as 
ignorant as Caesar's boatman of the freight I carried. 
Bainbridge's recital of this experience didn't make the 
hit at home we had looked for. 

My father had taught me boxing while he sat on a 
chair. I began in like manner to teach young Bainbridge 
the art. This was as contrary to the church precepts 
ruling that house as can be imagined; but at irregular 
intervals we persisted. When Bainbridge at sixteen left 
for his freshman year at college he had pretty well out- 
grown his tutor. I don't remember whether reports 
were satisfactory as to studies, but on the freshman field- 
day my pupil with soft gloves knocked out two men. 
I have seen him since in legal and political contests, and 
have had no difficulty in persuading myself that the 
stamina there invariably shown had in it some element 
of our earlier work together. In 1916, when Mr. Roose- 
velt tried to lead the Progressive Party back into the 
Republican fold, it was the fighter Colby who resisted 
that unattractive persuasion; and in the ensuing cam- 
paign, when Colby, as the principal unterrified Progres- 
sive, canvassed the West for Wilson, I think the three 


deciding votes from California were more a response to 
the pugilistic antecedents of the oratory than to any 
theological recollection. Also in the smoothly lucid and 
unmistakable diction of his diplomatic communications 
I thought there was the firmness of the lad who knew 
how to keep his balance and to put up his hands. 

Colby, Sr., was very sympathetic with my scattering 
interests, and especially with my play-writing ambitions. 
Before I went into his office, and as a sequence to my 
experience in our North St. Louis dramatic club, I joined 
the larger McCuIIough Club. This organization of ama- 
teurs, while resembling the present Comedy Club of 
New York and the Mask and Wig of Philadelphia, had 
certain distinctive features that are worth considering. 
The old McCuIIough Club had about five hundred mem- 
bers, of which fifty or more were on the active list. Each 
member paid ten dollars a winter, and for that received 
two admissions to each of the five performances in a 
season. The plays for these were carefully chosen, and 
were as thoroughly rehearsed as amateurs can rehearse, 
taking two or three nights a week for a month. A regular 
theatre was rented for the single performance. The 
mechanical force back of the curtain was of professional 
hands from the regular houses. 

Shortly after joining the club, because of my semi- 
professional and considerable amateur experience, too, I 
became the stage-manager of the organization. Any one 
who has sympathized with my allusions to financial em- 
barrassment hitherto will feel a sense of relief at learning 
that I received fifty dollars a performance for rehearsing 
and presenting each play. As this work was done out- 
side the hours of other employment, it was what was 
then and may still be called velvet. 


A number of actors who achieved fair prominence, 
though not stellar distinction, were graduated from that 
club. William Beaumont Smith, son of General A. J. 
Smith, of Vicksburg and Red River famej was one of our 
members. He later went on the professional stage and 
was for many years a popular leading man. Guy Linds- 
ley, who has been Mr. Robert MantelPs leading man, was 
another McCuIIough Club boy; Mr. Edgar Smith, for 
many years librettist for Weber and Fields, and now 
still successful as dramatic author, was another; the late 
W. G. Smythe, who was the first manager for William 
Collier, and thereafter for many years, up to the date 
of his death in September, 1921, the booking manager 
for the Belasco attractions, was a McCuIIough Club actor; 
A. G. Robyn, the composer, had his first musical work 
presented by members of this company. 

In those days there was an old play called "Mrs. Wal- 
dron's Bachelors," a fifteen-cent book available to any 
amateur and without copyright. From it Mr. Joseph 
Bradford had made the play called "Our Bachelors," in 
which Robson and Crane were starring. There is an 
anecdote of this author, Joseph Bradford, who was a 
very able Boston journalist, that should not be lost. 
There will be no better place for it than this. 

Bradford, who wrote of and for the theatre, had a 
wish to play, and when Adelaide Neilson came to that 
city in repertoire the management arranged for Brad- 
ford to go on in the small part of Paris in "Romeo and 
Juliet." In the abridged version his only appearance 
was as the bereaved bridegroom at the tomb of Juliet, 
where he encounters Romeo forcing the door to the vault. 
Romeo, interfered with, kills Paris, who falls and speaks 
the line, "0, I am slain!" 


Bradford was so occupied with the technic of being 
stabbed and falling that he forgot his line. He not only 
forgot to speak it, but he forgot what it was, until some 
minutes later, when Romeo has taken the poison and is 
dead, and Juliet, kneeling over his body, is bewailing 

At this point the interested audience was astonished 
to see the corpse of Paris rise to its elbow and, as if re- 
senting the sympathy that was being showered upon the 
unhappy Juliet, exclaim, "O, I am slain!" 

The house, which had utterly forgotten the unimpor- 
tant man up stage, burst into a chorus of laughter which 
brought down the curtain on the unhappy Adelaide. 

When the McCuIIough Club announced "Mrs. Wal- 
dron's Bachelors" the attorneys for the Robson and 
Crane enterprise endeavored to enjoin the performance 
legally, but the amateurs won out. Another attempted 
injunction was when the club put on "Esmeralda," by 
Mrs. Burnett and William Gillette. This they had re- 
hearsed from the published text of the play in the Cen- 
tury Magazine. Our present copyright law was not in 
existence then. Legal action taken to protect a play was 
based upon property right under the common law, but 
the courts were reluctant to say that plays printed in 
magazines had not been printed subject to any use that 
any buyer might care to make of them. In both of these 
unauthorized performances I had the leading part. 

"Esmeralda" was played by the club only a few weeks 
before the regular Madison Square Company came to 
St. Louis with the drama. One of the local papers, the 
Spectator, in criticising the professional company, said 
that the performance of old man Rogers by Mr. John E. 
Owens had not been so good as that of the same part by 

ui me! y, ctiiu tins uicctmieui, ui mm was iiui tu DC 
tolerated by the management. A controversy ensued 
which lasted while the company was there, and was then 
forgotten. I rather egotistically make a note of it be- 
cause years later it was the basis of a pretty act of gen- 
erosity on the part of Mr. Owens. 

A moving spirit in the McCuIIough Club in its or- 
ganization, its management, and in its active expression 
was Wayman McCreery, now dead. I am sure that 
ten thousand of his surviving contemporaries in the city 
of St. Louis will remember Wayman McCreery. Few 
men are so physically and intellectually equipped as he 
was. There was nothing that an athlete could do with 
his body that in a notable degree Wayman McCreery 
could not do. He was boxer, wrestler, fencer, runner, 
and swimmer, and all-round athlete. In addition to these 
he was a graceful step dancer. Intellectually he was 
equipped with a college training and had an interest in 
everything that interested the intelligent people of his 
day. He sang well enough to be a leading tenor in a 
fashionable choir. He wrote music of good quality. He 
was the author of the opera "L'Afrique," which was 
first done by amateurs in St. Louis and subsequently 
produced in New York, although with not very great 
success, by Jesse Williams. McCreery will be remem- 
bered by the sporting world as the inventor of the three- 
cushion game of billiards, of which he was at one time 
the national champion. As Hugh Chalcot in Robertson's 
comedy "Ours" it would have taken a professional to 
equal him. Another part of McCreery' s was Captain 
Hawtree in "Caste," by the same author. 


The Colby children, like all youngsters, were attracted 
by such knowledge of the world behind the curtain as 
our home talk developed and as an occasional peep be- 
hind scenes would emphasize. As is commonly the ease 
also, the little girl's interest was the greater. One day 
she brought to me a copy of St. Nicholas with Mrs. Bur- 
nett's story of "Editha's Burglar." 

"Don't you think," she asked, "that would make a 
pretty play?" 

With the addition of the dramatic element by having 
the burglar be the child's father, it did make a pretty 
play, the first of mine to be done professionally and to 
be produced in New York. 

Theatricals, amateur and scmiprofossional, gradually 
claimed more and more attention, so that when I finally 
told Mr. Colby that I thought the east in the law-books 
was too short, that nothing could be done with John 
Doe and Richard Roe, and that the love interest was 
entirely lacking, he made no objection to my accepting 
the offer of Mr. Charles R. Pope to go into the box-oflice 
of his new theatre. 

Charles R. Pope had been a partner with Mr. Charles 
Spalding in the ownership of the old Olympic. The men 
had separated for some reason, and Mr. Pope had built 
Pope's Theatre on the site of the late Century Theatre 
in St. Louis. Pope's Theatre was rather economically 
constructed by making a playhouse out of a church that 
stood there. Mr. Pope was without capital; he financed 
his enterprise by the issuance of a number of subscribers' 
tickets which admitted the holders to two performances 
a week at a reduced rate. These tickets were not un- 
like the old-time commutation tickets on a railroad, with 
margins of serial numbers to be punched as the tickets 

were used. Visiting companies objected to this bargain- 
counter finance, and these tickets were the occasion of 
endless trouble. 

Before managing the Olympic with Spalding, Charles 
Pope had been a tragedian of considerable prominence, 
especially in the West. He was a man of heroic figure, 
stentorian voice, and a method plainly founded on Edwin 
Forrest's. At both the Olympic and Pope's Theatre he 
continued to appear when the opportunity offered or the 
emergency required. His wife was Margaret Macauley, 
a member of the well-known Kentucky family of that 
name. Her brother, Daniel Macauley, the senior of the 
family, had been a general in the Union Army and won 
distinction. A second brother, Barney Macauley, was 
one of the foremost actors of his day. A still younger 
brother was John, who ultimately became the sole owner 
of Macauley's Theatre in Louisville, in which all the 
brothers had been jointly interested. 

Mr. Pope's financial troubles in St. Louis were not 
confined to the commutation reductions which he was 
occasionally required to make up, and the men in his 
box-office had an intimate acquaintance with the amus- 
ing financial finesse then customary in theatrical circles. 
Then, as now, among bills paid by the resident manager 
were those of the bill-poster. Our St. Louis bill-poster 
was a rough, truculent, good-hearted person named Cot- 
trcll, who might have stepped out of that group of pirates 
in "Treasure Island" as far as his appearance was con- 
cerned, and very often Pope wished he would go back. 
Besides his bristling mustache and black beard, he had 
a gin-and-fog voice that would have frightened any nur- 
sery. It was the duty of us men at the window, when 
we saw CottrcII coming to collect his bills, to flag the 


owner, who would then flatten himself against the inner 
wall and stay out of sight. 

On one occasion, however, Cottrell was too quick for 
the manoeuvre, and caught Mr. Pope on an early after- 
noon when as we knew there was no money in the 
bank, none in the box-office, and no prospect for the eve- 
ning. Cottrell wanted his bill. Pope's histrionic train- 
ing stood him in stead. 

Pushing the treasurer aside, he leaned on the box- 
office window-sill and said: "Where are those stands 
and three sheets, Mr. Cottrell, for whose posting you 
are demanding payment?" 

Cottrell made the expected reply that they were on 
the billboards throughout the city. 

"Well," said Mr. Pope, "I want my paper to be put 
on the walls where the people are and where the car lines 


This metrical diction into which Pope in his blank- 
verse training always drifted in his moments of dignity 
elicited from Cottrell the reply that the bills were there 
in the places Pope had described. 

"I want to see them." 

"Well, how can you see them?" 

"I can see them by your getting a horse and buggy 
and driving me over the route." 

Cottrell belligerently agreed to do this, and the trip 
was made. When the two men came back it was past 
banking hours. Pope proudly gave him a check that 
could not be offered for payment until an evening had 
intervened, in which he could scout among his friends 
for cash. 

As theatre manager, the old tragedian, not always in 
the best of health, made a gallant fight, not only against 

houses, who combined against him. He finally won out 
and sold his theatre at a profit on his time and trouble. 
When Harrison was elected to the presidency, Mr. Pope 
became our United States consul at Toronto, where his 
fine presence, his dignified bearing, his knowledge of 
modern languages, and the bonhomie of the old trouper 
made him as fine a national representative as we had 
at any European court. 

There was not always good business at Pope's Theatre. 
As in other playhouses, we had idle times, when a man 
in the box-office had little to do. In those days there 
was not in St. Louis any rapid-fire photo-engraving es- 
tablishment. Any pictures wanted quickly for a news- 
paper could be turned out more promptly by the local 
wood-engravers, of whom there were several. Many 
otherwise idle hours in the box-office I was able to occupy 
profitably on such occasional illustrations. 

There are few occupations more fascinating than to 
draw upon boxwood. This material,- which comes in 
blocks type high and varying from the width of the news- 
paper column to four or five, as desired, is made of little 
sections, each not more than a square-inch in size, 
dowelled together more tightly than marquetry in furni- 
ture is joined. The surface of this assembled block is 
pumiced to a delightful smoothness, having enough grain, 
however, while imperceptible to the touch, to take a 
pencil-point without slipping. As it comes to the drafts- 
man, it has the natural-wood color not unlike the tint 
of freshly planed pine. Over this one throws a light wash 
of water-color white. The surface then is good for either 
pencil or brush. 


When one has finished his drawing by cither of these 
methods, the wood-engraver cuts out all the portions of 
the block that are meant to be white in the reproduction 
that is to say, meant not to print at all and leaves 
the rest. If he left the rest unchanged, however, it would 
print a solid black silhouette. The engraver's skill lies 
in so breaking this surface as to get by the use of alter- 
nating black and white lines the various shades the artist 
intended. The simplest understanding of this will be by 
considering an outline drawing only, but done in pencil, 
which of course is gray and not black. If the engraver 
left this line unbroken it would print, black, however, 
and resemble a pen stroke and not the mark of a pencil. 
But wishing to give the pencil effect, he traverses the line 
on his block with a sufficient number of tiny cut-out 
spaces to get resemblance to the. pencil mark. 

As an example of a pencil drawing upon a piece of box- 
wood so treated that the gray reproduction resembles 
the pencil, there is given here an outline cut that, has a 
story. At the time of which 1 am talking there was a 
young man in New York named I ; recldie Gebhard, who 
came into sudden prominence through his admiration 
for and attentions to a world-renowned actress then 
visiting America. As I remember, Mr. (Jcblmrd's enthu- 
siasm did not have the approval of his father, and nearly 
all the newspapers felt distressed about it. Despite these 
solicitudes Mr. Gebhard joined the lady in her various 
professional engagements throughout the country. The 
people called him a dude. 

Few of us now remember what were the distinguish- 
ing characteristics of a dude forty years ago, when the 
name was adopted. The principal ones were that he 
should wear very tight trousers, a black cutaway coat, 


"the beetle tails of which protruded some six inches below 
a. short tan-colored box-cloth overcoat of very easy di- 
n-tensions. Besides these sartorial marks, a dude was 
supposed to be somewhat of a sapling and lacking in 
inanly fibre. 

A morning paper in St. Louis had on its editorial staff 
at that time a man named Cunningham, reputed to be 
a person of physical courage and a dangerous man to 
provoke. Some of the things that Mr. Cunningham 
wrote about Mr. Gebhard's St. Louis visit displeased 
that gentleman. Gebhard inquired concerning the writer, 
learned his name and reputation, and then, before a con- 
siderable group of spectators one evening just after din- 
ner in the corridor of the Southern Hotel, walked up to 
Mr. Cunningham and very soundly slapped his face. 
Something in the way in which he did this convinced 
the observers that it had been intentional and premedi- 
tated, and had respectable force of character behind it. 
Nothing was done about it except some extended reports 
by the rival papers. 

Mr. Gebhard stepped into a kind of public respect. 
It was not possible to get pictures of him. He didn't 
want notoriety. As the story above would indicate, he 
rather resented it. A weekly paper in the city asked me 
to get a drawing of him from memory. It wasn't a good 
plan to ask him to pose. It was learned that Mr. Geb- 
hard had for the week a certain seat three rows from the 
orchestra rail which he occupied every night his friend 
the actress played. This seat was on the right aisle of 
the parquet near the trap drummer. By an arrange- 
ment with that member of the orchestra I got a chair 
in his corner from which I could see Mr. Gebhard, and 
in that manner the pencil drawing was made. It is of- 


fcrccl now as a point d'appiti for this story, and as an 
example of a wood-engraver's line that looks like lead- 

A really fine wood-engraver is an artist of a very su- 
perior typo, excelling in real technical knowledge his 
brothers- of the brush or chisel; but he is becoming in- 
creasingly rare, as the photographic and autographic 
processes of illustration drive his work From the maga- 
zines and papers. Fifty years ago, when Blanchard Jer- 
rold, son of Douglas Jerrold, wrote his "London Pil- 
grimage," in 1872, and Gustavo Dor6 illustrated it so 
splendidly, there were three or four wood-engravers work- 
ing upon the illustrations, whose production deserved and 
gained as much if not more praise than the work of Dar& 

The last of the great American wood-engravers is the 
veteran Timothy Cole, now living at Poughkeepsie, New 
York, and in his seventieth year .still working impor- 
tantly at his profession. The superlative skill of Timothy 
Cole won for him membership in the American Academy 
of Arts and Letters, The best collected records we have 
of the old masters of Italy, Holland, England, Spain, 
and France are his wood-en^ravin^s. for which he has 
had gold medals at the Paris, Chicago, and 8t< lanus 
expositions. It would be impossible on the printing- 
presses that run off our great weekly and daily editions, 
going into the hundred thousands in one issue, to show 
the finest example of a wood-engraver's art. Such pic- 
tures, delicately printed on Japanese paper, and properly 
mounted, enrich the collection of connoisseurs. 

The most simplified process of reproduction available 
to draftsmen of St. Louis Inrame common about this 
time. It employed paper overlaid with starch in solu- 

IM v 

. 7 i *v 

i| - ji I 
J ) fa 


tion. The paper was toothed or pebbled to take the 
mark of the greasy lithographic crayon. A drawing made 
upon it was turned face downward upon a lithographic 
stone and passed beneath a hot roller under considerable 
pressure. The heat and pressure transferred the greasy 
crayon to the lithographic stone, which was then used 
as if the drawing had been made directly upon it, and 
produced the ordinary lithograph with but a slight loss 
of value from the drawing made upon the paper. This 
process was used in the production of the cartoon of 
which a reduction is shown. 

There are two or three interesting facts connected 
with this cartoon. To the best of my belief it was the 
first political cartoon printed in St. Louis of Mr. Joseph 
Pulitzer, the eminent publisher and organizer of the 
present New York World. Pulitzer, in 1880, the date 
of this cartoon, had not yet purchased the old New York 
World, and had but recently acquired the St. Louis Post- 
Dispatch, of which he was proprietor and editor. 

He and others in St. Louis were joining in an attack 
begun by Major Emery S. Foster, editor and proprietor 
of the St. Louis World, against a political conspiracy 
known as the Dark-Lantern Ring, engaged in the sale 
of political nominations. 

The directing mind of this conspiracy was said to be 
a politician named Lancaster. He was assisted by an 
aggressive little attorney named Frank Turner and a 
blacksmith named Edward Butler, who was at the head 
of the political machine. Lancaster, Turner, and Butler 
are in the front row of the cartoon in the order named, 
and Butler is pictured as knocking out of the ring State 
Senator Cable, one of the beneficiaries of their combina- 
tion, who had indiscreetly talked too much about it. 


Outside of the ring and looking in are depicted Colonel 
William Hyde, then editor of the Missouri Republican ; 
and Mr. Joseph Pulitzer, who with Colonel Hyde was 
endeavoring to correct the corrupt conditions. 

Major Emery S. Foster, who had won distinction in 
the Northern Army, was a modest but very notable figure 
in St. Louis. In the Civil War he had been captured by 
QuantrelFs Guerillas and was said to be the only Union 
prisoner released by this band, who made a practice of 
giving no quarter. 

His escape was due to one of those border romances 
which the public are apt to think inventions of the 
novelist and the playwright, and a fine example of which 
was interwoven in Mr. William Gillette's war play, " Held 
by the Enemy." 

In the Quantrell group of James boys and Younger 
brothers was one man who knew the captured Foster, 
as he and Foster were rivals for the hand of the same 
girl. With her in mind, this Quantrell guerilla had asked 
for the life of Foster, and being granted this by Quantrell 
had conducted Major Foster outside the lines and given 
him his liberty. This particular Southerner still lives; 
and the lady in question, now his wife, is also living. 

Major Foster, at the close of the war, became the editor 
of the St. Louis Journal A very personal editorial at- 
tacking him appeared one morning in the St. Louis 
Times, of which ex-Confederate Major John Edwards 
was the editor. Foster immediately challenged Edwards, 
and the two men met upon the Illinois side of the Missis- 
sippi, some few miles above St. Louis. At the first shot 
Edwards' bullet went wild; Foster's bullet went through 
Edwards' hat, grazing his scalp. 

While the seconds were reloading the pistols Foster 




J s vot ^^vards and put out his hand, saying, 

i'tk con T tl:Lc ^ I are a pair of damn fools." 
n, HIIC I t-T Xicrtec i Foster to a log near by, sat down 
tin Wit-T-^ erL " t ^ Foster that he had nothing what- 
; in hi*a T "** editorial; that he had gone home 

j j * ec * "Wrien Stilson Hutchins, the proprietor, 
imhf* Trie . ^to the office and written the objec- 
li ^p^ 13 * 01 ^- Edwards, however, true to the 

accepted the responsibility of his 

.1 11 '^ ^ r ^aders will remember Major Foster 

U!S . %% | X< T ^"^ " t ^ lat same St. Louis Journal first made 

r.iu-ci the cKarges that led to the expose of what 

"TI t * US ^ G Whiskey Ring, in Grant's Adminis- 

"a.t ^ wa.s not a band of bootleggers engaged as 

',upp living a, -thirsty community, but was a com- 

i nu thriving the evasion of the internal revenue 

n -] t r rts . I n the prosecution of that ring General 

.lp'nt;ccl SLS attorney ex-Senator John B. Hender- 

.vmusl^y referred to in connection with incidents 

C"*** * 
-- 1 "ty. As the investigation in court pro- 

am! involved General Orville E. Babcock, who 
Pi i*si dent's private secretary, Henderson, boast- 
iilrirnee to where the investigation led, said that 
n>t anion.g tliose "to bend the pregnant hinges of 
r tluit tKrift may follow fawning." Over his im- 
ftuiu't* Gra.nt had promptly removed Mr. Hender- 
in Itis position, and General Babcock, on a de- 
i fn mi I^jresident Grant, was acquitted. 
time I "was making these drawings for Major 
tit th:it ca-no.p>aign he was a soldierly-looking figure 
ailv fifties- He had a fine face, good brow, clear- 
mi in e nose, fine open eyes, perhaps accentuated 


in their gaze, and sharpened slightly in appearance be- 
cause of the gold-rimmed spectacles which he always 
wore. The lower part of his face indicated a substantial 
modelling beneath his short beard and mustache. He 
looked in every turn and expression the thoughtful, culti- 
vated, amiable gentleman that he was, with an ever- 
present suggestion of proper determination. 


It is difficult for a reader to measure the happiness of 
a young man for whom the theatre has been the objec- 
tive when he finds himself ensconced in a quasi-adminis- 
trative position in a genuine playhouse. As assistant 
treasurer it was my duty to open up the box-office in the 
morning, to see that the bill-poster and his assistants re- 
ceived the paper which the advance man brought in his 
bill trunk; that the boys connected with the theatre 
Kad their supply of hangers, lithographs and half sheets 
that were to go into the windows of saloons, barber shops, 
and hotels; to see that the scrub-women reported on 
time and were at work; to sort the mail for the visiting 
company and send that of the players to the stage door. 

These duties carried one all over the building after the 
treasurer arrived to relieve the assistant, and excuses 
might even be made for visiting and looking over the 
paint frame. Every theatre at that time had its resi- 
dent artist. His shop was in the fly gallery; his studio 
was a bridge at the back wall of the building, against 
which a movable frame carried his colossal canvases up 
and down. This artist was expected to get up each week 
the scenes for the coming attraction. It must not be 
supposed that he made a complete production in that 
time. He had at his command a more or less sufficient 
stock of scenery always stored away in a room adjoining 
and accessible to the stage, with an opening between, 
high enough to admit the flat scenes riding upright; this 


castle interior and exterior, pents flat, a street, a gar- 
den, cut-wood, forest, and horizon drops. To hold and 
change these scenes the stage was arranged with runs 
and grooves. These were sets of wooden guide tracks 
on the stage and adjustable grooves corresponding some 
eighteen feet above, arranged in groups about four feet 
apart, beginning at the curtain line and numerically 
designated. Their terminology still governs in the 
theatre. An actor entered or made his exit in One, Two, 
Three, or Four, right or left, as the case might be, or up 
centre. He still does so, although the grooves with their 
old sliding scenes that were pushed on to meet in the 
middle, and separated to be quickly drawn off for a 
change of scene, have disappeared. 

It was upon this customary stock of scenery that the 
scenic artist depended, supplementing it from time to 
time with some new scene, of which sufficient warning 
would generally be given, painted upon new canvas and 
construction, or painted over one of the old scenes that 
was seldom called for. 

At the time of which Fm talking the old runs and 
grooves existed in Pope's Theatre, but were beginning 
to disappear from other houses projected at about that 
time. They gave way to the clear stage with boxed 
scenes now so common and which are supported in panels 
by stage braces set behind each panel, with the panels 
held together by lashings hung from the top and falling 
over alternating cleats on the two joining edges. 

Our paint frame at Pope's Theatre was presided over 
by Ernest Albert, an artist to-day, both in the theatre 


and in the gallery, of international reputation. His as- 
sistant was a blond and gentle lad named Frank E. Gates, 
son of the old Si Gates who for many years was in charge 
of the stage at the old Olympic. Frank Gates is now at 
the head of one of the largest scenic studios of New York. 

The brilliant artist, Ernest Albert, was not much, if 
any, older than myself. He was a member of our St. 
Louis Sketch Club, and there was always between us a 
real artistic sympathy. It is probably because I knew 
what Albert was trying to do and what he succeeded in 
doing when physical conditions permitted that many of 
the hours during which I was relieved from my watch 
in the box-office I was allowed to put in on the paint 
frame, where with an eagerness that equalled any pro- 
tege of Tom Sawyer's I found delight in spreading flat 
colors on the immense canvases. 

Before the speculators and the agencies intervened, 
and when the patrons of the theatre got their seats at 
the box-office by a diagram on which they were permitted 
to make their choice, there were few places of business 
so interesting to the occupant as was the old box-office. 
In ordinary times, from the hour that it opened up until 
the window was pulled down for the day, there was no 
such clearing-house for gossip, not even excepting the 
celebrated rural sewing circle. 

Pope's Theatre at Ninth and Olive streets was outside 
the important business district, although upon a street 
of the smaller and more exclusive shops. Also the most 
fashionable car-line of the city was double-tracked past 
its doors. Across Ninth Street to its left were a post- 
office and custom-house, in their fine new granite struc- 
ture, grand for that time. Facing the theatre immediately 
across Olive Street was Pierre Lambert's three-story 

ornamental railings ot cast-iron grape-vines leading to 
the first porch. 

Hancock the Superb had just been defeated for the 
presidency, and sought a semi-retirement in one of the 
two or throe apartments run in connection with this 
Restaurant Porcher. At the hour of nine, when we were 
to open up in the morning, the picturesque general, wear- 
ing his Ben Butler hat, was often coming in leisurely 
fashion to the sidewalk from this building. Men who 
remember the Hancock campaign will recall Tom Nnst's 
cartoon of Hancock seated on a platform with a placard 
on the wall behind him A Tariff for Revenue Only, 
Hancock was depicted as leaning over to his neighbor 
and privately asking, "Who is Tariff and why is he for 
revenue only?" 

The country was then laughing at Hancock's declara- 
tion that the tariff was a local issue. The subsequent 
alignment on the tariff quest ion of widely separated com- 
munities as soon as they became interested in some local 
manufacture indicated that Hancock was more nearly 
right than were his critics. Perhaps it wits his courage 
that inspired Andrew Carnegie, one of the tariff's greatest 
beneficiaries, to say, somewhat later, that "the tariff 
was the mother of the trusts.*' 

At the theatre business men of some degree of leisure 
and independence walking down from the residence dis- 
tricts in the morning would stop in for their reservations. 
Others would hurriedly drop off a car for the same pur- 
pose. After the first run of buyers for the ordinary at- 
traction, and when the lobby had then quieted clown 
to the occasional straggler, the early afternoon news- 


paper men came by. They were followed by the bill 
collectors and local advertisers. About eleven the fash- 
ionable women, married and unmarried, made their calls. 
It may be that the visiting actors showing up at about 
that time had some determining influence. During the 
lunch-hour there would be a run of the clerks and book- 
keepers who tucked a call at the theatre into the noon 
recess. After 2 130 big boys and girls from the high school 
came into the lobby to look at the pictures. Later the 
brokers walking home and the ladies combining a call 
with their other shopping would drop in. Then there 
were always members of the half-idle contingent who 
found the lobby an excellent place to waste some portion 
of every day. 

I don't know why it is, but there has always seemed 
to be a strong affinity between the young men in the box- 
office and the snare drummer in the orchestra. There 
were two drummers of considerable reputation in Pope's 
orchestra during my time. One was Le Grand White, 
the first husband of Minnie Maddern Fiske, married 
romantically in St. Louis during her first starring en- 
gagement. Miss Maddern had met Mr. White through 
her uncle, Dick Maddern, who was then the conductor 
in Pope's Theatre orchestra. The other drummer, who 
succeeded White, was Frank David, who came to the 
lobby every afternoon to give comic imitations and prac- 
tise dance steps on the tiled pavement. A few years 
later Frank was for a short time the most prominent 
comedian on Broadway, having made a phenomenal hit 
in the comic opera "The Pyramids." Another orchestra 
leader at Pope's was William Witthers, who had been the 
conductor of the orchestra at Ford's Theatre in Wash- 
ington on the night Lincoln was shot. 




Opposite the theatre, a little farther up the .same block 
with the Restaurant Poreher, was the photograph gal- 
lery of Mr. Fox. Mr. Fox was the father of two daugh- 
ters. Lily Fox, the elder, then about sixteen years old, 
was one of the prize beauties of tin- eity. She had a faee 
that would have delighted Neysa MeMein as^a model 
for a magazine cover, and I am sure still delights her 
husband, Nat Roth, the general business manager in 
New York for the Shuberts. Lily eame to the theatre 
in the daytime chaperoning her little sister, Delia, then 
about ten years of age, and available to the visiting or 
local attractions as a child actress. Delia's first ap- 
pearance on the stage, I think, was at Pope's Theatre 
in "A Celebrated Case," with James O'Neill, After 
Charles Thome, James O'Neill was then perhaps Amer- 
ica's favorite romantic actor, but as modest and lovable 
at the height of his popularity as he continued to the 
day of .his recent death. His son, luigene, author of 
"Emperor Jones" and "Beyond the Hori/on," promises 
to surpass his noble father in enduring fame. 

John Raymond was a great box-ofliee visitor. lie 
would patiently stand through, five minutes of ticket- 
selling or longer to get a half minute in which to match 
silver dollars with the. treasurer. This form of gambling 
was a passion with him. Frederick Warde brought with 
him as leading man Henry Aveling, who married our 
amateur heroine, Mittens Willett, and brought also a 
juvenile man calling himself Ilallet Murray, %vho turned 
out to be my old boy friend, Palmoni, of Washington 

Palmoni on that visit told me of the death a year or 
two before of A. W., our old actor preceptor, us grand- 
mother had intuitively reported it. Palmoni himself 


was a disappointed man. He had an ability that in legit- 
imate parts could have overcome his lack of stature, 
but he had a tendency to be stout enough to make him 
undesirable in the roles. 

Two years after the time of which I am writing he 
died in New York City. With this confirmation of A. 
W.'s death and the news of Palmoni's end a sustaining 
interest passed from grandmother's horizon, and the 
dear old lady began to fail more perceptibly than was 
warranted by her advancing years alone. 

In the box-office one made a fairly extensive acquain- 
tance with the men employed in the local departments of 
the newspapers, and now and then with some of the edi- 
tors. Most prominent among the reporters who used 
to visit the front of the house, and certainly the one best 
known thereafter to the American reader, was young 
William Marion Reedy, who later became the editor 
and owner of the St. Louis Mirror, which for so many 
years he conducted with such distinction. In the early 
J 8o's Reedy was a slight lad with a face noticeable for 
its intelligence. He was interested, as most young men 
on newspapers are, in the playhouse; and there began 
then a friendship which was cemented when I went on 
the newspapers myself a few years later, and which con- 
tinued to the time of his death. 

Among the men in the editorial department with whom 
I enjoyed an intimate friendship was the gifted Colonel 
John Cockerill, then acting as managing editor of the 
Post-Dispatch. Colonel Cockerill was also president of 
the Elks' Club, another member of which was his fairly 
intimate friend, Alonzo W. Slayback. In a political 
campaign of that time it became necessary for the paper 
to speak critically of Slayback, and Slayback, who was 

second reference. 

The paper was hardly upon the street when Slaybaek, 
accompanied by a mutual friend by the name of W. H. 
Clopton, passed through the Post-Dispatch's local rooms, 
and entered CockerilPs private ofliee. As he advanced 
he drew a revolver, but before lie had time to use it 
Cockerill had taken his own weapon from the table in 
front of him and fired. Slaybaek wan instantly killed. 
Cockerill drove to the police court, surrendered himself 
and was locked up. 

The news of the shooting was telephoned to the 
theatre. I was on duty at the time. Mr. Pope consid- 
erately took my place at the window and I went across 
the town to the jail I was the first man in Coekerill's 
cell, and remained with him until Johnny Norton, who 
was his boon companion, came there. In the few min- 
utes that we were alone together Colonel Coekeriil was 
self-controlled, but plainly alive to the tragic character 
of his act and the seriousness of his own situation. His 
only reference to it all was when in commonplace I had 
said: "Sorry, Colonel." 

He nodded slowly as he answered, "Too had, but it 
couldn't be helped." 

Colonel Cockerill was released on hail and the case 
was dismissed without being brought to trial. Whether 
the tragedy terminated his usefulness in St. Louis or not, 
it made continuation of his work there unpleasant to 
him. He removed to New York, where he took charge 
of the editorial page of the World. I saw him frequently 
after 1889, when I came to make my home in the East. 


He became the president of the New York Press Club, 
and gathered about him a small circle of agreeable and 
influential friends, but it was my opinion that the Slay- 
back killing clouded the rest of his brilliant life. 

One outstanding recollection of that time at Pope's is 
of William Gillette's first visit as a star. He came in his 
own play, "The Professor," to my mind the most charm- 
ing of the long list from his pen. Gillette was then under 
the management of the Madison Square Theatre, his tour 
directed by Gustave and Charles Frohman. An indica- 
tion of the dignity with which affairs theatrical were 
treated is in the advance illustrations by Kelly printed 
in the newspapers and the programmes of the day. 
These drawings, designed for clearness on rapid printing 
presses, had as much artistic merit as the process per- 
mitted. The two facing p. 1 38 show the character of the 
work; give an idea of the costumes of 1880 and fairly 
epitomize the story of "The Professor/' an attractive 
but mature person beleaguered by lovelorn applicants 
and challenged by younger and envious rivals. The 
garments of the young men in the picture, especially 
the lad with the short jacket buttoned tightly to the 
neck, are worth a glance; the entangling trains of the 
women, the Watteau pleats, their stays and bustles will 
make the modern girl thank heaven for her freedom. 

Another welcome visitor at the box-office was W. J. 
Florence, familiarly known as Billy Florence, who with 
his wife was jointly starring in the phenomenally suc- 
cessful comedy, "The Mighty Dollar." Florence was the 
projector and organizer of the Mystic Shriners, that 
post-graduate playground of the thirty-second-degree 
Masons. He and the elder Sothern, Lord Dundreary, 
were boon companions. 


One week when Sothern was playing at the Olympic 
Theatre and Florence was at Pope's, Florence took a 
carriage at the first intermission in his play, drove rapidly 
to the stage door of the Olympic, which was half a mile 
away, passed the doorkeeper and went onto the stage, 
where Lord Dundreary was in the midst of a scene. 
Waddling down from the centre door with his unctuous 
laugh he grasped the hand of the astonished Dundreary, 
and wished him health "by a large majority." The 
crowded house, watching "Our American Cousin," im- 
mediately recognized the star from the other theatre. 
This prank occasioned a good deal of merriment at Pope's 
when Florence got back and reported it. Its perpetration 
had extended the intermission but slightly. 

Florence and his wife were in the middle of their big 
scene in the succeeding act when, to their great astonish- 
ment, but to the equal delight of this second audience, 
the lisping Dundreary minced in through the centre to 
announce that he "had just had a letter from Sam." 
He greeted both Florences effusively and departed. This 
good-natured interchange has had many imitations since 
that day, but I believe it was original with Florence. 

One story of Florence concerned his first endeavor on 
any stage. When as a lad engaged to keep out of sight 
behind the scenes and on a given cue to bark like a dog, 
which he could do, an actor asked: "What will you do, 
Billy, if you get stage fright and can't bark?" 

The boy answered, "I'll wag my tail," which showed 
a ready sense of character. 

Perhaps more than any other man in the theatre, with 
maybe the exception of Joseph Jefferson, Florence num- 
bered among his friends the important politicians of the 
country. This may have been the consequence of his 

wtOT^tPt i ,m ' ( 

S^fttes '' 
l 1 ^. ^/ rfxC" A> S it 


APPEARED. 1882. 


admirable burlesque of a congressman as the Honorable 
Bardwell Slote and he had political ambitions himself. 
After Cleveland's first election the belief was general 
that Mr. Florence would be appointed ambassador to 
France. Colonel Henry Watterson was the man who 
brought the question to the attention of Cleveland. Al- 
though Cleveland was numbered among the personal 
friends of the actor, he was obliged to explain to Watter- 
son that the church members of the country would not 
forgive him if he appointed to an office of such promi- 
nence a member of the theatrical profession. 

James H. Hackett, the father of our present James K. 
Hackett, lately made chevalier of the Legion of Honor 
for his performance of "Macbeth" in Paris, was consid- 
ered by playgoers the greatest American Falstaff. But 
I have heard men who saw both claim the supremacy for 
Ben De Bar. This old actor required very little padding 
to realize the rotund knight, a favorite character with 
him. De Bar also excelled in most of the low-comedy 
parts of that repertoire. He was unsurpassed as Toodles, 
and was the best Dogberry I ever knew. I saw him walk 
away with the honors in an all-star performance of "Lon- 
don Assurance" that was given for some charity in which 
the brilliant Edwin Adams played Charles Courtly. A 
good leading man of that time, one Metcalf, played Sir 
Harcourt; Charles R. Pope was the Dazzle, and Ben De 
Bar the Mark Meddle. I doubt if the play had had an 
equal presentation in its first production in England 
when the then young Dion Boucicault, its author, 
wrote to his mother in Ireland, " I have London by the 

Adams was then starring in "Enoch Arden" and some 
Shakespearian parts. I saw his "Hamlet" that week. 


Many men of judgment in the theatre preferred it to all 


I have seen some thirty Hamlets, including Booth and 
Barry Sullivan, but I think Adams the most thrilling of 
them all in the scenes with the ghost, probably because 
of his more melodramatic methods. 

The boys in the box-office were always happy to have 
C. W. Couldock come along, as he did in "Hazel Kirke" 
and "The Willow Copse." We went with the old gentle- 
man one night after the play to the Elks' rooms for sup- 
per. The order had been given when the uneasy veteran 
asked if there was not some place to which we could take 
him where there would be sawdust on the floor, and he 
could get an order of finnan haddie. There were just such 
conditions in a room at Tony Faust's, two blocks away, 
where we spent the rest of the evening with the coveted 
smoked fish and some bumpers of beer. 

Couldock at that time divided popular support as the 
first old man of the country with James H. Stoddart. 
He had spent his life in the theatre, been one of the most 
prominent exponents of Louis XI and similar legitimate 
parts, and could fill all the evenings of a week with stories 
of the old days before we had fallen upon the degenerate 
times, as he then measured the one in which we were. 

Another very agreeable acquisition that came to one 
in a box-office was the fraternity which it established 
with the men in the other box-offices, and the informa- 
tion that came through them concerning all current 
theatrical happenings. At the Olympic Theatre the 
treasurer was Mr. Dunn, who is still called Eddie, though 
he must be within a few years of my own age, and has 
had now the responsible position of general-manager for 
Mr. George M. Cohan. I don't think I ever saw a more 


uniformly courteous and even-tempered person than 
Mr. Dunn has been in a number of trying occupations. 
In the old days the only railroad in the country that 
advertised a four-track roadbed was the New York Cen- 
tral. Eddie, who has always been a careful dresser, was 
then the leader if not the misleader of fashion. He used 
to wear in the box-office what he called his New York 
Central shirt, which had four very decided stripes down 
the bosom. 

I think that both Mr. Dunn and I, as well as all others 
that were ever in the theatre offices of St. Louis, will 
accord to old George McManus credit of greatest pop- 
ularity. There is scarcely any man who came into the 
profession as early as twenty-five years ago who will not 
remember him as a pleasant acquaintance and delightful 
friend. After saying that he was the father of the pres- 
ent George McManus, the talented artist who runs the 
comic stories of "Bringing Up Father" and similar hu- 
morous drawings in certain syndicate papers, it will be 
interesting to the members of the Eugenics Congress to 
note that this humor that has blossomed out in young 
George through his illustrations found expression in the 
father in an unbroken series of harmless practical jokes 
of legitimate kinship to the absurdities depicted by young 
George. A few of these are worth telling, because of 
their character and the light they throw upon the mind 
that got entertainment out of the disproportion between 
common expectation and events. 

On the wall of George McManus' box-office at the 
Grand Opera House there was a strip of wood equipped 
with what appeared to be four tenpenny nails on which 
some coats and hats might be hung. Two of these nails 
were usually occupied by garments. One of the remain- 


ing two, although a tenpenny nail in appearance, was 
a very artful imitation made of black car-spring rubber. 
A regular nail had first been driven into the wood, then 
withdrawn, and this rubber counterfeit substituted. Mc- 
Manus got an average of one laugh a week out of this 
by hanging his own coat on the good nail when it came 
time to count up, and then watching the business man- 
ager of the visiting company try to make his coat stay 
in midair by passing the collar over this rubber nail. 
It seemed to be a law of the human mind to assume that 
the overcoat's fall to the floor was the result of a failure 
to encompass the nail, and it sometimes took two or 
three repeated attempts for the victim to discover the 

Just over the office table, and affixed to the wall, was 
an ordinary electric push button in its hard wooden plate. 
When the laugh was over about the overcoat and the 
two men were going to count up George would say, 
"We'll have a drink on that," or a cigar, and osten- 
tatiously push this electric button. A moment or two 
after an aproned waiter from the adjoining barroom 
would enter and inquire the pleasure of the gentlemen 
who had summoned him. He really came because Mc- 
Manus had arranged with an usher to go after him. The 
button on the wall had no connection with anything ex- 
cept the plaster. 

Twenty-four hours would go by before McManus 
could realize anything on this investment, and then upon 
the second night the visiting agent would . in his turn 
say, "Shall we have a drink now?" 

George would assent, and the next half-hour would 
witness the mounting irritation of the visitor as he inter- 
mittently punched this dummy call-bell There were 


many of these devices, and some were being constantly 
replaced. Just inside the box-office window was a gi- 
gantic thermometer of the kind sometimes displayed 
for advertising purposes outside the corner drug-store. 
It was about three feet in length. When an agent of a 
coming attraction arrived and began his preliminary 
talk through the box-office window with McManus he 
would be puzzled by George's turning to his assistant 
and saying "Forty," or "Sixty," or some other number; 
the explanation for which the agent would find a few 
days later when he got the run of the office and saw the 
decimal degrees on the thermometer variously marked 
with the customary phrases of boastful advance men, 
such as "Capacity in Cincinnati"; and "When I was 
with Booth"; and so on. It was a salutary shock for 
a pompous individual to find that he had fallen into a 
tiresome category. 

In the early '8o's there was an impression still current 
in our sober city that economy is wealth. McManus 
used to be annoyed by that section of the opera-house 
patrons who, moved by this precept, lighted cigars dur- 
ing the first intermission and then carefully left their 
half-smoked butts resting on the wainscoting of the lobby 
when the curtain went up and they were called inside. 
McManus would then come from the box-office with a 
squirt bottle of tabasco sauce, from which he carefully 
shot two or three charges upon the chewed end of each 
cigar. In the second intermission the man first to re- 
cover his cigar was generally sport enough to try to con- 
trol his sensation. But a dozen frugal patrons looking 
their mutual confessions to each other made an amusing 

In the contraband literature of our kid days Ned Bunt- 


'< .1, ' 

line or some equal author used to write of Buffalo Bill. 
One. day an advance agent arrived at Pope's and the 
paper went up for this hero in his romantic play "The 
Prairie Waif," The next Sunday night I had the great 
happiness of mooting the Honorable William F. Cody. 
I found that my admiration was shared by the preceding 
generation. He and Pope were already great pals. Dur- 
ing that engagement, in a buckskin suit which Buffalo 
Bill lent him, Pope and the famous scout boys grown 
tall --were photographed together seated over a stuffed 
deer which the property man carried over his shoulder 
to the gallery across the street. 

This hero-worship is a great tendency. One of Cody's 
engagements overlapped that of Male Salisbury, who 
had his little company of live spiij;htly people John 
Webster, Nellie McIIenry, John Com lay, Rae Samuels, 
and Salisbury himself known as Salisbury's Troubadours. 
Nate Salisbury came to he a tt;,ure of international repu- 
tation. At that time he was fixed in my mind principally 
by a story that John Norton used to tell of one Charles 
Salisbury, with whom I had confused him. 

This Charles Salisbury as a voting man had written 
from Chicago to Cincinnati asking an engagement for 
utility business in the stuck company of Bob Miles, who 
ran a theatre in that city. Miles had sent a negative 
answer. Salisbury replied \\ith an oiler to go for forty 
dollars a week, Miles refused this, Salisbury then tele- 
graphed him, the .situation being urgent, that he would 
accept the place at thirty dollars a week. 

Miles, thoroughly anno\rd, wired back: "Mr. Salis- 
bury, I don't want you at any price/' 

Salisbury answered: "Terms accepted. Will be on in 
the morning." And he came, 









An equal push and energy, which manifested itself in 
everything that Nate Salisbury did, was in harmony 
with much that Cody had. Shortly after the two men 
got together their great enterprise of the "Wild West," 
which ran for many years, was organized and launched. 
Salisbury, knowing my railroad experiences, wished me 
to take charge of its transportation department, moving 
its large collection of animals and men. At that time, 
however, I was filled with the project of a theatrical com- 
pany of my own, and, wisely or unwisely, declined. 

Toward the end of our second season in Pope's Barney 
Macauley came to play a week in "The Messenger From 
Jarvis Section/' He had with him a little girl named 
Lizzie Evans playing the part of Chip, of which I believe 
the child, Minnie Maddern, had been the original. His 
leading man, Mr. Charles Mason, a very sterling actor, 
still in the profession, was leaving him, and at Mr. Pope's 
suggestion I went in on short notice to play the part of 
Sandy Mitchell. The character of Keppler, a German 
barkeeper in the play, was being played by the stage 
manager, a young fellow about twenty years of age, with 
remarkable eyes. They had most soulful and pathetic 
appeal. This actor was a good comedian and a most 
excellent stage manager. His name was Charles Klein. 
He was even then interested in the subject of writing 
plays, and was acting to get the experience so helpful 
to a playwright. Before he went down on the ill-fated 
Lusitania, Charles Klein had won his way to the fore- 
most rank in his profession. Readers will remember his 
"Music Master," "The Lion and the Mouse," "The 
Third Degree," and other plays. 

In an earlier chapter of this record I referred to the 
discreet treatment of living persons by one writing that 



is advised by men of experience. A decent respect for 
this advice and such conferences as it has made desirable 
have invited a few time-to-time advisers. One of these 
is an attorney, old enough to serve upon any pardon 
board, experienced, grave, dignified, and scholarly, and 
not so much my senior in years as to be out of touch with 
all my impulses. He frowns discouragingly at such 
glimpses as he has had of my doings thus far. He wishes 
that I would write with the restraint and gravity of John 
Morley or Sir George Trevelyan, though of course not 
curbing my genius to the mediocrity of either; that there 
should be no audible laugh in the sessions, and that the 
greatest relaxation should he only a genial glow indica- 
tive of good-nature. He tells me that I am not on a wit- 
ness stand; not under any compulsion to make a reve- 
lation that will not read always to my advantage; and 
moves further, upon my silent reception of this, by an 
alarm for the interest of the helpless sensitive persons 
whom I may involve. 

That my father, who at the age of fifty, having met 
with an accident that for a time prevented further pur- 
suit of business, resumed the study of medicine inter- 
rupted in his youth, and won his degree in an established 
medical college, my counsellor submits is an unnecessary 
statement, even though father's course in the college 
required my co-operation at home, and to that extent 
attached itself to my activities. Well, my adviser is 
right; that is an unnecessary statement; but so is any 
other statement in this whole performance. My own 
present needs are not such nor is the financial return for 
the promised output large enough to furnish me with 
even the sordid excuse of Romeo's apothecary when part- 
ing with the poison that "my poverty but not my will 



consents." It is only fair to the publishers, however, 
in this connection to say that a middleman, previously 
indicated, has assured me that "they will come across 
stronger next time." 

But I think I could resist that inducement, too, if it 
were not my belief that my father if living would himself 
take pleasure in the recital. He lived to practise his 
profession thirty years; to know his colleagues and his 
clientele in that helpful, expanding, increasingly interest- 
ing way that a physician's calling opens and the agree- 
able atmosphere that it provides. He radiated what he 
so acquired, and the studio in which I write and the sum- 
mer places of which our domestics so fully approve would 
lose much that makes them magnetized and restful if 
the repeated visits of the sweetly aging doctor were un- 

When father was compelled to quit his work we had 
as neighbor a Doctor Kent, member of the faculty of 
the Homeopathic College, who approved of the sugges- 
tion for father to resume the study of medicine. There 
were some serious family discussions which narrowed 
down to a talk between father and me. I found an in- 
crease of income by undertaking to do more drawings 
on boxwood for the engravers, and with this in sight 
father consented to start in on his four-year course. 
Looking back at that time over an interval of more than 
forty years, I don't believe that I am exaggerating the 
human interest of it. The positions of father and son 
were in one respect completely reversed. He started off 
to school with his books in the morning and came home 
after his day's session and devoted his nights to study. 
About him were the domestic problems. The important 
thing was to meet these with the least call upon him, and 


at the same time to keep up his spirits to the heroic thing 
he had undertaken. I won't attempt the proper tribute 
that belongs to the women of the family for their part 
of this; they were unwavering in the brave front they 
presented to father and the atmosphere of content that 
they created. 

My job in addition to that already indicated was to 
establish a comedy view of the thing; to call the medical 
student to account for implied truancy and theatrically 
to assume the role of a grouchy stage father bringing up 
an incorrigible son. About once a week I pretended to 
get favorable reports from the teachers, and would re- 
ward their pupil with a visit to the theatre, on which I 
accompanied him during the time I was in the law-office 
and in which I joined him when we had counted up at 
Pope's after I had gone there. As a matter of both eco- 
nomy and companionship he and I used to walk home 
two miles. My interests were theatrical; father's ex- 
periences were largely so; and the talks that started as 
far as I was concerned in a deliberate intent to divert 
his thoughts always finished in a real abandonment to 
the subject, with both of us in the happiest earnestness. 

The last attraction at Pope's Theatre during my em- 
ployment there was the celebrated Yokes family. At 
the end of their week they separated; the girls, Victoria, 
Rosina, and Jessie, and the brother, Fawdon, going back 
to England. Fred Vokes, however, the principal mem- 
ber and manager of the enterprise, had a play in mind 
which he wished to try in America during the summer; 
a farcical contrivance which he called "In Camp." He 
engaged me to undertake the part that had been origi- 
nally intended for Fawdon Vokes. When the new com- 
pany, which immediately assembled, found itself together 


in Buffalo, all rooming at the old Mansion House, the 
principal members were Pauline Hall, later trie comic- 
opera star; Minnie ScKuItz, a soprano, at that time the 
wife of the talented Louis Harrison; and Miss Helen 
Dingeon, a soprano of power and reputation. The prin- 
cipal men were Owen Westford, a very excellent come- 
dian, and a young man named Byron Douglas, who later 
became an established leading man. 

When rehearsals should have begun we discovered that 
Vokes had no script whatever, but only an idea for a 
play. All of us boys thereupon sat down with pen, ink, 
and paper to help him. Together we finally ground out 
a hodgepodge not unlike a modern musical play. All 
that is important to note of that engagement is that in 
one of the off hours, in a wrestling bout, Westford had 
the misfortune to break an ankle, so that his Buffalo 
engagement was played on crutches. 

Our next important stand after Buffalo was Chicago, 
where we arrived on a rainy Sunday, none of us with 
any money. Westford, Pauline Hall, and I, forming one 
little coterie, went on foot in the rain in search of a hotel. 
The old Matteson House, later the Wellington Hotel, was 
situated on Wabash Avenue. The desk was approached 
by a corridor some sixty feet in length and twenty wide. 
A pompous clerk glared at our party as we came in from 
the drizzle and stood at the front door. Westford being 
on crutches, I went up to the desk to negotiate for quar- 
ters. The hotel was on the American plan. 

I said, "What is the rate for board and room?" 
The clerk answered, "Three dollars." 
"What is your professional rate for actors?" 
Looking over my head into vacancy, the clerk an- 
swered, "Three-fifty." 



We went a few blocks farther on to a little rooming- 
house called the Windsor, with a second-floor office, 
where one could get a comfortable room at a dollar a 
day. When the Chicago engagement was fairly launched 
my colleagues in St. Louis were far enough advanced 
with their plans for a company of our own for me to quit 
the Yokes enterprise and go home. 

In the early days of his popularity as a singing tramp, 
Walter Jones, our prominent farceur of to-day, used to 
recite some verses written by Ben King of the old White- 
chapel Club of Chicago, expressing the tyranny of the 
preposition. As I remember, the first lines ran: 

"Nowhere to go but out, 
Nowhere to come but back, 
No place to stand but on, 
Nowhere to fall but off." 

In my few essays at a career up to the time of which 
I am telling there had uniformly been no place to come 
but back. I never came back, however, with more eager- 
ness than from my experience in that summer season 
with Fred Yokes; or with more welcome or greater hap- 
piness upon my arrival. My father, who had got his 
diploma from the college, was now set up as doctor and 
building a little practice that made it possible for me 
without excessive selfishness to try somewhat for myself. 
In our leisurely review and stock taking as I sat with 
him that midsummer, he now the breadwinner and I 
the adventurer, we talked over the period covering 
slightly more than a decade since I had come back from 
Washington. How full the time had been ! What pros- 
perity the country had had 1 What a growth in its activ- 
ities! What a reaching out of its markets! What a 
turmoil in its political agitations ! 


A syndicate of newspapers, the Scripps-McRae League, 
had established a penny paper in our city, among others ; 
copper coins were really beginning to circulate west of 
the Mississippi and south of the Ohio; merchants were 
marking down goods from five dollars to four-ninety- 
eight; newsboys were making change for less than a 
nickel; my old friend, General Benjamin Butler, by 
some turn of the whirligig found himself politically asso- 
ciated with the sand-lot agitator, Dennis Kearney, of 
California, who originated the slogan, "The Chinese 
Must Go!" with whose blatherskite ambitions I felt a 
perhaps reprehensible but not inexplicable sympathy; 
what was called the National Party had been organized 
with strength enough to pass the Greenback Bill for fiat 
money; the bill had gone through both Houses of Con- 
gress and been stopped only by the stubbornness of 
Grant, who vetoed it; our own corn-tassel statesman of 
Missouri, Richard Bland, far outrunning the subsequent 
vision of the peerless leader of Nebraska, had put through 
a bill making silver the sole basis of our national cur- 
rency; Grant had vetoed this also; and then for the 
first time since 1862 gold, gradually dropping, had 
reached par and the country was again on a bi-metallic 
basis with specie payment resumed. The negroes had 
achieved civil rights; probable war had been averted by 
the patriotism of Tilden, who counselled patience and 
the submission to arbitration of the contested election 
between himself and Hayes, which put the latter in the 
presidential chair by a vote of eight to seven in the com- 
mission organized for that hearing; Garfield had come 
into the presidency and been assassinated by a madman, 
Charles Jules Guiteau, of Chicago; Guiteau had been 
tried, convicted, executed; the great Eads Bridge had 


been opened; the Father of Waters was no longer the 
barrier to the railroad communication of the two great 
longitudinal sections of the country. 

In my own little personal world there had been an 
almost commensurate exfoliation of events and hopes; 
far beyond my most vivid expectations I had been given 
an inside knowledge of the theatre in all its departments 
as much as any city in the Union other than New York 
could provide such initiation. Besides the actors I have 
mentioned, I had been permitted to witness repeated 
performances by the beautiful Mrs. Scott Siddons; I 
had seen the incomparable Marie Geistinger, equally ex- 
cellent in opera, drama, and comedy; had seen and be- 
come acquainted with the famous Bostonians, with Tom 
Karl, Henry Barnabee, Will McDonald; had seen Salvini 
in his heroic work with such splendid support as Lewis 
Morrison and Marie Prescott gave. I had studied the 
perfect work of the well-balanced New York companies, 
from the Union Square, Palmer's, and the Madison Square 
theatres; had become personally acquainted with Steele 
Mackaye, with whom I was to have a profitable friend- 
ship until his death, when the acquaintance would be 
carried on with his gifted and poetic son, Percy Mackaye, 
also a playwright; had made and begun a lifelong friend- 
ship with the matchless Robert G. IngersoII; had made 
friendships that lasted till their death with many others 
that have gone, and friendships that still continue with 
many who remain. Among the departed are Digby Bell, 
Joseph Arthur, George R. Edeson, father of our present 
Robert Edeson; Stuart Robson, McKee Rankin, Frank 
Mayo, Charles Wyndham, Harry Pitt, Dan McGinnis, 
and a host of others. Of those still playing I had come 
to know William Gillette, Francis Wilson, the sturdy 


William Muldoon, De Wolf Hopper, William Crane, 
Forrest Robinson, Henry Miller, the veteran Charles 
Stevenson, who along with John Drew is one of the few 
survivors of the older and classic school, now flexibly 
adapting himself to the later methods. I had met nearly 
all the responsible and irresponsible players who still 
play and were then travelling. I had come to know the 
ablest managers of the time, and the younger men that 
were to succeed them. One particular friendship to 
which I owe so much was with the late Charles Frohman, 
who dominated the American theatre until he was lost 
on the torpedoed Lusitania. 



In the summer of 1883, when I had come back from 
the Yokes Company hoping to start organizing what 
ultimately proved to be the little theatrical company 
called the Dickson Sketch Club, I had a fair knowledge 
of the kind of material of which actors were made, and 
some measure of audiences too; but I felt that the ex- 
perience to be had in a tour would give a knowledge of 
audiences in general most desirable to a playwriter. He 
would learn the kind of line and business that would 
please not only the people with whom he had been 
brought up but all kinds to whom he would be fortunate 
enough to play and ultimately to write for the alto- 
gether American audience and the one that would be a 
mixture of many nationalities. 

With this in mind I began my last season in Pope's 
box-office, having several months ahead for preparation 
of material and enlistment of help. The task in detail 
of getting material, organizing a company, playing in it 
and going with it in a trial through small towns was a 
varied experience, of which an intimate telling will prob- 
ably interest others besides equally ambitious amateurs. 
Looking for some one who could play the child in 
"Editha's Burglar," our attention naturally went to 
Delia Fox, who was the professional infant around the 
theatre, and who a few years later became the light- 
opera prima donna with the Comley Barton Opera Com- 



pany, and still later the featured lead with De Wolf Hop- 
per in "Wang" and other Broadway successes. She also 
introduced the Delia Fox curl in the middle of the fore- 
head, which became the fashion from Maine to the Pa- 

Edgar Smith, now the prominent playwright, was at 
that time working very rebelliously in a gas-fixture es- 
tablishment in St. Louis, a branch of a New York house 
in which his father was a partner. Edgar had been 
launched upon this attempt at a commercial career by 
his father in order to get him away from Daly's Theatre, 
where he had been a minor member of the resident com- 
pany and a fairly important one of a company that went 
on the road. With us amateurs of his own age this gave 
him authority. At that time he was a slight and dis- 
tinguished-looking person about five feet eleven inches 
tall, and as fine a young man physically and facially and 
in deportment as one would wish to see. His profile was 
regular, and his expression had the high, open-eyed, self- 
confident quality of a French marquis. He sang ac- 
ceptably; he spoke with well-bred pronunciation and 
tone. The idea of a little company that we could call our 
own appealed to him thoroughly. He became a third 
owner in the enterprise. His choice as the exponent of 
anything romantic that we might play was conceded 
and fixed. 

Frank David, the drummer I have referred to as often 
dancing in the lobby of the theatre during the hours he 
was off duty, was naturally mimetic. His work in the 
orchestra had required that his attention should at least 
be synchronized with the slap-stick and knockabout ele- 
ment of the performance in which his drum and cymbals 
assisted. Mr. Wilton Lackaye once remarked that rep- 


artee was largely a matter of repertoire. It may be that 
many entertaining personal properties have the same 
origin. David, as drummer student, had a repertoire; 
he was our principal comic. 

Another possible member of our company, a product 
of the business, was William Sullivan, whom we dis- 
cussed as a second comedian. He had been brought up 
around the theatre, being successively errand boy, usher, 
and bill-poster. Memory, when at all associated with 
genius, is selective. Sullivan's memory had fixed for 
him every trick of every Irish player that had made a 
week's stand in the city of St. Louis during his time. 
His particular model had been that fine Irish actor, Hugh 
Fay. Sullivan could give an imitation of Fay, not only 
in the things he had seen Fay do, but in any new ma- 
terial that he imagined Fay undertaking. These, men 
Smith, Dickson, David, Sullivan, and myself had many 
conferences over our plans. We felt that "Editha's 
Burglar" was a sufficient piece de resistance. But this 
playlet represented only twenty-five minutes. With a 
ten-minute intermission added, it still left two hours of 
entertainment to be devised. 

Smith and I set about together to devise a comedy 
that would contain songs and dances and an equal op- 
portunity to put into the show-window what we thought 
we and our associates individually and collectively pos- 
sessed or could develop. We turned out a two-act con- 
coction which we called "Combustion," and which we 
all thought up to our dress rehearsal was a very funny 
and sufficient vehicle to carry the last half of our eve- 
ning; but it was neither. To this rehearsal, which was 
held in Pope's Theatre on the Sunday evening before 
our opening, which was to be in the little town of Mexico, 


Missouri, we invited enough of our acquaintances com- 
fortably to fill the parquet. 

"Editha's Burglar" did all that we had expected of it. 
The audience was enthusiastic. Our two acts of "Com- 
bustion," with an ample intermission, went less than an 
hour and a half. Our comedy wasn't very good, and it 
was thirty minutes too short. After the play we knew 
enough of the theatre to call the company for a rehearsal 
at noon next day. Edgar Smith and I met in the morn- 
ing for heroic work. While merely trifling and waiting 
about at moments during the weeks of preparation it 
had been the occasional practice of David, Smith, Sulli- 
van, and myself to get together and sing what were known 
in those days as barber shops quatrains from the pop- 
ular songs, with very close harmony at effective points, 
all marked out and rehearsed by David. We would do 
one or two of those. In one of the Yokes comedies Fred 
had a table scene in which he endeavored to carve a tough 
fowl. This was an old stunt with him, thoroughly elab- 
orated and filled with all manner of tricks, from shooting 
the resisting bird into a lady's lap to pursuing it with his 
knife up and down the legs of the table, where he led it 
with his fork. As there was a dinner scene in our piece, 
we resolved to introduce that foolery, with which I was 
perfectly familiar. Three or four other interpolations 
convinced us that we could pad up the evening to some- 
thing like the required length. We cued in these few 
turns and got ready to leave town, a very apprehensive 
bunch of inexperienced barnstormers. 

On the day of our departure from St. Louis we were 
in a higher degree of excitement than even young people 
can attain for the ordinary embarkation. We had spent 
a morning patching equipment, and it was therefore 


performance of what simple people of the Middle West 
called a good show. 

The little playhouses of that time were more inade- 
quately equipped behind the scenes than they were in 
front. Sometimes, not often, a curtain had to separate 
the dressing-room of the men from that of the women. 
In one little town whose name and locality I have for- 
gotten there was no dressing-room at all, nor room for 
one. We were expected to do what every company that 
visited the town did: We dressed in a shop that was 
occupied by a cobbler in the daytime and lent to the 
theatre at night. It was some forty feet from the stage 
door, and on the night I have in mind we all of us men, 
women, and the little girl covered the distance between 
these two places in the rain. 

In Muscatine, Iowa, a pretty little town on the west 
bank of the Mississippi, the theatre was a second-story 
room, built over some stores on the main street. It was 
lighted by coal-oil lamps, three or four of them behind 
tins for footlights, and a large one, a circular burner, 
hanging permanently above the middle of the stage. 
The machinery of these lamps was not in the best con- 
dition, but the audience felt perfect confidence in the 
watchfulness of the janitor, who sat in the front row, 
with his attention divided between the play and these 
coal-oil burners. 

Smith and I had reached the most effective and dra- 
matic part of the Burglar sketch when this tall figure 
rose from the front row of kitchen chairs and said with 
irresistible authority, "Wait a minute! Wait a min- 

We stopped. There was no laugh in the audience, no 
protest. The man climbed onto the stage, which was 


only by crowding appointments that I was able to re- 
spond to a call from George McManus to be sure and 
see him at the Grand Opera House before leaving town. 
I had only five minutes at his window, but he said he 
could deliver his message in even less time. A great 
many companies were coming to grief at that time in 
the West organizations with New York records and 
indorsements and here we were, a little band with not 
even a St. Louis pronouncement of our complete product, 
with no reputation as an organization, and not any as 
individual members, almost asking for disaster. 

With the most serious face in the world, and of course 
with all these facts in mind, McManus said to me, "What 
is your first big stand?" 

I told him Minneapolis. He took pad and pencil, put 
down relatively two dots, one marked St. Louis and one 
marked Minneapolis. He then drew an arrow between 
them, indicating general direction. "You see," he said, 
"going up you are going northwest." He drew a parallel 
arrow, but reversed, and then added, "Coming home 
you will be going southeast; just remember that." 

With this pessimistic implication to be shaken off, I 
joined my friends and made the train. 

Our first stand, Mexico, Missouri, was then a railroad 
town with probably three thousand inhabitants, but 
enough surrounding population to justify its little wooden 
opera-house. The audience was not critical. We were 
delightfully surprised, as theatrical people often are, to 
discover that the material added hurriedly as after- 
thoughts was of the most effective. Our little barber- 
shop quatrains went so well that we had to repeat them. 
The next day, moving to the next town, we added two 
or three encores. In a week we were giving a smooth 


upon which these products depended; the human ca- 
pacity of the individual to be interested in the work at 
hand, and kindred things, were always as entertaining 
as a storybook. 

After we had been out a short while we were joined by 
Will Smythe, who came to us in the capacity of business- 
manager. The late William G. Smythe or as we knew 
him familiarly, Billy Smythe remained in the theatrical 
business as manager or producer until he died in Sep- 
tember, 1921, while occupying a position as David Bel- 
asco's booking-agent. 

They treated us rather well in Minneapolis. The 
papers, morning and evening, were complimentary. But 
I have always attributed much of this to the influence 
of W. C. Edgar, editor of the Northwestern Miller, pub- 
lished in Minneapolis and at that time owned by Charles 
Palmer, who subsequently became business-manager of 
the New York American. 

One night after the play Smith, Smythe, David, and 
I went to Edgar's and played poker. I think some one 
in our party must have won a little, because we were 
coming back in excellent good-nature. As we neared 
the Hennepin House, the hotel at which we were stay- 
ing, we became aware of some excitement about the 
place, and a gathering of fire-engines, one of which was 
still working, indicating that we had come in at the finish 
of a fire. This proved to have been in a small building 
to the rear of the hotel. The crowd that still remained 
was intensely interested in an excited individual who 
was looking from one of the small windows under the 
eaves on the topmost floor of the hotel, which was about 
six stories high. This person was calling in a most com- 
plicated German dialect, asking if he should throw his 


only about three feet high from the floor, pulled his 
kitchen chair after him, set it in the middle of the scene, 
stood on it, turned down the lamp overhead, very care- 
fully regarded it a moment with the eye of an expert, 
got down, took the chair, retired to the floor of the audi- 
torium, turned and waved to us with a peremptory "Go 

on! " 
We went on. The audience was evidently used to this 

as a regular feature of the visiting entertainments. It 
was, however, pretty hard for Smith and me to look each 
other in the eye and proceed with the lines, especially 
with the wheezy laughter of the company half smoth- 
ered in the wings. 

Our various stays, measured by hours, in these little 
towns differed of course, being governed as they were 
by the time of the arriving and departing trains and the 
distance to the next stand. Often we got in comfort- 
ably late in the forenoon, had time to see that our scenery 
and baggage reached the theatre and was properly placed, 
and then found ourselves with an entire afternoon at our 
disposal in some picturesque little place, full of interest 
for the visitor. There might be a lake or a little stream 
with rowboats; there was always a stable with accept- 
able saddle-horses, and if one were a walker two or three 
minutes took him into the lanes and fields outside. 

My own interest in every part of America had been 
stimulated by early political associations. The men I 
remembered with admiration had come from little dis- 
tricts such as these all over the country. The features 
that characterized these districts, to some of which we 
now were going; the products that made them valuable 
in contributing to the welfare of the commonwealth; the 
relation of the plain, wise, sturdy people to the tasks 

trunk from the window; calling for somebody to put up 
a ladder; making all kinds of appeals to the crowd that 
was hooting at him from below. It didn't take our party 
long to recognize this excited roomer as our Irish come- 
dian, Billy Sullivan, who had not been invited to the 
poker party, but had met much more entertainment at 

In the hotel corridor we found one of the clerks com- 
plaining of this performance and that the door was locked 
and he couldn't get into the room. Sullivan, answering 
our calls over the transom, admitted us. He was highly 
elated over the attention he had attracted, and was a 
perfect hero in the eyes of little Delia, who had come 
across the hall in her wrapper to prompt him in this 
escapade. Papers reporting the fire the next morning 
carried a serious account of this frightened German, who 
was saved from jumping only by the cries of citizens 

On this first trip it was a great happiness for us to 
meet such able men writing for the theatre as George 
Goodale of Detroit, Elwyn Barron, Teddy McFeelam, 
and Biff Hall of Chicago, and the men of equal serious- 
ness in the other cities, all of whom without exception 
spoke of the comedy, "Combustion," as being enter- 
taining, clean, full of fun; commending it more or less 
in the vein of one writer who said: "The only wonder 
is how and where so small a party collected such a budget 
of amusing nonsense." These criticisms were valuable 
not only in addressing the public when we were again on 
tour the following season, but they were influential with 
theatrical owners everywhere in getting time. It must 
be remembered that in 1884 there were no theatrical 
syndicates. Men who owned theatres had not delegated 


to any central authority in New York or elsewhere the 
task of putting attractions in their theatres. They were 
not linked in a chain. Each manager selected his own 
attractions and each company corresponded by letter 
and by wire voluminously to organize suitable tours. 

The regular bill of our company was "Editha's Bur- 
glar" and "Combustion." We had, however, two or 
three other little things, such as Gilbert's "Sweethearts" 
and Bernard's "His Last Legs." "His Last Legs" had 
a longer cast than we were well prepared for. We met 
this by having Smythe come from the front of the house 
and play ojd Mr. Rivers, and by changing the footman 
to a housemaid and giving that part to little Delia; and 
she was very cute in it too. Our second comedian, Sulli- 
van, had to be cast as a walking gentleman, one Doctor 
Banks. This was a role quite within the capacity of any 
utility man in the world, but as he had to wear a high 
hat and gloves and present O'Callaban with a card in 
the front scene and speak a serious line or two about 
looking for a long-lost daughter, the pretense of it was 
so far afield of anything Sullivan had ever imagined 
himself doing that he was almost panic-stricken with the 
assignment. This was in no wise relieved by the con- 
duct of Delia, who considered it her business on the tour 
to regard Sullivan as her particular play boy of the West- 
ern world. In and out of the theatre these two were given 
to guying each other and to practical jokes. 

Delia had a little sand jig to do in "Combustion." It 
was quite good enough and up to the standard of that 
time, and I am sure Sullivan thought well of it; but he 
made it very difficult for the little girl by standing in the 
wing when nobody in authority was around and dra- 
matizing the insufferable torture that it gave him to wit- 


not superior to it, and many an hour in the afternoons 
was used up by visits to the rink. Mr. Smythe was gen- 
erally busy during these times with his books or his other 
business duties. Sullivan inferred from this that Smythe 
was afraid of the roller skates, and he thought it would 
be fine fun to lure him to a rink and then laugh at his 
mishaps when he had been equipped with a pair of skates. 
Smythe evaded these attempts for a time, but finally 

I must confess that all of us had more or less indirectly 
assisted Sullivan in his plan. We were all present on the 
afternoon in mind; we stood about while Sullivan care- 
fully strapped the skates onto Smythe. We restrained 
our laughter as Sullivan and David with difficulty helped 
him from his seat to a prominent place on the smooth 
floor of the rink, and then left him alone and unsup- 
ported. To the surprise of all, however, Smythe' s first 
move was to go into what is called the spread-eagle, a 
difficult figure, with the heels together and the toes point- 
ing in opposite directions. From this he passed on to 
cutting a few figure eights, and finished with a pirouette 
on his toes that would have done credit to any profes- 
sional. We had all coaxed an expert with medals into 
this intended exhibition of a tyro ! 

Little Delia Fox was a pupil of Nellie Page, who was 
our leading woman. The Fox and Page families were 
neighbors and friends, and Delia was placed in the care 
of Miss Page during her tour with us. One of the con- 
ditions of her being permitted to go with us was that 
she was to carry her schoolbooks, and her studies were 
not to be abandoned. The role of pedagogue was mine. 
As we weren't paying salaries with any regularity, and 
as her money went home anyway, the usual theatre fine 


ness her pretended skill. Delia's turn to get even came 
when Sullivan had to walk on as a gentleman in the part 
of Doctor Banks. Her scenes followed closely upon his 
own, and during all his time on the stage Delia was in 
the prompt entrance with clinched fists and agonized 
looks to heaven. 

After his first performance of the part Sullivan de- 
clared that he would never go on for it again; but there 
was no choice between doing so and leaving the com- 
pany. With each added performance his distress 
mounted, until by the time we had finished the season 
Doctor Banks was a nightmare with him. He studied 
the route ahead in his effort to figure out where we might 
possibly want to put up that bill. Will Smythe, a good 
deal of the joker himself, would occasionally invade the 
smoking-car with a forged telegram from some manager 
ahead asking for this comedy of "His Last Legs," and 
read it to me or to Smith loudly enough for scraps of it 
to reach Sullivan across the aisle. 

The name of the character, Doctor Banks, finally passed 
into Sullivan's vocabulary as descriptive of any inade- 
quate person in life. Occasionally when he lost his tem- 
per about something else and had exhausted the polite 
and impolite expletives at the command of the average 
tough he would finish by adding that the party under 
condemnation was a regular Doctor Banks. Language 
could convey no more. 

The theatre all over the country at that time was suf- 
fering from the competition of roller skating, which was 
then a craze. The rinks throughout the country made 
as much of a bid for persons who would otherwise have 
gone to the theatre as the motion pictures now make. 
Though as actors we disapproved of this fad, we were 


Delia answered: "I've been in a calaboose all night." 

She looked it. 

I think I should tell of our advance man, Frank Hamil- 
ton, because in some other important business ventures 
and episodes growing out of them Hamilton and I were 
intimately associated. He was not quite thirty years 
old, but looked a bit older. You could safely call him 
colonel or judge in any group without risking doubt of 
your seriousness. For a short time he had been an ac- 
tor; for a shorter time an unsuccessful star. He had 
the most unbounded confidence in himself and his ca- 
pacity to carry out anything that he undertook; but 
as soon as Hamilton filled in all the outlines of any sud- 
den conception, and was able fairly to communicate the 
figure to one or two other minds, he was ready to abandon 
it for some newer and more inviting dream. Sometimes 
where there was a gap in the route the duty to get a date 
for us fell to him. His optimism concerning the business 
we would do at any place he selected and thought about 
was sufficient for him to feel guaranteed in the required 
railroad journey, however long. My only venture as the 
owner of a newspaper was following one of Hamilton's 
will-o'-the-wisps. The only time I felt I was sharing the 
lease of a theatre was when we went arm in arm after 
another prospect. 

Getting home from this try-out trip of ours as we did 
late in June, with the intention of beginning a regular 
season toward the end of August, left us players with not 
much more than six weeks' vacation, which we employed 
leisurely improving material we had as to text and in 
getting new songs, and the like. The trip had been vastly 
interesting and educational, but there was salary owing 
to the company, and unpaid paper bills at the local 


for a breach of discipline meant nothing, but to fine her 
one extra lesson was effective. 

Outside her studies she had a child's curiosity in all 
questions raised by the features of our shifting environ- 
ment. This was generally satisfied by some member of 
the company, but not in the spirit of seriousness that 
should guide an education. There was a disposition, 
especially on the part of the men, to tease rather than to 
inform. For example, meeting the word frequently on 
the bills of fare, Delia wanted to know, "What is a 
veal?" Everybody tried to describe it to her in terms 
of elimination; it wasn't as large as a cow; didn't have 
wings like a chicken, and so on; and all so seriously that 
Delia went through the season, hurrying now and then 
to the car window, but always too late to see a veal that 
we had just passed. In the beautiful little city of Madi- 
son, Wisconsin, business was bad because there was a 
meeting of the alumni that competed. Delia wanted to 
know what an alumni was. Smythe was trying to tell 
her in the usual way, eliminating colors, wings, and the 
like. Delia, hoping to make better progress by com- 
bining ideas, asked if it was anything like a veal. Smythe 
told her it was very much like a veal, only it didn't know 
so much. 

It was not always possible to get first-class trains. 
On more than one trip we had to be content for a short 
jump with the company huddled in with the trainmen 
in their caboose. One awkward booking forced us 
into that kind of travel overnight. We reached our 
hotel early in the morning. Delia walked to the hotel 

The clerk, noticing her dishevelled appearance, said: 
"What's the matter, kid?" 



Those were sad vacation days, divided as were our 
hopes and our actual prospects. Mr. Dickson bravely 
argued that we had done all that we had any reason to 
expect in the way of business. We had a perfected enter- 
tainment and a scrap-book of notices that many a New 
York manager would have given thousands of dollars 
rightly to own. Furthermore, the offers for return dates 
in the regular season were most reassuring. One menace 
lay in the fact that nearly every member of the com- 
pany had received some flattering offer from other man- 
agers who had seen our work in Minneapolis, Milwaukee, 
or Chicago. 

My first meeting with A. L. Erlanger, for so many 
years the head of the syndicate that later controlled the 
business of the American theatres, and still in that posi- 
tion, was at the end of this summer. Mr. Erlanger, then 
a young man, probably younger than I was, as he is now 
younger than I am, was managing the first financial ven- 
ture of magnitude on his own account. This was a play 
called "Dagmar," of which the star was Louise Balfe. 
I had been in to see it on Tuesday night of its early week 
at Pope's, and was in the lobby of the theatre during an 
intermission when Dickson called me and introduced 
us. The young manager said that he would like me to 
replace his leading man, an actor by the name of William 
Harris, not related to either of those prominent managers 
of New York, the late William Harris or the present 


printers', the Springer Lithograph Company. What- 
ever our trip had proved besides, it had certainly shown 
that we were not a paying enterprise in a spring season 
over small time in the Middle West. 


My refusal In <-,o with "Dammar" tit a hundred dollars 
showed me how IruK at he-art I preferred our little home 
company. My own -wavering was over, and the other 
boys fell into line for n 14' try at a real tour, AK 1 looked 
over Diekson's route sheets for tiie coming season, fairly 
filled as they were for the early months, ant! for later 
ones marked out uith indicated points of importance 
between which we .should manoeuvre the tissue of con- 
necting engagements, I had a great eagerness, inspired 
by the prospect of Midi a scu k .<m in a little commonwealth 
company wherein were no stars, where the proprietors 
were comrades and where liahy-^irl and impecunious 
owner and accomplished manager got each the demo- 
cratic salary of fortv dollais- n week, with no guaranty 
and infrequent reali/atiun. You can't #o far wrong on 
forty dollars a week; hut if vmi are willing to waive its 
collection and transmute the debt into railroad tickets 
with an interiniitently em-urn afjng patronage you can 
cover a lot of f.inund. 

Starting on tins ir^ular season, we naturally recovered 
the territory of oui tiv-tmt. The* people remembered 
us and we did not du Imdly. One of tliose filling-in jumps 
referred to as .some-times made by our advance man 
carried us from Stillwaler, Minnesota, to Winnipeg, 
Manitoba, broken only by u stttp at St. (.loud, about 
seventy-live miles uniih of St. Paul, The round trip 
was all based on Hamilton's hopes of Winnipeg, inspired 
by some glmung drxjipiinn In* a local manager. Still- 
water is a beautiful little twn on the St, (Iroix River, 
almost due east of Mitmeapniis. V\V were playing there 
Friday night, and made St. Cloud for Saturday, and then 
had Sunday to iut*> Winnipeg and prepare for the 
week. To do this we were to make a very early start 


William Harris, his son, and that he would pay me 
seventy-five dollars a week, a large salary for a road lead- 
ing man at that time. I deelined the offer and went on 
my errand to the near-by cafe. He met me again during 
the following intermission and raised the olfer to one 
hundred dollars, which I also deelined. 

During the last year of the World War, K)i8, I was at 
Mr. Erlanger's dinner-table in New York with a number 
of men who were discussing some war aid in which the 
theatres were interested. To my astonishment he re- 
ferred to that first meeting at Pope's thirty-Four years 
before. lie asked me if I remembered my reasons for 
refusing to go with the company, and told, to the amuse- 
ment of the company, that I had said: "1 won't; go, be- 
cause I think you have a had play which should be in 
the storehouse." And the Napoleon of managers laughed 
heartily at this freshness. 

"But Thomas was right/' he added, "and I should 
have saved money by taking his advice at the time," 

I then told him of a reinforcement that had been given 
to my estimate of the play. Before- I had gone into the 
theatre on that Tuesday night I had met. our Diekson 
Sketch Club comedian, Billy Sullivan, whoso anguish at 
having to play a straight part 1 have related. The week 
before Mr. Erlanger's engagement in the theatre the at- 
traction had been one Ada Richmond, a rather indilferent 
type of burlesque woman in as had a performance as 
could be imagined. 

I said to Sullivan, "How is the 'Dagrnar' piece?" 

With a seriousness that intensified the unconscious 
humor of his remark, he answered: "Why, (Jus, it's 
a case of Ada Richmond with a whole cast of Doctor 


guidance of this little tow-headed North American we 
went in) to the proper station in St. Paul fifteen minutes 
ahead of the time. We \\ere able to p-t sandwiches and 
some eo flee at a stand in the terminal and make our train, 
on which we had the satisfaction of seeing the ear with 
our scenery and buwwr already hnnked. This put Sul- 
livan and me into the town of St. Cloud early in the after- 
noon. We had the scenes Net and the ba^a^e distributed 
for the company that arrived at eij*ht. We also had time 
to get out some hand-bills and explain t the little com- 
munity, who had seen no compan\ arrive tipmi the morn- 
ing train, the situation as it stnod, and promise them the 
plays as advertised in the evening. 

When we got into Winsttpc/, \ve uere astonished to 
find that it was winter. It vsa-; lute autumn in the States'. 
But in this eily of Manitnbu the j'.iound uns covered with 
snow. All vehicles hail been taken I mm their wheels 
and were upon runnel'.; the toads \\ete already packed. 
The hotel at which we stepped was itttrd with storm 
sashes outside the working windows, closed in for the 
winter siege. 

Despite the optimism of Hamilton and die Denial hopes 
of the local manager, we didn't open to much business. 
There is always n excuse in a little town for bud busi- 
ness; the local manager bus alibis. They befjn about, 
a quarter of ei^ht, when the house is not promising, by 
his assertion that the people come late; and iinish by his* 
suddenly reiwrnbnmf, that therr is a church sociable or 
gathering of equal itupMtlimee, or s*mr local political 
excitement that explains ihr lack of pationn^t 4 . 1'he 
saddest excuse thai vmi can ftft is thitt thr peuple art* 
saving their mone\ ftn tlte atiiaclion that is to follow, 

In Winnipeg a local rtndrt.u, tor had broken jail a day 


from Stillwatcr and change cars at St. Paul. Wo left; a 
night call with the hotel proprietor and went to Ix-d 
I waked in the morning about fifteen minutes before 
train time, ran along the hall where we were quartered, 
roused the company and without breakfast, made a dash 
for the station, but too late. The next train would get 
us into St. Cloud at about the time we should ring up 
for the play, with no margin for getting the scenery to 
the theatre or making ourselves up for the characters. 
The hotel proprietor thought that we mi/,ht drive across 
country in time to get the train scheduled to take us out 
of St. Paul But after consulting with the livery-stable 
man this was found to be impracticable. The scenery 
and baggage had gone on the train. 

On a quick decision it was agreed that Sullivan and I 
should try the cross-country drive. The stable keeper 
sent us a double surrey, with two ordinary-looking horses, 
and a boy of fourteen to drive. We started. The boy 
handled his team with the knowledge and composure of 
a veteran. Sullivan and I complained of tin* slow pace 
we were taking. The boy figured that the drive could 
be made in time to give us a margin of ten minutes on 
the train, somewhat over two hours, as I remember; that 
to rush the. horses would be to tire them out and not 
make the connection. We thought that more speed 
could be safely tried; but the lad insisted that he was 
in charge of the expedition and that he would conduct 
it to suit himself. 

At last on a little lift in the rise of the landscape the 
boy, pointing to a distant cloud of smoke, collection of 
chimneys and roofs, said: "That is St. Paul." 

The horses had increased their speed little if any, but 
were now moving with great regularity, and under the 


It was impossible fur the people below to distinguish 
this figure silhouetted against the lighted hut. curtained 
windows. To them it seemed tu he some messenger from 
the fugitive' official they were hunting. With the fool- 
hardiness of twenty-seven I addressed them as fellow 
citizens, lifted my hands lur silence* which came quickly, 
then leaned on the rail and spoke its I funded Blame or 
Logan would have addressed them. 

The ni^ht was cold and clear; the houses opposite 
made a line background; it WHS its f*nmf n place for a 
political address as a man eould ask for. I with 
a paragraph or two abnut the lights of Knrfisluuen, the 
guarantic-s of their KIVH! umuitlrn nuj-.t itution, the 
elaboration of that in tiatittinn and piaitii-rs; spoke of 
the reason for their enmin^ t> the Imtel tluis; ttId tlu-in 
that amon<- 4 the rij'Jits n! ever\ hurji'.hmau were those of 
self-expression anil the putMiit of happiness; and then 
mentioned the Dick'on Sketch ( lltili phv, inj.* at tltc cpi*ra- 
Iiouse, where the most plra'.wr Itjr tin* h-ast money 

Ban^l A shower of Muiwlmlts cini^lit me and my 
friends standinj.*; behind am! iuoke a mun!er t>f windows. 
I was drained inside and some man, spc-akinji* more di- 
rectly to the facts from the dtur hrltnv, finally j*ot them 
to believe that the Iieuti-nrtii1-j*t>ventr Imtl c-sraped. 

The next dav the a|*il*ilitn in the cnmmimit.v kept up. 
1'he people diiln't know the man who had been whipped; 
they didn't cure amthmj,* iibmtt that. Their rij'.hls had 
heen invaded by nn apixiinted oifieial. The tiling that 
impressed me in thrir brlmvinr was tlu- way they went 
about their sclf-assrrtion. Itf.teati (f Iwidj,*, peritvtly 
satisfied with getting snmi-thin^ mi the e-ditorial pa^.e in 
the public fVjniin signed Iv a I. over of I.iheity, they bad 
moved promptly to din-u avtim. I am not. even at this 

to respect the iron bars, had caused him to be Hogged; 
and the free Englishmen of that fine little city were, dis- 
cussing this punishment. They had finally come to the 
conclusion that a man in jail was justified in dismissing 
any moral restraint that bars were supposed to imply. 
His right to escape was by implication just as inalienable 
as his measure of beer by the London quarter guaranteed 
by Article XXXV of Magna Carta. The debate of this 
flogging order had slowly mounted into indignation, and 
finally into something very like rebellion. 

As we were ringing up on our first performance the 
lieutenant-governor was in the midst of a banquet at 
the Windsor Hotel The after-dinner speeches were in- 
terrupted by a crowd of Englishmen that was rapidly 
gathering outside, looking for his excellency. The hotel 
proprietor had been forced to lock his doors, guard his 
windows, and finally the lieutenant-governor, after an 
hour or two of this menace, was covertly conduct ed out 
the back way, in disguise, and spirited oil in a sleigh in 
order to save his skin. When we came home from the 
theatre the police had to help us to get through the mob, 
and we had to be identified before, we could be admitted 
to the hotel. The women were frightened; all of tts men 
were impressed. But one thing about which we agreed 
was that that was the largest audience out there we had 
seen for some weeks. Somehow this suggestion caught: 
in the tinder of my political recollections and prepara- 
tions. When we reached the second story I went out 
on a little iron balcony, while Will Smythe and Edgar 
Smith stood behind me in the doorway. 


A principal member of any "Muldoon's Picnic" com- 
pany is the donkey. We found one on a farm, guaran- 
teed his full value to his owner, and hired him for the 
last half of the week. Our auditorium was reached by a 
winding staircase, making an ascent of some thirty feet. 
The donkey refused to follow or drive up this, so we 
carried him to the parquet and down the side aisle and 
up five steps more to the stage. We played "Muldoon's 
Picnic" on Thursday evening. All the work I have in- 
dicated writing the play, writing some parts, holding 
the rehearsals implied, getting the donkey, getting our 
own costumes was accomplished in thirty-six hours, 
during which we had also given one performance of our 
original bill. "Muldoon's Picnic," with Bernard's farce, 
"His Last Legs," drew enough money for us to get our 
railroad fares back to the States and resume our tour 
in northern Wisconsin. Sullivan's agony at having to 
play Doctor Banks the first half of the evening was as- 
suaged and almost compensated by his chance to do 
Muldoon, which was really a star part. 

There is a comic episode connected with another pres- 
entation of "Muldoon's Picnic" by this company. It 
occurred in New Orleans. We weren't in the best theatre. 
The only piece of local scenery that would serve as the 
required picnic-ground was a back drop representing the 
Lakes of Killarney. This was very old and wrinkled 
and was suspended from the gridiron. To take out the 
wrinkles, the carpenters pulled the canvas taut and nailed 
its lower batten, or wooden rail, to the stage. David as 
Mulcahy had to mount the donkey at the usual moment 
in the second act. The New Orleans donkey was not 
only sulky but reactionary. He backed up against the 
Lakes of Killarney, and cheered rather than deterred 


date prepared to advocate their methods \vhere there is 
a judieial machine capable to redress, but there is line 
value in tradition and in its authority with an unmixed 

Despite this advertising, our business on the second 
night was no better. The local manager thought our 
entertainment was not so hilarious as his patrons ex- 
pected. He advised a change of bill. We were ready 
with "His Last Legs/* and in order to present a full eve- 
ning of new offering we decided to try "Muldoon's Pic- 
nic," which we had been discussing for some time. Sul- 
livan was thoroughly familiar with the play from watch- 
ing two or three 4 engagements in \\hich Barry and I -'ay 
did it for a week each time. I)a\id also had watched 
it from the orchestra, and little Delia had played the 
child for Barry and Fay when they \\ere in St. Louis. 
I had some familiarity with it from having got in occa- 
sionally from the box-oiliee. 

The plan was to put this on Thursday night. In the 
old days, twenty years before the time of which I am 
writing, it was not unusual to pitchfork pieces into a 
production in that hurried way, and experienced variety 
people, even as late as igoo would get together and put 
on an afterpiece* with very few rehearsals and relying 
more upon tradition than upon script. It was necessary, 
however, for us to have a prompt copy, or we thought 
it was. Edgar Smith and 1 sat down to tables with pens 
and paper, while Sullivan, David, and Delia dictated to 
us the play as they remembered it. Smythe, the third 
of our scriveners' department, set to work copying parts 
for the women. Delia required no part. She was herself 
an authority. Smith and I preferred to copy our own, 
because that was an excellent method of study. David 
and Sullivan knew the play. 


fresh telegram came an actor stepped down in character 
and read Its contents to the audience such and such a 
vote for Blame, or this or that State indicated for Cleve- 

At one point in the burlesque that closed our show 
Ned Smith appeared as a spinster of the Dircctoirc 
period, poke bonnet and curls. In this costume, toward 
10.30 in the evening, he got the laugh of the night by 
reading this telegram: 

"Us girls seem to have got left at the post. Belva." 

This revives the fact which many, even those rather 
well informed politically, never fixed in their minds 
that in that year a woman, Belva A, LockwoocI, ran for 
the presidency of the United States as the candidate of 
a regular accredited political organization, the Equal 
Rights Party. 

We had a half-day in the city of Washington in the 
early winter of 1885; not playing there, but changing 
ears on a jump from Pennsylvania to a Southern town. 
It was my first return to the city of magnificent distances 
since my term as page-boy fifteen years before. Pennsyl- 
vania Avenue looked impressively broad but dcpressingly 
shabby, with its little four-story houses, live-story hotels, 
and dingy shops, all even smaller than I had remem- 
bered. But the line old Capitol stood at the head of the 
avenue, inspiring in its grandeur and symmetry, its form 
and color and satisfying balance. Neither House of 
Congress was in session. I roamed the corridors and 
rotundas, renewing youthful impressions, and on the 
ramble drifted into the Supreme Court room. I found 
that I had insufficiently estimated the impression of the 
General Butler rebuke for my boyish caricatures of him, 
as I felt a nervous tingling up the spine at sight of the 


by this opposition- bucked through the rotten canvas 
ami disappeared in the waters. Nothing during the week 
had pleased our audience so much as that vanishing act, 
and nothing that could In 1 said condemnatory of theatres 
in general and donkeys in particular was omitted by 
David, whose voice from behind the Killarney Lakes 
was Fortunately muflled by the canvas of a reunited Ire- 
land and drowned by the screams of the house in front. 

One day soon after our return to the States I found 
our boys in the smoking-car roaring with delight over a 
little comedy in Harper's A/ufj/i?u'. I joined them and 
listened to the smart dialogue of "The Elevator," by 
William Dean Howells, That was my first knowledge 
of him as a dramatist. The effects that he achieved in 
that little play, "The Elevator," and in the others that 
followed soon after were very educational suggestions to 
a young writer as to what, could be done in the theatre 
with restraint joined to precision. 

There was a tidy little opera-house in Fort Wayne, 
Indiana, fixed in my memory by the clatter of tinware 
that began in front of the curtain some time before the 
overture and grew to a deafening charivari in a few min- 
utes. This noise was a result of the gallery rule in that 
house that every boy had to carry with him to his seat 
a tin spittoon from a stock piled at the doorway where 
he entered. 

The eifeet is associated in my mind with election night. 
It was from the stage of that little opera-house that we 
announced the returns of the presidential election in 
1884, as was then the custom in the theatres, and of 
course still is. These returns were read during inter- 
missions, but as the excitement, mounted the interest in 
them more than equalled that in the. play, until as each 


south upon our route the imTe.iM- ! th- i 
colored population liatl \eiv intuit fh- ' ^ * 
draflsnian Hrrnssm^ his cr.i\mi nuul** .n I- 


As we got deeper into the M.u'k i-h I -s 
understand the authcrit\ thai oui mmr'?i 
had over the boys \\hmn he rn;,;4^rJ !* i--ij 
baggage and do other \\uik lu-tun 
when the work was ilune, nr "tfr; 
of three or four iull-;',tt*wu nr f ;!.-, 
violent contest, all the v,hile ^.it-K 

lie was plasinj* upin tiu-n .;;, r.ri!.- 
No fuH-l)londed Ai' -aullt t,l ihr t) 
from the fear of a iai>!it\ juut. '! v,.i 
face with innhV,n intent i*. t> put ',*: I 
that only a .strung vtnd.n jn.ufiu. ..n 

of the l'al)iil's hint hiur.rlt tail lrii:-,i- 

rouge is applied to an Ufttif*-. t.u r .*-, ;t 
the ball of \\hieh tin* ltip ( ,!? lui r. 1 
hair brush impnv.i!iv hi<,iif. Mien- 
foot in Sullivan's inakrup im\. H,i 
darky's susceptibility, he ripiinl i!r 
as an object of authuutv antl H 111^'. u w ,in4 
of the negro psyehcJt^'Y 2>cY>'H({ ihr. In.-,! 
stage, Sullivan was in tltr h.-thit ! ^^m r; s 
company and leaving tlm-.c- jM*ir trH*-. u 
pressing delusion. 

Nothing that I rmi!l %nv t* ihr i.huk 
found tltis o$tt ahrn-il thi-ii niM",M.ii l! 
to devise a \\Iiite %pi:II that ilirv J-L- -,! 
magically jKtent. 

As far as t!u*v knew ihe puwrr v, a-, n.ia*- 
listic words \\iih \\Iiifh I tui-.n 4 i*.i;ir*i ! 



old warrior seated at the table, his chin resting on his 
hands and his eyes dosed, while the solicitor-general or 
some representative from his oilier addressed the court. 
As near as one could gather, shim- with tin- three or 
four spectators listening to tiie uninteresting rase, the 
issue was a claim against the United States for certain 
cotton owned by a loyal eitr/.en awl destroyed us a tac- 
tical necessity by some Northern general during the war. 
The solicitor for the government, indulging in forensic 
elaboration and effects, tired his listeners in the lobby, 
who were evidently waiting for Benjamin !'. Butler to 
speak. When the solicitor lim'shed Butler slowly opened 
his eyes, turned his head with an inquiring jerk, lifted 
his chin as he directed his ga/e to the members of tin; 
court, rose with deliberation, and said: 

"If it please the court, I have but one point to submit: 
If the court overrules me I have nothing further to oiler; 
if the court sustains me I have won my case." 

And then he submitted his point, a very brief one, too 
technical to make an impression on my mind; but the 
thing that did strike me was the old gentleman's running 
true to formbrief, direct, condensed, significant. 

When I was first drawing, my father who taught me 
to sharpen a lead-pencil with a penknife and, by the 
way, that is an art I should like to describe if .space per- 
mittedinculcated the habit of filling in odd moments, 
even those of some preoccupation if one's hand were 
free, by making short parallel strokes upon any con- 
venient piece of paper, and then later by equal and simi- 
lar strokes crossing them at angles. Kaeh new layer of 
pencil marks deepened with definite dr-ree the eifeet of 
shadow that the earlier marks produced. As we left 
Pennsylvania and later left Washington, and then moved 


obviously never occurred to them that theatrical ar- 
rangements were made in advance, and that we could 
not prolong a visit anywhere simply because our hosts 
were agreeable. 

The sequel, however, almost bore out their innocent 
assumption. The Winston militia, the local name of 
which I forget, overrode our excuses and explanations 
with a disarming hospitality that one doesn't meet north 
of that latitude. We were to play the next night in the 
town of Salisbury. We couldn't ask the manager there 
to release us. We would be under pecuniary obligation 
and liability. All of this these young men quickly ac- 
cepted, assimilated and transmuted into energy. With 
our consent, they got hold of the Salisbury manager; 
they arranged, in what manner I do not know they 
hadn't had time to send our next morning's notices for 
his consent to our cutting out his town, and they gave 
us, as they had promised, a fine house and a jolly audi- 
ence on the second night. They also gave us a supper 
and a dance in their armory. 

The spirit of entertainment spread through the little 
town. The hotel keeper, with a couple of two-horse rigs, 
showed us the surrounding country. When, in the glow 
of this give and take and quite family intimacy, Mr. 
Smythe felt called upon to speak some farewell words 
of thanks before the curtain, his enthusiasm outran his 
information, and he spoke in most glowing terms of their 
wonderful little hotel. A roar of mocking laughter an- 
swered him ; even local pride knew this hotel to be rotten ; 
and the next morning the hotel proprietor, who also 
knowing his own hotel could not be convinced that 
Smythe's compliments had been sincere, forced an 
apology from him by threats of personal violence. We 


rubbing them slightly under each eye with a white silk 
handkerchief. But as the spell worked and the tears 
ran involuntarily from their eyes, they never doubtexl 
its efficacy, and I never told them that I had concealed 
in the silk handkerchief the white button of a menthol 
pencil. Perhaps I should be ashamed to confess it, but 
in the interest of efficiency, as well as occasional enter- 
tainment, Sullivan and I finally came into a working 
agreement by which he covered our local assistants with 
the black spell during the time of their required services 
and I released them by the white spell before we went 

In 1885 every local community in the South had its 
military organization of whites, trained to the utmost 
efficiency of militia. We met the members of one such 
company in the jointly incorporated community of Wins- 
ton-Salem, North Carolina. Salem was an old Moravian 
settlement of simple dwellings, flanked by its cemetery, 
in which this religious sect, consistently with its belief 
that death was a democracy in which all were equal, 
permits above the graves of its dead only the little uni- 
form cubes of stone. Winston, in contrast, is the new 
town, with everything therein apparently erected since 
the Civil War, and a graveyard in which the most os- 
tentatious are welcome. 

Our engagement was for one night. The house wan 
very thin, but, as the favorable notices say, most ap- 
preciative. When the curtain fell two or three young 
gentlemen came behind, introduced themselves, expressed 
their approval of the plays and apologized for their 
townspeople who had not patronized the entertainment; 
and then, with a refreshing ignorance of theatrical ar- 
rangements, suggested that we stay another night. It 


.orther, which corresponds to a Western blizzard. At 
he late hour nobody in authority could be found about 
he hotel. The two or three half-frozen negro servants 
/e were able to arouse brought us a small armful of wet 
food. The women members of our company were really 
uffering. Miss Page had a singer's sensitiveness to at- 
nospheric and temperature changes. We had come to 
L pass where it meant not only a temporary incapacity 
>f these more delicate ones, Miss Page and Delia, but it 
night be a question of serious illness; and a company 
itranded a thousand miles from home. 

Assigned to rooms according to the apparent impor- 
;ance of our members, Edgar Smith had been given a 
oom with an open fireplace. Miss Page and Delia, wear- 
ng their street wraps, got into the bed in that room; Ed- 
*ar and I sat up fully dressed and wearing our caps and 
overcoats. But the blasts of this norther came through 
she badly joined windows until the water on the wash- 
stand was freezing. The hard wet wood fetched up by 
the shivering darky wouldn't ignite. Heroic measures 
were necessary. We men took the pine sides and backs 
from the drawers of the washstand and the bureau and 
the shelves of the wardrobe, broke them up with a dumb- 
bell, and kept the fire going. We left the hotel before 
dawn, according to railroad requirements, after having 
some thin coffee and corn muffins given us in the chill 
dining-room. We told the man who came on duty about 
our necessity to use the cheap furniture as fuel. We had 
probably caused a damage of ten or fifteen dollars. 
Whether from indifference or from belief in the justifica- 
tion of our emergency measures, the hotel proprietor 
never communicated with us about the matter. 

We had a wonderful week in the city of Charleston. 


left, unanimously admitting that the hotel was fc 
hut that we. thought the home folk didn't know it, 

My travelling bag with its contents was a stand 
joke in our company. It weighed about fifteen pour 
One side of it was Tilled with a tightly rolled steamer 
and a pair of live-pound iron dumb-bells. The other j 
held the usual toilet articles for a night away from 01 
trunk. Although we had plenty of exercise on the st 
in our rough dances, I was fearful at that time of lo.s 
the strength I had acquired in the railroad yard. In 
anxiety to avoid that I packed this pair of dumb-Ix 
weighing together ten pounds, and I conscientiously u 
them every day in the bedroom. The steamer rug, wl: 
somebody had given me, I continued to carry beeaus< 
its value now and then as protection to little De 
There used to be a blacksmith in St. Louis who a 
somebody's horseshoes. His attractive advertisem 

"No frog, no hoof; no hoof, no horse." 
That could have been paraphrased in our organi/.at 
by writing: 

"No Delia, no 'Editha's Burglar'; no 'Editha's If 
glar,' no show." 

Except to those acquainted with the country at t 
time, it will be a surprise to learn that the most pt 
tratmg cold was sometimes in the. Middle South. 
people there had not yet recovered from the impover 
merit of the Civil War. Many hotels were poorly heal 
Railroad cars were often cold. Some junctions at wi 
we had to wait had only a frame house, with no fin 
the stove. At such times we rolled Delia up in 
steamer rug. There was one hotel to which we retur 
from the cold theatre in what the local people calle 

i8 7 

Burglar this week, I think the St. Louis papers were prob- 
ably right." 

The hour was late, there had been some alcohol, but 
the tears sprang to my eyes as they would come now to 
the eyes of RoIIo Peters if John Singer Sargent were to 
say to him, "I think the portrait you painted is better 
than the one I did." 

On our way from Atlanta, which still bitterly remem- 
bered Sherman, we passed through Talladega to the 
busy little city of Birmingham. A story that Mr. Owens 
had told us of a night in Talladega, the beauty of the 
town as we saw it, and especially the sight of a razed 
gateway to one old estate, impressed me. I laid there 
the scenes of the first play that I wrote some six years 
later for Mr. A. M. Palmer. Also, I named the play 
"Talladega," but Mr. Palmer thought that too exclusive 
for the theme, and we agreed upon the title "Alabama." 

New Orleans ! Every member of the company had 
been looking forward to the visit for different reasons. 
To walk around the old town after we had been there a 
day or two and located its points of interest was like 
hearing my father talk about it as he had talked when 
he came back to St. Louis bringing the bananas and 
mocking-birds in 1865. The same quaint personages; 
the same French market with its early coffee; the ex- 
cellent restaurants; the wide-open gambling-houses; the 
walled gardens; the graves built above the ground be- 
cause excavations of a foot or two developed water; the 
beautiful women; the men in broad hats and linen suits; 
the descendants of the proud old aristocracy all were 

Our little company put up at Victor's on Bourbon 
Street. We ate on the westerly side of the street, where 


The owner of the theatre where we played was the fine 
old actor, John E. Owens, whom I have already men- 
tioned, celebrated for his Solon Shingle, Caleb Plummer, 
and Doctor Pangloss. He came in to see our performance 
on the first night, and every night after that came in to 
see only our Burglar sketch; but after the play each night 
when we got home to the hotel we found Mr. Owens wait- 
ing for us at a table reserved by the chimney corner in 
the bar. About the middle of the week Mrs. Owens, who 
was an austere lady I have the impression that she had 
been a player too sent for us. Although she was some- 
where near the age of her husband, who was then sixty- 
two, her hair was jet black and combed in a heavy fold 
on each side, completely hiding her ears after the manner 
later popularized by Cleo de Merode. This grande dame 
asked for Mr. Smith, for some reason considering him the 
chief offender, and while Smythe and I stood by she told 
us we should be ashamed of ourselves to keep an old 
gentleman like Mr. Owens up at the bar to the small hours 
every morning. 

She was right. But what eager youngsters in their 
middle twenties would have lost the opportunity to sit 
with this convivial veteran as he filled the hours with 
an uninterrupted series of anecdotes and recollections 
of the theatrical experiences so attractive to their fan- 

Toward the end of the week, in one of these sessions, 
he asked me, "Are you the Thomas that the St. Louis 
papers said played old man Rogers better than I did?" 

I told him that I was, but that I had had no part in 
the controversy. 

He answered: "Neither had I, and I haven't spoken 
of it since, But now that I've watched you play the 


later arranged for the production of "Editha's Burglar" 
by Eddie Sothern in New York at the old Lyceum 
Theatre on Fourth Avenue. This chance for the one- 
act play in New York and something Mr. Frohman said 
made me begin to think of its value as a full evening's 
entertainment if elaborated. My leisure time during the 
rest of the season was devoted to that work, and before 
we closed I had written a four-act drama which was sub- 
sequently called "The Burglar." 

Among the towns on our way home was Louisville, 
where I had a week again with John Macauley, whose 
acquaintance I had made so favorably while with the 
Norton company. We had many pleasant hours together 
and John was compliment arily anxious to have me meet 
Colonel Henry Watterson, the editor of the Louisville 
Courier- Journal. We called at the editorial room one 
afternoon together, and were told that Colonel Watter- 
son was at the Pendennis Club. We followed there. As 
we entered the large living-room on the ground floor a 
handsome, black-haired, soldierly person, apparently in 
his middle thirties, was seated at the piano, his shirt 
collar unbuttoned and thrown open as by a hero of ro- 
mance. He wore a seersucker coat, the sleeves of which 
were pushed well up from his turned back shirt-cuffs, 
and he was absorbed in playing a medley of operatic arias, 
Foster folk-songs, and improvisations. 

Macauley stopped me in the doorway. The condi- 
tions were not unknown to him. It was Watterson's 
frequent practice at that epoch to repair to that room 
and that piano and play himself out of some overshadow- 
ing perplexity. After Macauley had led me outside of 
the clubhouse he explained this and his unwillingness to 
intrude upon the mood and its expression. It was not 


Victor officiated in his own restaurant and brought 
the stuiV hot from the grill; \ve lived in a Madame D< 
pliine garden on the easterly side, in rooms eaeh letlii 
to a common gallery reached by a stairway; each roo 
furnished with a window fitted with Venetian blinds at 
a swinging door of fixed slats like the summer doors . 
an old-time Missouri barroom. The darkies brought \ 
our black codec in the morning; for lc petit dejeuner i 
table 1 across the street the coffee was served from a jx 
with a straight ebony handle projecting on one side an 
an equal spout from a right -angle face. 

Two blocks away on Royal Street; one when passin 
could locate the gambling rooms by the rattle of the ken 
balls in their wooden roller, I liketl keno. It took onl, 
ten minutes to wait through a turn, and even in an after 
noon of scattered attendance one stood a chance of win 
ning sonic four or live dollars by an investment of to 

In our New Orleans week we were all of us so short o 
funds that to risk even ten cents seemed dissipation 
But partly for the reviving passion, partly for the sak< 
of local color, partly wishing to try everything once, 1 
went from the theatre one night into the crowded kern: 
room on Royal Street with thirty cents as my limit, 
picked what looked like a good card, and on the second 
roll won eighteen dollars. This was too much of a wind- 
fall to be risked at a game of chance, so I cashed in and 
carried my winnings back to the company. We stocked 
up on a number of needed articles that eighteen dollars 
could provide. 

During this engagement in New Orleans, Charles Froh- 
man, then an advance agent ahead of some Madison 
Square company, came in to see the performance, and 

JOt'RN'M isM IX ST. 11)1 IS 

Wiit'ii \.ujuvr im n Li\r ;i%ird me vthat t <}<* to fit 
theWM Kr- ! MI ^ ,'h'V. I have ad\r>rd three pia%U!ts: 
litf'%fui L f f . I ' l( J *iM j*hr* *, li.ith nn ihr \ta",e and 


II uuti* /; in IT/ ., i **J . 1 !H" In* ! !*A*I t m> iijia! inns 

puifii < ti ' * i i \ i . ., .iu* ln 4 inuMlu '.*! ii: 
|nr a pJ-i* '*^' l .' i * *t* al^'j^.l al\- a< % a Jir-t par.* s .liv in 
U iirv-papfj 'i^t. {Ir a! .> li.ttn*.* /!?c 4 lima lus 
int-r. irw, ai.i i.r Ii.n:*. i h.uai *ri -*!i a i. ii^. in hi:i daily 

\\ i! *, 

N! 4 .r M| J.r-f i ^ *,; !f! .if jmti% ho^rvrr, inHiu*iu.*t*<i nu* 
in the /nu*.' ' M! i ti ,, ^l.i n I liiiiml njvsfl! out o! a jth 
and in <*r'<? .! in " t. i,t*ui%, I \vas looking fur work, 
and I l*Kt i ! , ** ai^.t r 4 ihr m< n 1 Lmnv, M. A. I ; an- 
nin>.', a n*:.i.n r n:.iir it \\iiii.nn M.'iiinn Krrdv, itncl 
laii r M*tif*!,i % ; ,*^! .f 1 , i .rj nt li^jiliii^* Totu J!uiM*n ul 
(iliirliud a*. !* i .1 It s* v,rrL'* in Miuntirr artinji; 
a%iit, r L* j t !'. ** l.'Hii-* I*ia-/)r 4 |nif A. Mike anil 
I vnr llii ilif !' >\ t ,i d .uiiujiri 'j-.aiilt n ar< jiiaiiitanrc'S. 
I!r !!*t. i4f ! f I i* : k * * ; hr kurv, I t'uuld ilia\ r , a Iilllr. 

1 Ir *<!ci ! * if* :/ MM. .jr, ihr man.!, in,; rdilur uf the 
papn, ^nl i r i J*j i .1! * 44! nf, -Ir.e <li*!Iar a \\rc-k, which 
vui, fi\e !*^ii thai I i ! ! haM- duiu- i>\ JMIJU^ Lmck to 
"** Ir\.4i*ir 1 t -^ it a. a viup-ap aiu! \vrnt to 



until four years later that I met my good friend Mar 

, Henry. But that room in the Pendennis and that abilil 

| to improvise were to witness and to mark for me a vei 

) memorable moment some years later. 

| We reached St. Louis deeper than ever in debt, 1 

players and printer. Smythe went East to be a manage 
Ed Smith went to New York, where as a writer he w* 
to win reputation and comfort; Delia became a sta 
David a Broadway hit; I was stranded in a St. Lou 


fur two \U'', ami al ,* in tht* thratiii'ai Uau-I earlier tio- 

scnbrtL 1 hni K 4* ant- with the* local mows. It 
wa* another nuitt i, howrxcr, t trport in tht 4 rarly morn- 
ing a*; one i t hr t uv. 

\l> hf'4 tlut* * j n tn\ hrt ami fir that mutter 
niV fn*t i! its r'.rts !.ii tor uiun\ ssrrks ssas tt> cull- 
tlrn*.c* itiiu 1 . I'IM'U ill* lUMinin^ papn . to pata; v k rn|>hs of 
liiii|iri u-Litin lui iii atti i ii'*ti I-.MU\ At that time in 
St. I oiii th^ nr,\',;),ij>n piavTii'i' \sa. t *u\rr In" rt'icr- 
i-iur ir !n lull n-jmt <M'i\i!-in that hapjrnnl in the 
cii\ t tim a tinniL a%il *!i .'ji!-iK l> a Uinniii f harn in 

thr Mli'iiih . lia'lr ;,., f.l ihr ,rli^ti\r \\4eili now 
ft lit v, c! in mrtt"p lii. f i i* ui lutliMiu aiul lh<'ir was no PI-/, , .*, ,-i.i * * i *!' n s. i ; .a\ It p;tjHT ua% r\ptTtr<l 
In , i I il *.< a i'li a^na 1 n, a nil if p* . uIr l> j^'t it. cx- 
cluJirK. Ihr i<*.p, .i . i v- i ihfn i'alli'l fc was 
r\ld!ui'tii .1 jii's rliti H ;u \ ami rlilrlpUM*. 

A> thi- iiil* irpniiri in *riu,r t n*t in south, I tircsv 
ihr k .implf ^ .'**.! m i t.n 1 fi*l 'i' i^nmrnt 1 *. My first 
nintniM,', at?* i i^i^n i*i*i;. \\rir usn, v\;r. tl 4 volrtl to 
a rhi In, .hi;, ; 1^4 ..;*!, a i hu kt-n *!ii\\ ;t% svnult! now 
til! \lacii >*n Spj.ur i .ihlt-n, I*ut 'i vnv unpirlontinus 
i'ltllfi tiun M! t".i; a^l i.f,*- put into a t\\ritl> Jive-foot 
\at ahl * loir. I In ?* -,.4,t 4 in haps t\so hundwt and fifty 
laid% in llii% MI!i-i :i'n, laii^'jiijt thnnij'ji tin* various 
Iiu-rd'. fif*ia B,i..fai* - to Cue Inn (ihina 1 . anI thniujrji 
tlir saiinii'. ;> % iti.ri". tnnu iirw-Iiatchrd chickens to 
ioM\iu% milii ti^iiin.ti UToiu-*. 

On t hi-. Str- *!.tv J t t!*r pouluv sh)\v no awards bad 
\rt hirn ira!r. A, fai .r. I i*uhl *.rr, thrir was nothing 
to wiiU' aSiMMt hut ju ! i hii Krir, ami fauurp, ssith 
ilin^il ttl.i.Lri.. Ou/,- i*.. u Inf \\ilh thr a- s^r 
attit M-iiuu- h n-\'I\i;i, i:i tu% iniml an imptilsc to quit 

192 THE PRINT OF MY KI'Ali \imt\\c i; 

work hoping from day to dm that ** I 'hi- B * f i* " a i 
act play I had written, \\ouM tin! a >:<n\' * ( J > 
second play on the stocks whivh I t ti\l i 1 r 
dealing with the bi# IVmt^K urli tukt*, l< 4 
the Philadelphia Grays, a bnn i 1 i^uit !* , > ; 
fired on the stage, a Jire-rn, i ? ti j;,i} j, 
ing tank ear of oil, a runav..i\ f i i*- ," 
of a rolling mill witli a rctl-hot *.ft I i.iil 
an attic, an abduction, a bank M ! I ! H 1 1 t : 
knives, a picnic by n Jlowi;! IMMM, 

hands, a man on horseback \ : ih 1,1!*' , 

fellow in the "Barnaby Uml % r" (ti.l, 

ruined mill-wheel that titnui! \u ,i- 

caping villain, plenty of -luti;,, * |5 

and several ligltt-comedy tMul,t , J 

some day, when the HippMiIh.u.r !, 

house and the United Sttvl lnvi ,..,, 

business, I mean to pnidtiir i?, ('li.ti)i 

considered it that summer. 
Years later Joseph Brook ,, a!?i i 'MJ. , 

Hur/' also read it,, and saitl: -f IM I ? f > 

God, I can't! 1 ' 
But in the summer of iSS-j un 

"ThcBurglan" Will Smxihr fj.i. 

gkr" with him in New Yuik IK 

H. Sothern, wlu> had anothrr rup^ 

be in St. Louis soun and di^u* -, it ..., 

the Post-Dispatch therefore MTIM-.I the 

assignment imagiimblr. But r\m a i f- ^ i .,! 

daily duties, and there wen- nlii,*i 

1 was not a stranger in m<A'.pa:n r oii u - \ 

tcur actor looking for show j.uMilh^ -i- 4 ' r c /^' 'Tf 

box-office going with visiiinjj a*K iim r ',,, r T i tl.r , ',, ? ! ,V, 


for the magazines I dropped suddenly back into the rou- 
tine of hotels, real estate, justices of the peace, a school 
board on its vacation, architecture, and weekly "art 

It was a depressing experience to have the paper come 
out day after day with only one's condensations of the 
unimportant morning articles; depressing to see the other 
fellows with fatter departments grab the first copies that 
the office boy distributed as they left the roaring presses, 
and scan their stuff ostensibly for errors but really for that 
authority which formal type seems to lend to gelatinous 
contributions, giving a satisfaction not unlike the sculp- 
tor's joy as the disappearing piece-mould reveals his per- 
manent bronze. 

The first important assignment alone grew out of a 
morning paragraph relating an inquiry at police head- 
quarters concerning a young girl who had been absent 
from her mother's home for forty-eight hours. Was it 
to be rewritten or to be reprinted as it was, a simple 
emanation from police headquarters? It was impossible 
to condense it. City Editor Magner said: 

"Colonel Thomas, the reason that item is so brief is 
that it came into that morning newspaper office too late 
to be expanded or inquired into. It is now your pleasant 
duty to discover that young lady and her family and 
write an extended report of the case." 

I went immediately to the girFs home, a rear apart- 
ment well out on Cass Avenue, one of the poorer quar- 
ters of the city, where I found the anxious mother, her 
eyes red from weeping, confined to the little apartment 
by her domestic duties. She confirmed the item, an- 
swered my questions, gave me a photograph of the girl. 
Beyond this there was nothing upon which to proceed. 


the business, and feeling strange at any kind of writing 
except dialogue, I hit upon what I thought was the out- 
rageous notion of interviewing a young cockerel from 
Belleville, and letting him talk of the exhibition. I 
turned in several pages of this kind of copy with a feel- 
ing of defiance. My astonishment can be imagined when 
I found that the report was considered a hit. The acting 
city editor read it aloud to men at the near-by desks, 
who laughed at it in chorus and regarded me esti- 

I was conducted into the art department and intro- 
duced to a German draftsman by the name of Steitz, 
who was instructed to make illustrations for the chicken 
interview under my direction. Irvin Cobb just back 
from Flanders with a portfolio of special stuff probably 
didn't make any relatively greater sensation than this 
first article of mine turned in at the Post-Dispatch; and 
to my mind there was a distinction about the issue of 
the paper that afternoon that I had never seen before. 
I carried extra copies home to my family. I reread the 
article with detached astonishment. The only reaction 
I didn't include was a lecture tour. 

There is an introductory line in a book called "The 
New Hyperion," written in the early 'yo's by a Phila- 
delphia newspaper man, I think named Strahan. It was 
his second book, and it began with this phrase that has 
stuck in my memory: "The man who hits one success 
by accident is always trying to hit another by prepara- 
tion." That fully expresses my condition thereafter. I 
wanted with careful intent to repeat a performance which 
was the outcome of a rebellious explosion. Other as- 
signments on subsequent days, however, did not lend 
themselves to dramatic dialogue, and from a candidate 

JOI KV\I I'M IN ST. 1.01 IS u>7 

make Oi> IiJX'lt, Ilur urir nlv lvu ni ihicc of the 

ten or tsuN ' * il i 'i !iil in the tnuin-,. 

""Well/" VHd M,l, . ri. 

"I found hn." 

He allied init* the nr\t jnum, "Hey, Moun\ Thomas 
has fouiul lhal KriK ;'itir* The cdilur joined 


"Whezr tli*l Mu liPtl hn ?" 
"On a (*a.'* \%<-p!ir -.tirri ^ar/ f 
"Whnr i. -.!' n..v, ?* $ 
"At hftnr." 

"How did J;r ,.i| thnr?" 

"1 ttik Inr t'M :*/' 

With ii !*uK i*l if, i-t, M.i/iu-r turnrtl }ark to his 
Moore \Vrnt II t i li, I" *!!!. 

"What shall I vi ii i ,t!>Mui it/" t .i',ki-f. 

Manner sail: S< N4 a !;iinit thn:/ t ! lint who ever 
told you that \*u Iirimi^n! in li^i^ neur^paper husx~ 

Out on thr th'.riTfii iidilr hf-rArrii the flistUr* of the 

peace I tnrt HM * If l!i*L t *ia i*t t*i<i irpuiic-i ., uho luicl 
rather taken inr i*j.iii in * vai*;*, in thr oUuv. Bicycle 

Hicks wa% M* lallrd hn.t ,r Iir V, as r*nr til thr fr\v IUC*n 
in tlu* cilv aitil thr M!* **nr un a nrvi'.papt-t uht> pos- 
sessed a !m\!f% vj * h at that time* v\a** a in 1 ** hinr \\ith 
it Iront \\hrrl M\U tut he- in ili4!iir!rt and a \{*< f artliiart 
spine that tun ti :r iS-i -adillr a!*o\e thr lti; s u ht*c*I to 
a little tiailer v*hl I'fHrtf, prihap-. a ft**l hi; h. Ilis 
<iepartinent tta% thuniu and thr 'tnili/i-d eI^*cs of 
Uthlvtics. Aninn,; n,\ ni.tlc' ;u quaintaiu r% he \\ as the 
original \\ oman %;tli,i, ] .1, jn* Jiiiiiiiuiu',!, and anti-ci^ar- 
cltc advocate; a '.lailu^,, ioj,enuuu: enthusia f l. When 


The girl's intimate friend* uric* m-ar at hand and h, 
all been seen. There was no \H*;JV, man in the case, 
far as mother or friends knew. I here \\as at home i 
particular disappointment tut t her than the daily ^rit 
of poverty. 

I started walking clown Ca^ Avenue in the direetinn 
the nearest police station, \\hieh wa- to he inv next ea 
It was about ten o'clock oi a Minnm-i woinu,\ /\ <.Jj n j 
street-car with two lu/.y hop*rs ji f , T d p r,t mr, 
the same direction, the eomlmtt luIliM,', <w the IUH 
rail Seated in the car were two Ian hn, - iiK t the on 
passengers. As 1 caught theii e\pn -.iitu I '-milrtl in t! 
involuntary human ri\sjn>nse that i'. juth i;r. -.till a tru 
with youngish people*. Then Muurthi:. , tamiltar in tl 
face of one of the girls iixed my att'Mtinn ntuf hooked u 
with the photograph I had in m\ p*H'ket 

I ran after the car and hoarded it. The girls ^re- 
serious with resentment of this preuvduie, \vhieh senue 
more than they had invited. 1 addressed the une in p;t 
ticular: "Is your name Mamie KrIIv?" and sa\v at om 
by the expression of both nirls that 1 had futnu! ihe mi- 
sing daughter. I sat down, told Mamie of her mother 
unhappincss, of the police hunt fur her, the iiem in t!i 
morning paper. The girl was contrite for her truane 
and immediately ready to }i t o lumu\ 

The car was stopped, we took one in the opposite d 
rection, and a few minutes later I turned Mamie Kell 
over to her mother, who wrung my hand and patted in 
shoulders with the inart.ieula.te gratitude of a n-seue 
animal I stayed long enough to K i-t the j*ir!\ st.^ 
which was one of a simple temporary revolt against th 
hard conditions of a monotonous life. I returned to th 
office, a fortunate fulWiedged detective journalist, t 

JOl H\\l i*Al I\ M. 

jf persMo! '" ^ J!t 
nati\e Mi. J* 

lied its manU i* tue 
but a% I vn-2 ! IJli * J 
me that nc.."^^ * 
in the wanuhu ! ,i 
minmity artl th,-t 
imiuj;urite in on* 
the nett'paprt , r ' 
quently r i*'.tt i * * - T 
Our nilr on tha: 
the pie-cut NC*A \ 
be piintcd tel f *i - 
national it v 

kill |H< ii MI-!. 1 irh t! t ? ii 

iiirtL;^/ liijiiihl ,ijiii!* jii'.li 
j i \* f .i\ f o * I *M hi* Mil*;* 4 t, 

M**; v. KM , M to inttt l:i at < \tirwrs 
of IH w % ujc in *i MIV iinnlrti 
,i % \ ft f! r i !,! i;ii JM * \\ Lit h th \ 
*.* h r. r >T: t .! <i , o pu 1 tualfct' 
M: !% i a ,ti, . 41! ji^ it * lat tic- 

r -.! i I 1 ,,* ' i i jia,irt, lS;r patent t*f 

s . Hi/,',:, - 1 ,i t!i>it itn*!an M ( \\a% to 

i i * *;,,n-r; f i j> f uj* a an\ ii4:iii 9 

.'i t 4 l i ! 'C I I* ! i *! J*' pUf j -f% Ul' 

others i'*c\ It v**.M i r ii!.v ^lt t*\f i;lt'i t il<*nv 

the WiMlnm of flu ir j; 1 , '.:,*! i !rjr l',.1;r ot d , 

One <la\ a dr p *' ?' "t t M nr.,t*i 1*1 iKr nnMiirtn tli tiu t 
of the i-iu, M-ll ; MT I*:**! ihr fulNtc life hrftl 
nothinji I *ttrt li I- M ll* m lit tl M. 1 .ul \u, n.t, kilfnl 
his wife* anol tiiuj i\j!'irn and then '.hot I.iur.rlt. I la* 
scene \\^ thirr n,l!f. a^ax, and thr hour v. a-* nraiK 
three in thr atln? -i.,i. In ihcnikrU h.u l> that |jillo\\f(l 
us over that tit- lam r l luitnl uiav.niain lu 4 and ohliqnc 
hurdles t*i *4irc"f i ai li.ii^ JiJ*nn\ Jrnuiius, tl r ( ,rnior 
of our t'.iiitip, a : f ..'! f s > .uh man hi' piopn drjiait- 
ment, such a* c.iu-r ot ! J *r i iii4ii% th-iiiutioa oi ,i rnc. 
neif^hbop* and (OII.J.MCMT^ polu-r and t'2onn. 1 tlif-u 
neighbors ami lojnmrrt. I a* It !';*Mitri, *t' br JMI hr 
informal ion, htmtro 1 a n< .,i !*\ trhphour and talLiil hi'* 
stuff to u irla\ man in thi I'!:.M*, Ii v,as rMitin^ at the 
time, but m\ tulla*MM'-! *.p thr t,j} < r end *Aa-. a mattcr- 
of-fuct pei?uii \%ith a pa r .'n !*i <\ti;ut*i. Ami ulu*n 


I last heard from him he was editing the Army an 

At the street meeting I speak of I asked Bicycl 
what had been wrong with my report; what it w 
the newspaper had expected me to do with that L 
He said he didn't know, but thought it was sor 
extraordinary that would have furnished the pap 
exclusive and worth-while news. He then told 
an indicative incident, of a reporter who had been 
commended for having carried the body of a de* 
which he found on a deserted street into a near-by 
building, so that after writing understandingly con 
the inquiry which the disappearance of this ma 
sioned he was able as a representative of his papei 
to reason out and discover the hiding-place of th< 
and to clear up the mystery which he had created, 

Hicks told me also of another enterprising r< 
who had obtained indirectly the stolen minute-b 
a St. Louis grand jury that was investigating som 
ical bribery cases and had then carried these b< 
a near-by town in the State of Illinois outside th 
diction of the court to which they appertained, ar 
this safe retreat had sent in daily installments tran 
from their records, to the great embarrassment 
machinery of justice, but to the renown of the p 
which the reporter was attached. 

Thomas Jefferson, writing from Paris to Mr. I 
Carrington in 1787, said: "Were it left to me to 
whether we should have a government without 
papers, or newspapers without a government, I 
not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter." 

It seemed to me that to take the stolen recor 
grand jury and print them defiantly was a practice 



earned this U'lih r Mt. Pahrr*, and il \* as put on 
ahead of " \i* t Ja% k." 1 tn r;ud a imalu ot littvdol- 
lars a \urk toi if t'' M f *f that sra .on, and v In n "Atutt 
Jack 1 ' Nent n t! r Nsid fin **!! vin', M*ai Mi. Jnr Ha- 
worth pi 'i \ ft I Mt, Ban *, i'.ii*''', fUtf iti un utit uti-iaiMT, 
Mr. !iau'Mr<j' a! * }*' r rtl if ra \umit\tllr, \\hru- -uc- 
cessivrl) hi' *' . I 'i*.rl attd .Luk^ r:u It niadt* his fn%t 
appeaiatu^r in lk t 5i atn- in HIM t*! it* nitPni paits. I 
shoultl inu/^ !% < ' f * tti* ii^\ iniipi, liMMi it at tlu i-t* 
thousand dnl!ai'. ( )! i**,i .r ihr adapt, i!*il:t\ t tlu* mil- 
toriaU t th* it n 1 ,^' fu** dinai.d. inn 4 h< I ikrn into 
OJnsidfiatioi^ !ut ikr nu tdnn i*. an i \;iirpi >} tlu* dis- 
parity Ix't^eru tltr i i!\ pfkimiti\ jr'Aaid'. in llir I\%D 
prolfSMnn* . 

IHuived to i!itH'i\ Ii^mr^c'!, i-t'..rrn tlic- mvaltifs for 
"A Man t*t li.r U^'ild^ and thr thin,". 1 Iraiiird as ii 
reporter I'd p'^irptl, l.ilr thf tiainiis . !' \\ttiv of 
the event*: of ir!f H*-! ill that tiainin, 1 u*ri!d ill! a |jM)k. 
Thisarthlr HUT *:-! tnr+i idrjtils ihcia, \n i ibllr t alif u 
exists, liu\vr\n, ti tr!l *!rail* MH h r\pnitiuv. as put 
prrninnnit dmt. ii^ tus aniulatin** tnrntalil\. llirse 
cxperieuiT'. tall ia,id!\ in!* tv-u dc^iailinriits: The 
teehnie ol th 4 ^aiur .ud liir Lu idrnls il di-all \\ith the 
first eential t thr vrmnd 'n\ ijunuic-ntal. 1 don't think 
the /'V\t-/)i\|ifiii inatfi* that o'.trntatiuns rliiin to }oot! 
linglish that thr ^tm tindn (Italic*. Dana vu*r. supposed 
to make, hut it- rth'tir v*rn- nha-atrd and t \artin; 1 , men. 
A reporter M*n qui! ^iilin f : *'thosr hind," and ht% nh- 
jeetive e; /i.tdi all*, u ade Ir-Af-r and h*ss atnhitioiis 
trirs at thr *uthr' j ;t 1 don't !r'nrnilri so miifh iuss 
over split iniinhi r .rs a* some nou\,c"iu\ purists make. 
Maybe tnir etlitoi . had *iui'.shat of that drrper culture 
which made the hitr liioinas K. Lounsbury of Yale and 


I read the finished and as -envied and punted product 
an hour later tin- whole Ua e/a, as lai a-; I was con- 
cerned, was a disappointment ami a <t material. 

That incident lelates immedialt K to the lesson one 
learns earlv on a news-paper that all material -must 
adapt itself to the lunirly In the paper's require- 
ments'. Oscar Wilde, hiring asked slightly to shorten 
"Ladv Windermerc's Fan," siidied as lie took his blue 
crayon to comply, M \\ho am I to tiille with ;i classic? 1 ' 
Hut lor the newspaper, classir, epie, am! r/Jt/-</VuiTt' 
\vatcli their step, move up in hunt or change cars at corn- 
mand of city editor and make-up man, 

One other thin 1 /, 1 learned was that mateiial ^nnl else- 
where mijht never !>e uf value on the paper. In addi- 
tion, to the daily work expected of eaeh man certain of us 
were supposed to turn in what wa-. called a special ioi 
the weekly edition, an elaboiated and extended write- 
up of some department, or rtm and thru a in*rt* h'unk 
attempt at iiction. One suelt contiibutinn ot ininr wa* 
a little dramatic sketch called "A Man of the World/' 
Manner latched at the form, and the sketch did not ap- 
pear in the paper. Months afterward, when (leor^t 
Johns, during Mar,nrr*s varatinn, was af.ain aetin;; clly 
editor, lie <Iuj; this sketch from a drawer uf dusty dis- 
cards and returned it to me, saying he thuu^ht it loo gmic 
to be lost. 

In iHqo Mr. A. M. Palmer, at the Madison Squan 
llicatrc produced a short ct.metly called **Aunt Jack/ 
in which the principal meml'rs of liis eompanv, includ 
ing Agnes Houth and James H. Stndtlart, were appear 
ing. Maurice Barry more, on the salary list, was, how 
ever, out of tins bilk After two or three curtain-raiser 
had been submitted to him awl fount! unsalislactury, h 

J()t H\ \1 1 S M IN ST. UH IS 20 j 

crippln! our /.:<" "' !:;, '"in ,in,i !,,, 'liiis -dilution, 
as is nut miu . j. . :.'. . 1 i < .f '. l-.i.' ii" .unl a i-umpuj- 

cn-ascd wtrl!.t".il - ' ' ' ' n,c.,T,i! ..iljH-l :uul !- 
toury attack <! CMT. 5 : ' am, ,inl <,anu(i^ a tutu'h nf 
acid! Hut tU i!. "' .1- l_ k .iutri : .'-n f - ijiulitir. wm- 
sulvfil ttv a tu'.' i.t ' t <" "*.'-( ti..p>''i. 

1 can -;IT M. ' ! <"' " ' ' - lt ^"- >!< '- ^-^ t- L .m,l- 

i , ,, | 1, fl .> >*!,*, 'I* lnllitl\f' f ilLf < f 

story 1'iMiiu, li r, v. f .4 , t ... i ,\ *,i**. A , i UM u ia \UIIKI i 
Street and ai!",-, Ii I: * \ * Ir il tlir ti!, j !u! Opna 
House, turnij',/, in !/ . ,*<i-l thaii !-t ^itir pninlrt! in- 

hand, by whuh i.r i ^ - ^^ ; f, -ii ! hi- ^ilt >;r.tmc 
as \\ith the- sa'i-r K-i'. ; - I " * '*' ^ !ri? ^ ! * ^ ; '' !l p^nip.uiour 

that looked l ; i.r t iH', n ^ "i t% 4 , ,'IMP. 

The de-.k that I % '* t a NMI i n:ir v as imme- 
diately brhiml thi. '.-^.t-J iha;j t an 1 ia nl llir mii!l|e 
window loi nriibri u- r.^'i a i*M-tfJ !u.t!;*tn. In 
Ma^nor's hit i. t 1 < i' ,M .*t,, !rJ -all ^as Ntii.r 1 ,4iu% 


a.i ai-r 

sensible to ap^n* ,* ? r ! A 4 l5 t >HMI if a pn I Itn \!,i^- 
ner's upiniMii.. 1 n. u! .1 M! ,< r , uhiili } ( i.-. a tuurh 
of biith inrii. I a*r hail * I put a ! an h tl ups on Maj*- 
ner's desk, 

He said: "'!!<?' ?' it '.t>iJl. Jo!m. 1 t!tn't think 
much of ii mvf!:, ,12 i I i!' nt l!ir^t- thai 1 am ttiilinj': 
as \vell us ! tli*l l^n %* n a,, * 

Manner mailr a,; tn,:.i* . tf, ili'pliv of thr rvii.iMii*; 
that he immt-d;.*:* U hr, .,-; ,i , hr Ii!K an -wir*!: "Oh, 
yes, Mikf% \on d*! N ; k '.n!r iu I a-. v,r!I as \t rvrr 
did. But s..ui I- Tr i", i-.ipni^ in, /' anl t*;n ihr blur 
pencil slasho! oil a;..:!ai hall -p i/r brfur iir quickly 
swung in 1111% 



the American Academy defend the divided infinitive 
only as scholarly and time honored, hut as often the n 
expressive form. 

We reporters also learned a concentration of at ten 
which gradually euhned down i'rum fren/icd resistant- 
a self-respecting exclusion. The typewriters that tr 
such a bedlam of modem others were mt thru instal 
But as the hour approached tlie make-up tlie nisi 
the odice was the same as the modern rush: hoys ca! 
for copy; men from the current sensations arriving i 
their verbal condensations to tin* cilv editor; shm 
consultations; and perhaps anther element in 
smaller city that may not he present now tlie inva 
of the room by men who mij'Jit he a Heeled by the i 
calling to secure its inodiliealinn or Mipprrssitm; t 
and the doxen other eonfusi*ns all were ihnv, sur 
around the reporter who \\as to have them accelt 
rather than retard his part of ,**me ieput that he 
scratching on the cheap print paper. MOH* than < 
since then at a dress rehearsal and its attendant hn! 
! have been thankful for such of that uatintl a i was; 
acquired, which has helpetl me to sit at a musie-s 1 
in the orchestra pit and pateh up smm* limping seer 

Let me tell of certain inilueneinj* eontemporarie 
the Post-Dispatch. Allhtni}.;h it is preferable lo tie 
character from revealing ineitlents, just us it is ami 
to infer the outline of the lady on the barn door frou 
scars made by the knife-thrower, some faels coiicrr 
our regular city editor, John Manner* cannot pos 
be inferred and should therefore in* told, because a 
editor more than any oilier man on it paper delern 
the relation of a new repo.rter to his business. 

Some congenital or youthful calamity hud s 

jot it\\i ISM i\ sr. i en is 

f m!h*l IK. 

tint* * t tit* /* "* /*; .;'*' ', 4 MI ^ s , t{ n-j a t ' -, * nu' tin* c 
ii* }*::! a/*" i ! *,r i . I h<* pn tj;n: nt t !i j j iti^n u! ihr urn- 
\r!u','? -> i! <* f| *<<a ii in r IM'M! Ja.ia . II. i nnaa, 
V, a - rtfi . < <! a. * ! ' < * f l >f t!.r * M * . M , i! i* 111' !i' rM- 
lIaH4r ! ai a?rau d ihraln* ii iMir*l *t ntiiir ill St. 
1 it;i * ." ' T : ii. 'i / I l * i! ,i ]n i MM In* n\ it > ith nii f hi 

f 1 1 l ; ! , "! 

* Ii , r tn , 

kj>n\\ U Vi L 

j*, ir I :! ;i 
rv ., / * J 

|! lr j r - ;, 

allc- ft! , ':i,!j f! 1 1 , M , t 1 , .! v .1 , i L!J. *! *n , U i.tusr 
HiiJlr* t> 4, l j*j. ir, / i' t : 'M f! i if f jniinnriif f had iur- 

M*^ I 1 r 
f ur. 

1 Li . 
l if i\ r * 

>i . n! !M V, ; !t M ' ' rt l! till' St. L 

,i |^ ' i.r * i i i ),:' It^'ii 1 * * uf a wrll- 

*!' n * t . M'.J> ," , nil \ r,f Mf t*rt, a lit I 

"i :?.K! '! M ". II, -i cntrrjui-* 
* I l .4- '" M << :i .i t 1,1 s . ,. 1 :; !>uf \.hrn 

' - .,! f :' - .<i If t K, f J 4 ,i 1 >M C lit'., 

*'. I, r. If W,i'. ll"}M !* . MM tl\ t* 
r til t'jr ti.i< i finl Ic.itW*", ol I III* 

.*,,, inrria * n ic- 
{ i*n a 4 j M/r* la fl 
*rra i h u 1 '! the 4 i' 


aT lli 

cfjMU r v,.r, a / ^ 

vJiif r tirr ! t'.iiiN 

in iii"4i 

i' ''-! tin > luil <!.-,!. . I Irlt 

. I !* ll^HiHi I* ! HI , Il4! 1 1! /J ^'/.Tf I 

tnb!i!r ! altnuir\ .rr.naL ( hir 
.^:f ! . tl r aaiar nl Nat Dmlrn, 
*!'/ : i l."l tanlf liiin a taxuiilt* 
l> r\n> nr/'ia|i i:ar in thr Statr, Hrpfr rn- 


I was bending over my own work, naturally amuse 
but I had not laughed aloud. His attention had be 
prompted solely by accurate suspicion, and here is ] 
speech to me I give it because it contains an expressi 
which has multiplied more prolifically than the Bibli< 
grain of mustard-seed: 

"Colonel Thomas" Magner always conferred a mi 
tary title on a prospective target "Colonel Thorn; 
you have a very sensitive dial. Sometimes you smi 
sometimes you lift your eyebrows, sometimes you or 
shift your wrinkles. But you always register/* 

The chorus in that quadrangle of desks gave him t 
response he had played for. But his dial illustration i 
pressed me, and the word " register " was indelible. 

In 1891 at the rehearsals of " Alabama " at the Ma< 
son Square Theatre, and with Magner vaguely in mir 
I found myself using "register" to the members of IV 
Palmer's company, whom Mr. Eugene Prestrey, the sta 
manager, was rehearsing, with occasional conferenc 
with me. Presbrey consciously or unconsciously adopt 
and worked the word until it became a matter of pla 
ful comment with the people he rehearsed then and aft< 
ward. It was repeated by him and others more and me 
frequently through the years, until now that it has e 
tirely saturated the nomenclature of the movies bo 
seriously and in burlesque I am wondering if its inund; 
ing start was not back at that rivulet from the corner de 
in the old Post-Dispatch rooms on Market Street 

Except for the anodyne of intervening years it wot 
be depressing to go on recording one's repeated failuj 
to measure up to editorial expectations. But at the e 
pense of my vanity I must tell of my first political cc 
vention and therein of two ineptitudes, or, in mode 

'I\\0 111 H/KK I 1 \PKUS 

In ;d! t 1 - . 4 tijrr . 4 .'i ,'4!?:-! ,1 i!.r -,e tlu!:r, I never quite 
l< t **, : f 'i 1 i!ir* 'MM*: * d rijr, v,e. Vw iiuif might 
btrv v, .i,i -it /v i!,- *! " IV B , ,'n * in Ne,v York. 

tl * rr ,' ^ :. -i f'l- tiii^l O^iia lluti^e, \ulh 

( r< !^* \t* M l* .' *l l f . < ,',*r ,i!li J*liM \Mi|u!l nil 

Our ^rrl \t.i, \ ( **i "*: i ,iM f % thfir alfei iier trium- 
phant \ t'..t ! < I i . f '^!, *'!, li .: r lit u 4ih hei a c**i 

J*t !\*j f !i ! J f rn fir i-Vff f i !%f pit M at Sir Jf, I ulllf 4 ' 

rif'.tai. \Ls,i ,/* ft, 1 ? .! f'j^rp!,-, }*4il Iirr-n in St. 
itiiif hri l,i ' tj*j"* f f ; tt <i-Mpani h,ti hei*n ffiiit cif 
JiifilHH \i*f* **!, li** 4f * f ! betufe fu\ liinr a*, lir. li% ! iclifig 
ju\riilr. 1 hrrr weir % f *!I f h^t;- ,tii!', o! pruplr ill the 

hivl ihr 4 Mil iin 'jhi iijitd! the hi <l ni/jit fioin that 

A% ihr .iJrf 1. 1. :r !,!*-, I f> i be* I \VU\ ^a, to ^o to the 
Mlpel i ap!4J% t j 4't f !<r h r liit- i<l\ ;i l( ic'r<i upun t<> a supef 
^iii v,tjul f Iff j,, r i 1^4 L; , pKue, ami -il*o pav, a small 
lip to ihr captain hi:. . !j \! iht pi*pri lime I found 


tatives of these newspapers sat about the tables, wl 
we were some thirty in number. Our private tally 
the roll call in strokes of five like little garden gates 1 
us the ballot before the clerk was ready officially to 
nounce it. It was undecisive. The newspaper men M 
anxious for the outcome. 

In the interim occasioned by the count I was consci 
of no impropriety in getting up and saying to the c 
vention that they would be called upon to vote agair 
a few minutes, and that the entire press of the State ^ 
in favor of Nat Dryden. As the entire press of the Si 
had been somewhat critical of all of these small politici 
now convened, my statement was not helpful, nor wa 
in order, as the pounding gavel of the smooth-faced ] 
Hagerman informed me. 

This oratorical ebullition, coupled with the substitu 
picture, decided the man in control of our staff. W. 
the next bundle of longhand copy went east to St. Lc 
I carried it, and resumed my patrol among the real-est 
offices, the school board, the empty studios, and ti 
hopes of a call from the New York play market. 

l\Ut HI 1 f/Ht I'API'KS 

"\S!h. i i 1 
tht *,? .1 '" 

i , 

HI in UMlftil I!! \,1 > JU t Li > 

;n i, "( ii * f .Shi'itha 

tui!it* .i* u T 
a \\ '..* V 
"U-* . ^. f 

\\ M ^ 'l' , f ' J ,, 

' ! 

i i ,M i i*" t i - 

If! lit* t * 

\\ Lt * " r I ' 1 a 
nn *M\!t! tV 
ii, ^ I uj * \ a i 
' - . . .: : 1'r, 

Dhii firs* 

Jl ^M\ < ; , < j 

1 1 if ;u l. i, * :i" : - I i 
i rtf; t 1 l : ,u n 

llir ti! ,*r j ;,, tij !l 

If ] * , I ' I * 1 1 f 

i I t * 1,4 ^ i!! Hi iliin. \\ h\ 

^ L '*! ! , fi * HA ! t* *il n , J** 
i * I 1. if U 1 , ! ', ! 1 )t V It*! \iill 

1 M * * i * t ! t i " ' ! iii , ii.uul in 

r " 1 "U h lilllhr!/ 1 
t r U '.* ! t > ? "i ! 4, ' , vi i! i rii ar* 
i 1 T f s ! . ? \ t 

i i ! f ! * r * ' t , MII tiir paj*rJ 

4 ' i i7'l * 5 t ii* f l 'M il'T lunlli Ma fl * 

i u . t! it t i I t 'I f i,, i 4!*nj!i\ k ami 
*>* s n ;! itt' M 4 i fh iiif-fi. Manner 
a J' ' f lliu C i !..<I,ui. 

, 'r a! l I In v, ,t f p4! ll s hri ;w.c 

" | , tutu, a* 1 Vt f put t* h^liijli^ 
[ i, r, %* r,r t t * i J in c.u lit i nape*! . llsr 

'\it - n ! %Vi* H! !\ i'uitiii;^ tail 

!.i3l ;iud haw ic- 

t Lr V, Ii.Ir pa! i t 

i* *tl ai'inii I* !, *, 
H n r t\,n!r l>; a ! 
ihr r I ,* M n Hi * r 
*I Li- ;ti'i ! * T rtt i 
ilri^ it n{ -, i i ,iii', 

, i .1 f Lillll !fr!cl allfi frt! hv l!ic 4 i 

!, I hi* putttir. in ihr /N^r Ois 

* * f ! ja u f , , ia it Lihd 'i it"\rr 
., 1 * J u 8f .r. i tllrtl thr i hall* 

2tiB THE PRINT OF MY Itl-Ml Mill! \\( H 

myself in a hanlu-tk, a jua ':*, 
othcrwisr aiT,i\rd as cmc 4 1 th< ;ti * 
tor's Talc/ 1 

Miss Awirr.un'* %Lt/* * f i. * 
named Munh^tnrn , t *, : , ' . I f : - 
at Pope's hox-nJiur, and v, : I i , 
me; hut he did nt. I v* t i * * * ! * i 
rouj'Jwivks some nl t'*"i r i, 
aiuv; ami uiu i ^',l : ! l i^ * * 
had tint ntmrd Lt i rv * :> * \ 
hail j-i\ rn ii*r ;ia ,u!:i f ! , \ 

illllc'l Nltit' nf !!J\ fl ; , . 

Till', vur. a ;< *d V.ii ' a;i ' 
lati\ r ct{ a ; it at i!,i i t . , f , ; 
U or/</, fc .ud i< jr< * i: t .i?i , t .'." \' 
cx-siar in di f ui c% ,ird 4 /' ', . 

a furat iniii. n \\; ?o f <( t . L 
fort > \ i*ar. <f a, f . s i:d **!. 
in}; what ivi< i \; M !r-d f ,| im- , 
the ilvir/, N( 1 -/' i t!r. i , / { 

ready im thr n ind ,M T, 

Jus! the 11 ( rrnri.i! \\ . . 
wavi nn old Jiic-nd ut ti.r i* t 

hands, nml the* ^r^n.J ,\ . j K ^ 
1 his kind nt } irrti i, * ( a :, ! f r , t * I ,* 
who \vus thru alii, JM ? ti ti. , , i 

the I'inuh iSruiiiir a pian ,t , 
tlic trntie uf the fa, r /rh . . i 
wait!!!},' \\hisprzrd lu I'TT',- \ , , , 1 
travelling with the IUU^M' , m - , ; , c ti 


i .' U ,:-.. 

i 1 

'I\\<> H i II/j'.K PM'Hts 

\Vt *!, v Ju-ir f f : 

III ihr ..Mri ! I,'* 

'i tijthrtiid, IV 


i i* *M ifj^M-., I ? r *,n, hi of 

>' J * < j* i ! * n i: {, Ji ., a \\ 1 it< I thru fir* 
< v * . *' r and v r !*v afrd stutl, and hrld 

riiti li*r tit, Kr i * 
} Irflf \ C t *, ( ,4*!r! * 

W4% |L a ! 4 ' , * 

tiii*/ vh / \ f ( , 

1 III 4llf , .i s ! u * i 1 ' 
Vrir, I!*/, p''"", 
! ? at I* 'i f -M l ? i 

. t t * M- n , j ?* 

( fil ffj'* i?ii 
I o \, j '**', 

s \ .' -.< '^ 

T , C,l' f ff.*i 
a! r r <!< * 


ilh j* ( ^illrfufl 
fii ili\ " All )!>{* 

wliiv It U i* 
j.tK T% in- 
.t r s '* Hi ; 

lilt 8 M* rn u ti it J!rii 1." \\illi ihr J ,tpi I ill his h;i!!cl l 
Si iff 1 1 ,M| IV II ! ; !lti r ill l" r t MM 1 jmrn aiul ' frikillK 
hi' I 1% rf ill l!'f l4 r ij fir H *;,'i/' ItiUllfic* III, if! at till* 
Jyitr |- ' t-'ii'lr, ir:\ tnt t'-r vJ^lr lr| ,< *!|MI ii! llihc% 
ttLilrC ii!i! -v lliff/. /T*, Viitlri, \\i * iirl\ %rltlrtl aiming 
flu ',t*f I il j-, 

Hut f' r % i*', V* 'L 1I*?,M * f" lilt IlJiu* hrfil ftif ttif 
f ii h *!i* ,!'; i "iif"' i |ji^ *rfifhiu' ih" r iniir frjinil% 
Hi hril \Lu4fl! f ,4* '* u;,a^ r ; pia: r 1:1 "Ihr MaihK* 
ifr4!l**)ll l!if I Ml* \ s r'jUr 1 } r,l! I r, and a Irf f r to inr 
ll in \\ ill !ni ", l!,r i*I hi* ua * i *iir4iirnis f4 thr ul' 
\J'a!iht', <! I'**! Ait' l( that <haira ^ilfi "Ihr IiuiIaf.* 
P.ndinr I !a!!. %!,** 1 ,u! 1'rrn ill thr \"*lf iiinj.tUN liiirt* 
Mii'U'.rr. it!":r 8 ' j n /. c j>!.r,*il "In < ain} aiul luul 
In i 4 Irln ,rl I 1 r Hi*! ,* f 4 . * li I l,i* ' . .iI<fM t Vi ith \\ r !- 
tt!il .|it{ IJ! , * J .ti th M I'tf MlJ Ilnil - 111 (JIH.t^O, 

\\ri% itMtt Tallin,; i'iif.n vithliatMt. \\ilon at the 

CjiMiiu in **| i,%;ii.r,* ;,!.,, !t had ic-uhd it. thir 
drrdlh ntouiiai-* r t* f i Hj**ad\vav. 


plates, which were then used as moulds upon which 
stereotype metal, poured hot, hardened into plates that 
printed exactly as the ordinary letter type. The method 
was hard on the draftsman, because the chalk, which 
turned to dust under his strokes, had to be blown away 
after each mark in order to let him see the shining metal 
of the exposed plate, which after all made a poor con- 
trast to the white field. 

Both Steitz and I used to look with envy and covetous- 
ness at the daily copy of the younger paper owned by 
the Pulitzer company, the New York World, which came 
to us fresh each morning and was spread on our care- 
fully guarded files, generously supplied as each edition 
was with illustrations made by photographing the artist's 
unimpeded pen work, and having the further advantage 
of reduction from large originals, whereas our chalk plates 
had to be drawn to the exact size and limits of our 

It was the custom of the New York paper at that time 
to illustrate its current news with little run-in cuts made 
by its admirable autographic process; little outline illus- 
trations sometimes taking less than half the width of 
the column, but so pat and referable to the text carrying 
them that they were a pleasure to the reader. Some- 
thing in policy or process has now banished these little 

In that winter of 1885-1886 there was going on in the 
city of New York the trial of General Alexander Shaler, 
charged with accepting bribes while a member of the 
militia board of New York from the owner of certain 
parcels of ground selected as sites for armories. The 
New York papers were treating him and his defense with 
a levity that made amusing reading even in the Middle 

I\\u II i ! l/i it i'U'j Us 

I ' 

f \ilfi ( u B. 
! it . n t nlrp! t 


* * r . t'rj 

r c s ' -If , j- 
V>rk In! tl:r 

\ t .n 

'!!* ; .i . ' f ' Kt . 
-.i/' in '.,*,", \ it 

a- thr lit: ,i- 
hr!;it{ I 1 t* 4^. . 
i Lu\ t *';!! 

!*rij'4,i! ,. 5 V ' r 
ntl I! l\f" !.i N . 

Cilf JM;VN . 

\l : t i, I , ,* . 
tr!! r TL- 1 '.*,'*.. 
C , If ' ,,, /" ri IM 

ttrli at\ t Mcil, 

- i M ! r ,i- *i . ii<i 

-, t M '.il P.tiilu < \jl * 

J i{'f t 1 !in f a ' I. I .; fu \*iu!U 

*? t'u 1 4 J*. IP rt fl thr f*\|ilr ,% i 41 

* r,, ./ l! r 1 II-MI StaliMiu !Ir hail 
< - -Jt hi'* j.iiLi f r P.litil t j'tun! 

i , , I ^'**> I l - t !n rL ,I!H I If"!! IlIIJI l 

!, 1 I 3; ',i t 'i. .liain, ' h.U 1 '.trjj* l! 

-t .^.i!? I f illL V till a MUU.t.r p.uifti 

,,. 1 !'/*ri t p'!sr llu*u.ani.l i!ullai r * in 


,-:. ,-.:r III! Mf.r lu ^', ,h J 
* ,.!'!*'. U u, hr a *'t I i i 

20 THE PRINT OF MY RFAtninH \\( :i* 

Rosina Vokes, who had Irft 1 id ! * t^j,- ! ' , ti', j,t uf 
that same piece while sfu* van! t- l\v !r !, v< 4> 3 ) it f v 
with her own excellent I'ttu <,;, ,u.'.' , j-u i'i " I he 
School Mistress" at thr Mandaid IK./ur. " ; 
Picnic/* the comedy twr cun |Uii* *< i I a;^u ''tiite ! (MI 
performances in Canada ami \ev\ ( )I'IM M . i , i i**^!^^ 
Tony Pastor's Theatre with Ban*, a-j I la* in l !) iir 
proper rules. Salslmr\'* rm* il '.i!"i , .i*ti i vJ \ ! t jr 
had modelled our now di,!iniii*l i ? i f * ...i. pit * 
M The Humming Bird" at tlu s f.n I u it , 

James O'Neil, with vhm DeM i I . *. ! i i . f . !tr appearance in M The ( ,r ! * * >M?I i I i /.,*, Ss i- 
ning at Buuth's Theatre in \r/- \ < i\ h. , i * .| "" \1 : 
Cristo/* which was to *ri\e him a a * r ,,i 4 r I *? * ^ 
twenty years thereafter Su n l*t mi 1 i:*!:, -, J , J, i{ 
been our Sketefi Club ^mM at t! r p ; ! , , i \ ? ( n *.t, 
Ixuiis, was ^iviii|* fur the lu t ti"ji a I , r M ,! y ', ' ; , h 
was to be repeated at tafrnal !.d i* r n-\t , , , , , r. t t l( 
Minnie* Muddern, in \vh f a 1 te't n -ur :* r a t t .*^ 
interest because site had be< n . u h a Li; * .*! I 1 
llieatre, and because 'I'uui Da * \ ,..!. 1 . L ! . j - , t .i' 
nersiiip with my lather in NY,. ( h!r r. , ,- ) r, I ; i , 1, 
Ititd subsecjuentlv beenme In i I'f'ti, va ( > i "( i 

j>riee/ f by Howard Ta^Iui, at t!.^ II; i (> ( i If , - ,-. 

Rolisnn and Oane, Jti< nd ,hi; v*i:." ,, ! , \ I * i ' ; *. r ,| 
in the old arl-)*alleiy da\% and J;M Li. I J f : , ,, !j t 
inspire me and m\ i-umpaa' or iu u t' i! * i n- 

lures, were plavinj; Biuu M;I U * f ,a' i ' i * ," 
comedy, **The Henric-ita " at U<r I >,,-,'. . .- i ' / i 
Will Gillette had quit fu- a,i,% : ; ! r, , 4i h i*' .^; " 
and with "Hi-Id I> v thr i mih\/ t!*r tir : i- ; . i n| 
the war plays, was rivalling the o>u;aiu., % lf . nf 
Bronson 1 loward. 

ll 1 H/l K I'.M'J It 

n" ( 

* t'.f 

(* n IlU- 

v it 


f *< 


i ! 

t> J n l. 

in t!,f f 4 i* 
Iiir IMI 

,<'.'/**'/>:',* :(t /i In! ill 

.!!? * U" i MI :,n./, j,<rf 

* * ', f I* v,r*l i! ,', a a! 

, *, Lti M'> a'. $! a^t*Itlll^* aft 

* + j a ,*fff!i4 *in 4 i l!uil\ 

. t ', rn < it M.i j* 
h* I ! ? r 1411 thtn 

* 4liJ !il' ' f *| ,1 Jjnr 
: i >'i v i ?r i,,..< , If a! 
i lll^M T""' Hr |*4 at t 

i * * *J,i ^ *% HfMliii 
f i ,UM i a* -. !> v**i! 



%rllt liir 
l in- 4It % 

f of that 
lir.r r\- 
V* u k >! 

1 wr.!, l' 1 ,^ **, L,*' 1 J 4 , * M M i if i ! I * '%!*! lr v.ntlrtl 

ill ihr lLaJ ^i I '. it ; ** > i^ at I vf f r / J J r *f *Mft*r!Hlv 
rf-r m thai t' r , un ^ ! "''fi I - \ ! *'* li/. thr aMaH"ly 


formance. The motive was to get four thousand dolk 
to lift a mortgage his mother had put on her home 
start him in the coal business. 

Knowing that he would reach this water-tank a] 
drop off in the night, his rehearsal was to go over t 
route of his escape, about twelve miles of rough count 
to the Missouri River, twice once in the daylight 
determine it, and once at night to master its difficult] 
under that condition. It was only when later he got 
extemporizing that he fell into difficulty and was ca 
tured. For a successful run full rehearsals are necessar 

Another celebrated case was the murder of an En 
lishman named Preller by a fellow Englishman, Maxwe 
who needed the money, and who left a trunk containi] 
Preller's body with the hotel as security for his boar 
bill. I made an incidental use of this in the "Earl 
Pawtucket" for Lawrence D'Orsay in 1903. 

Other incidents, character bits, and situations in th 
newspaper work, too numerous and detached for pn 
ent description, helped pack a mental record upon whi< 
I drew more or less for some sixty plays, big and little. 

Along in this first Post-Dispatch winter came wh 
was called the Great Southwestern Railroad strik 
handled from the labor end by the consequently notoi 
ous Martin Irons. This started over the discharge 
one union man. When manifestations at the Missoi: 
Pacific yards between Grand and Summit Avenues 
St. Louis required a second reporter to help cover the 
I was sent to the scene. Among the captains handlii 
the labor forces I met two of the old K. C. & N. Railro* 
men who had served as junior officers in the Knights 
Labor assembly over which I had presided as mast 
workman some ten years before. By them I was enabL 

TWO IMTir/1'U P\PKUS 217 

v, *':!! 1*< 1j ^ t'J *it'd ; a'n \ui;r into the eon- 
*t:! / >* M ** \L : **! **,r !,i f ?i in liont of me. It 
\\,i, !* M Hi" '! ^'Milu mana, in,; editor of the 
N", V '. U -, ;'. h T,i,I: 

O'i i \ f /'* , r ^ * T, .-n*' 1 K r. will fttr t!u* first timt* 

-, i . a *-. ! ltujnr*>us writer and 
it M' i' r v : ar ti ttrscriln* line! illus- 
u.i, , - - " * H > , ' * 'it ,ni"jt!if;t % with l*ral 

i >* r , ' - i ] f J % *i * * i i i niral point, say T<>- 

, 4 / f - * j>* f >M: 2rj*rt<*r will trtrj^ntph 

u * ' 

\\ I 4 M I j 4 i n .* ,! I f !,fd i\i i at Manner, who was 

. .. t <i. f 4",* *, , f , f ,,-il thin PJJ t \luort% \vlio stood 
1 3f j t j, r >? ,i j i!t* nr i" 1 1 nn * \j>r <". -aon. 

M,.., M . . ,d 

f *Jii tf.l.i- , i,u ! *, I.'*noiuu . wtitii or artist.? 1 * 

\\ ? rM 1 * , ; >f I : :ti hi ii-pK lie told me to follow 
J _\ , | i:i4 ;', i,v t r, \. hnr the arrangements were 

4 , (t i%-t r< : || . ,: ;,- IM!I! iii pailia! r\ji!anation that t 
;t,J,M a i'; t *iiTir{Mpi v. i i r o tu i fned, Moore was 
I ,, f f - f,"**. ! m\ , *1 hi* chance to save the 
f . t i ^ I < t f 4i\ oj onr man nn this projiosed trip 

. } i i * ' t>xN ^ ! ' Loiii% in the parlor-car, 
Mr-,r.. f t !.. a I;td\ e-iuie from a chair at 
,i i .*- ,r-a>, Sin littlr daughter of five or 
,^ v *! * f t^.M- ,'l '/.a anno^in 1 , UK*. On tht* con- 
!!si * r 9 I V(V r , h , 'm- .Nil, ;'. titr child had said her 
|, ?M\.,.r, <' If.i.M, ^iiit. HH !ai!\ ht-rsrli' was a sister 
t.t Ma a i + . 1, NMV "i ut\, wlio was a candidate 

to voto !ar 


stories of the despised bush-league pitcher called fr< 
the big-team bench to save the deciding game of 1 
championship series. And, as it is, I'm going to ha 
string every dramatic trick in the telling of it. I'm j 
ing to draw all the climactic fizz from it now by sayi 
to start with that one Saturday afternoon I was the Ic 
score man on the local staff of the Post-Dispatch, a 
that twelve days later, because a talented and hon 
and earnest woman happened also to be vain enough 
pretend to a knowledge of elementary Latin which < 
didn't have, a committee of politicians and bankers a 
otherwise sane citizens were trying to give me in 
simple a going newspaper and fifty thousand dollars 
cash under the misapprehension that I was responsi 
for nearly all the business success of Joseph Pulitzer, 
whom I had never spoken. 

I have referred to the prominence in the journalis 
world at that time of Mr. Joseph Howard, Jr., the N 
York feuilletonist . Either Johns or Jennings had ii 
generous moment of attempted encouragement m 
tioned Howard's name in connection with my own, < 
serving of course the proper interval between the fr 
This mention had been seized upon by Magner as r 
terial for pleasantry, but there may be some truth in 
maxim that every knock is a boost, because his ridic 
fixed it in the mind of the managing editor, Moore, e 1 
though in distorted form. One morning about the Ia1 
part of March, 1887, Moore came into the local roc 
with a telegram which he slowly handed to Magi 
Magner read the telegram and looked at Moore, \ 
waited expectantly. All of us reporters were watcl: 
both men covertly. Moore cautiously indicated 
Magner threw up his hands with an incredulous lai 

1>I 1 1171 It I'M'I 

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inr !im .h j{ \ iKi/L V* ) ] * I I It I* Sifii/c d r\ri \ thinj; 
lllu! iiidtinl i; !.!-, I ''':? l-i a ptpit<Tu ^i ittr hotrl k 
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Mu\iU \rrl\ 


During the afternoon I got from her a better insight i 
the politics in the State from a woman's point of v 
than I could have got perhaps by two or three days' 
aided reportorial inquiry. Getting to Leavenworth t 
night, I made Mayor Neely's acquaintance under tB 
favorable conditions also, and after a day there star 
over the State. I made the prescribed tour, sent 
stories and drawings to the New York World, and it i 
fun to be able to draw freely with a pen for publicat 
for the first time without an interfering medium. 

On Saturday, April 2, I returned to Leavenworth, i 
called at the house of D. R. Anthony, brother of Su 
B., to see Mrs. Helen M. Gouger, the militant suffraj 
who had organized the Republican women of Kan 
Mrs. Gouger was in good spirits, because it was felt 
her party associates that they would carry the State i 
that Mayor Neely, the Democratic candidate in the < 
of Leavenworth, would be defeated by three thousj 
majority. The mayor himself privately conceded an 
pected defeat by twenty-five hundred. 

I had chosen Leavenworth as my headquarters 
election day because of its nearness to Kansas City 
one reason, and largely because of my new friends 
for Mayor Neely and the comfortable quarters at 
Hotel Delmonico, kept at that time by two Ital 
brothers named Giacomini. 

For herself, Mrs. Gouger said that she was there 
cause Leavenworth was the Sodom of America. I cal 
her attention to the significance and the gravity of 1 
characterization, both of which she said she knew i 
stood for; told her the statement was to be printed 
the New York World. As it would not appear bef 
Tuesday morning, she gave her full permission for 

f \UJ {>! 1 1 I/I It I'M 1 ! It^ .'-'I 

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As the constable and I approached Judge Plowing 
court policemen had to make way for us through a crc 
which was threatening. One tough individual with 
unshaven jaw close to my face asked if the World I 
sent me to Kansas to fight the Knights of Labor. Wi 
out speaking, I gave what had been the secret signs 
membership when I was a master workman of 
Knights of Labor. It seemed these signs had been sup 
seded, and my use of them rather increased his an, 
and that of his gang. I got into the court and in fr< 
of the judge, however, unpunched. It was a serious sit 
tion for the artist and the humorous writer for the Wo 
and Post-Dispatch. To paraphrase Mansfield's Pri\ 
Karl, "I was two men, and she arrests me both/' 

I looked about for Mayor Neely. No friend was 
sight. I began to write a telegram reporting the siti 
tion as briefly as possible to the St. Louis office. A: 
wrote, the prosecuting attorney addressed the cou 
He was asking for an adjournment of the case ur 
Wednesday. The judge asked if that was agreeable 
me. I answered that it was, but as I spoke a card ^ 
put on the telegram I was framing. 

The man holding it said: "I am your attorney." 

The judge announced, "Then this case is adjourn 
unt H 

My new friend of the card interrupted him. 

"Pardon, Your Honor, we demand immediate he* 

"But your client has asked for an adjournment 

I, too, begged His Honor's pardon and said I had r 
made any request. Personally I wanted to be agreeab 
but my attorney, Mr. Thomas P. Fenlon, would condi 

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ironic cross-examination of Baker that "stratum" was 
the singular not the plural, of her Latin noun, the poor 
lady burst into tears. 

The case was dismissed and in a little while Leaven- 
worth was again covered with handbills issued by the 
Neely camp, saying, "Mrs. Gouger repeats her slanders 
in court." 

It is difficult at this distance of time and territory to 
appreciate the agitation that this charge of immorality 
and corruption made upon that social section. That 
afternoon and again next morning, election day, both 
the Leavenworth and the Kansas City papers dwelt 
sensationally upon the gravity of Mrs. Gouger 5 s accusa- 
tions, with the result that when the lines formed at the 
polls there was the unusual sight of the finest women in 
the city pleading with their humbler sisters who worked 
for them as laundresses, maids, or in other domestic 
relations to come to their rescue and resent this slan- 

It was an exciting day, and when the polls closed 
everybody knew that Neely had not lost by any twenty- 
five hundred. At 7.30 the report came in that he had 
lost by only thirty-one votes, and then, a half hour later, 
after some intense scrutiny, the final result was an- 

Neely winner by a majority of sixteen ! 

Neely had represented the liberal tendencies of the 
community and of course the municipal organizations, 
and when the sixteen majority was a settled fact at about 
8:30 that night fire bells rang, engine companies turned 
out, their red-shirted crews came to the Delmonico Hotel 
and in a kind of Mardigras excitement ran their hose 
through all the building. I don't know just what that 

n?\i v n H \m 

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and Hr-iu-Il. ,'i i }. , ,,?.,. t . t li; '. ... ,. ; ,.. j; t- ,. a 
tinic, an. I v,i 'j.tii. n. ,- i , j IJ-K -ti. ; f i -, . I ,j i,-.i, 
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make iw.) rouiui ni,,, i,tA,-nt ti -.tau-.n atai thr f..n 


My good friend, Mayor Neely, and his banker partner 
said they would hold their offer open for me until my re- 
turn, and they did. I gave the banker a draft for rail- 
road fares to Gibson. 

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at tulilr f! f .M . * , r ;* r i! , .* If 

Slum! ipj,hr|fr Ilir 4* i t *< f ** i! ^ ! ! 
Oil {ill f .u!>|ii! *.^hr'r;M if'*. *Jr; !,/ ir.; ' 

Aioul \W<!t;r-,.! r, ^jf %f L.r-i in f' * 
1'hrrr \\a- u |*l';a n r'u* ( \\n>.** 
\\antrtl inr i* Iraiu, I / t i! jNifr ?! 

f f ut h yrar ; ;i; 5 t u; Snl I hall ?&-*! f^f, 4 
or th* {H 4 iJn! Irrfh a .1-r :M]I ! i i / 

\\ttliirll ut* !. t 4 ri *}!*! alt tLr i; 
Shr ttaMi*! hi!*l ,I M ( IT .. a ,i*l I ; ! 
trfl uir thr I.u.i !i ! if, 1 .'.. 1 t : ! 
III (*ht*inj,fr, liM^f;!!, laii'l'J >4 t f * 
rlst* ovcih-ai uif, I , a'*r if ill th 
could fjir am phta.r <| ; . IM.I ? ." 

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each day, a total of thirty-six miles, on a little cow pony 
hired for the service. Along the trail the grass and spring 
flowers were showing profusely. The ride was pleasant, 
and during the week's stay in the quiet place it was agree- 
able in the saddle to think over the offer by the generous 
citizens of Leavenworth, under a total misapprehension 
on their part, to give me an afternoon newspaper. The 
prospect offered immeasurable possibilities to a man of 
thirty, not unfamiliar with politics and in thorough sym- 
pathy with the people of the section. But to accept the 
offer would mean the abandonment of a long-desired 
association with the theatre. It was a difficult choice. 
On one side was a property established and in the hand; 
on the other, a dream. 

In Gibson town, besides the station house, a dinky 
shed, at once passenger and freight depot, there were 
exactly two houses. One of them was occupied on its 
first floor by a small general grocery store and post-office, 
with two family rooms above. The second red frame of 
four rooms sheltered a squaw ma.n and his full-blooded 
Cherokee wife, besides three or four small children and 
his handsome half-breed daughter, aged eighteen. There 
was no hotel, no boarding-house. In the squaw-man's 
house I shared one ground floor room with a great Dane 
watchdog. Before my coming he had had the bed to 
himself. He was a particular dog, and during my week 
there never grew fully reconciled to my using half of the 
bed. If I turned over in the night too vigorously he 
growled, but perhaps because I stopped promptly each 
time at his first growl he never bit me. 

The window was open. There was no lock on the door. 
Two or three times each night at irregular intervals the 
dog suddenly bounded through the window with terrify- 


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. i /.*<*,, pull*, tritnwutril info 

}!*,?' i, .'Mr, Bir ill. i I ami 

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^ t i *.< . * t ?i * ! } t.c , I !> it ! I *M * 1 1 

';il r> j u ! . * f \t A I . , !and 

i * !* , ,1% I ! ; .. !'T hat Haniil- 

iia-r if 


C * , \/nfHf ua'. an r* Li -ji.i/i 4 pajiri } u 

I'uin (14, s . *f 'i?itT i i a!!'i} |>atin 

ulic\u!\ f: MiiJ f !i inat'ft a!ut 

I, It!? 1 i *tl f i ' I - 

I iilln! i* it h ^ r< t* *.* !ii* ;, saat and r!m li d matin, and 
vwr ill r U ili* . I L id an rditual i *!tiitin and a dri- 
niatit drjuit nrn', I **..r. in* ic u-irn-lrd in I!H* latter. 
Iltr liH.i! nil*-, I'll.r^r'.ri j * i'!t\ \\ a . manipulttfd lu 
f unpaid ihr j*ri t iii .i f i ale-! ^i JM\ 1 lu* diamatic imlrs 

and " n\' jj> ;> i . r Jilrlrlf JA f !'* f *r attia* f lu|j\ ifial V\e fllld 
anam'ed in! .4 f 'd liiri , I:* ,t *.< iiM'irii lu i rl. 

buying sugar at the grocery. The big storekeeper was 
speaking Cherokee to them. After they left I got near 
the door, because there are things a pretty girl can say 
to a stranger with more propriety than the stranger can 
claim in saying them to a general grocer with whiskers 
and a flannel shirt and a gun. 

I said, "Mr. Brown, will you translate a sentence in 
Cherokee for me?" 

I can see him now tidily wiping out the big sugar scoop 
on the scales with a soiled towel. The sun had gone 
down. Outside it was dark. He waited. I repeated the 
speech just as the girl had pronounced it to me, but with- 
out the teeth-and-eye business or any coquettishness, of 
course. I didn't want him to plead my impertinent man- 
ner as an additional excuse for violence. 

As I finished and he shook the sugar crumbs from the 
towel he said: "Oh, yes, that means, 'The Lord is my 
shepherd; I shall not want/ " 

The next day Mr. Elaine was sufficiently recovered 
for me to leave him to local reports. Getting back to 
Kansas City I met by appointment our old advance 
man, Frank Hamilton. Hamilton was the owner of a 
weekly paper recently started, called the Kansas City 
Mirror. He was also the owner of a lease of a proposed 
theatre to be called the Warder Grand Opera House. 
He offered to give me one-half interest in both if I would 
help him in their management and would decline the 
Leavenworth offer. I returned to St. Louis, closed my 


As the editor of the paper I met many old theatrical 
friends who came as members of the companies that 
visited Kansas City while the Warder Grand Opera 
House was being built. I also made new acquaintances. 
Among those the most lasting and agreeable was that 
with Edwin Milton Royle, since author of "The Squaw 
Man" and other dramas, but then playing juveniles 
with Booth and Barrett. Royle' s play-writing inclina- 
tion was a strong bond between him and me. 

Kansas City was organizing a great exposition. Presi- 
dent Cleveland came to the town with his bride for a 
visit of two days, during which municipal activities 
public reception, a grand ball and the like made such 
demand upon the local papers that I was called in to 
help the reporters of the Kansas City Times, and began 
in that two-day engagement a valued acquaintance with 
the author, Roswell M. Field, brother of Eugene Field. 

The opening attraction of the Warder Grand was to be 
a week's repertoire by Booth and Barrett under the man- 
agement of Arthur B. Chase. They were to play six 
nights and two matinees, and were to receive a guaran- 
teed share of three thousand dollars a performance, a 
minimum total of twenty-four thousand dollars. Each 
man was a favorite in Kansas City; Booth was a popular 
idol. The Warder Grand was to be a good-sized house. 
We had plenty of publicity. Prices were more than 
doubled. There was no reason to doubt returns far in 
excess of the twenty-four thousand on the week, and 
Mr. Hamilton had no difficulty in giving the bond that 
Manager Chase required. Things looked fine. 

As the summer waxed and waned, and as the theatrical 
season came upon us, it grew painfully evident that the 
opera-house was not going to be completed in time for 

M \\ i M i 

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f:i^rH\tl I ill ni -, rr j ^ if! i , i , 4 f ,i lif^ hi U mi, U r 

rcarhrti K.I , i < ** , v * !r, .Mt-n u ,r.ul thr 

uH'Un v **** thf ,'i 1- ^*! ^ it, f4'' ,r r> ltk-1 tl.i'ir /a. 

still in* i * if li , * t , , i !,,M-H i!'4i . ,*,iui ft it*un tl'r 

i!i f Ik, i!'-!ii> i , ,4 ,";,! I * iir put in |!.ir. I KI- 

n* . I * I I , t I 

U*f t! j ,i i i * > iiifn lo! If f r il ,.u i! ru 

tn thr l!i!ri f ^.ju r M, , V A\ J / M! i.-r.r tlir cMlilt 

I \\\\ ail*!,!- 12 rut 1*4 r? >;*T , i-v- ( ,j }iti inn- inrii \\l\n 
wrrr islSiu/ if ;\nh ***.'* in, i,i^$i .!**!, in ii ,. 1 hr 
rchrar.^I v*i\ iliaiu, r/j^ ,r ( ! i. i i^iilii ut luisii the* 

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and no neat. Hamilton and 1, two Craig brothers wno 
were interested in the enterprise, a stenographer, and 
two men from the Mirror office met the arriving patrons 
and explained the postponement of the performance 
until the following night. 

There was a good deal of grumbling then and a great 
deal of confusion at the ticket-office the next day. Dur- 
ing that Tuesday, however, Hamilton got some tarpaulins 
put over the roof and brought four large cannon stoves 
into the theatre. These stoves were set up in the private 
boxes with pipes leading to the nearest outlets and kept 
red-hot during the day. At noon Mr. Booth and Mr. 
Barrett, with their fur collars turned up, were on the 
stage again looking at the still-forbidding conditions. 
As there was no other assistant who knew anything about 
moving scenery, I was in a suit of overalls to help Hagen 
on the stage. 

One green hand trying to take a wing across the back 
of the stage got it wabbling on its forefoot and then let 
go of it as it started to fall If it were to drop flat-sided 
it would come down easily as a kite falls, and without 
much damage; but edgewise, and dropping as a knife- 
blade, it had lethal possibilities. There was no time to 
talk. I jumped at the two stars whose backs were toward 
this menace, pushed them violently apart, just as the 
scene fell between them, striking the stage where they 
had been standing, splitting the wood of its two-inch stiles. 

Mr. Barrett, in real tragedian fashion, said indignantly, 
"Don't put your hands on me, fellow I" 

NKW i'MI-'lU'KIsl'S \\ KANSAS UTY j>n 

thin/, sU'i a hvidjh.j d'!!,u*.. Oar O, t"!>n dav a vuun,> 
MM?* niM'i,Jtt j, .'H* a ju u nunu**. tij>t JuJt hr ui.hrd 

l^ 1 ''"H, I :4M;su.<d In iiMil it, aIl!iMi^;!i 1 i<,Jd hj;a the* 
kaiV>as t au A/;rnr v,is nui hnuit^; liv'tina. Affn a 

t*l mv nqjrit, I irail 

A% I jr.iil M;I 1 ',.u-i ?u in\ ,(!}. **J}' 1 had TI* stair fliat 
4*4HC ih.'ll 1 '- ihr A,r* I *,';.*i:M Jii.r l*i v.iilr i!/* 

AilMlliri |M).i,-t.ijh ,4j;-l I su;-!: l- \VrII, That'-. llir way 

1 *!itf v iiir it," 

f IiiMf.r.J hn!tiri!-, i!u*u, h ihr si'iijit 
vmiii^ it hr v.,;i% fhi* ,iutSs'i 4 fStr 
fir was. He- v*;t. h**t ,i Jah f pri\ .n, an*! 
\\rlt* l^n MI!II;MI,IJ. if, s!au*i;n^ al lijrii i .I 
Huiiill^ t*li l!ir ,!'i!;r, 

SM I fr!l i . uii,,< <*\is rn?t:t/ii lu \t\ IM 

t\* # t ^ i 

i u ir a Ji4j ! 

Hr spuuu- IM his frrl Bifii tiiir iiiili^ 
in> rtuti^i t. i!/:4!ii!i jjiii .i!*li^; ^lljjti >i 

av. a*, i s ih\ i,n in^ ru ui 'nii 
the* lillr itf 1 *A l.fM^ni.^al!! H.m^uxr/ " 

I fir frilmv ua* su iist<"iu J;n! lhal h* ftaiM nu 
an avrnl. 

I said: "If \uu vJIJ j,^! liumr t iftr {t;i|*n ( lima mliii'li 
>*n cupiril this ^MM*!! liiitf iin iniziafs, C*. T, # at fist" ht- 
tw u!' that st**i \ /* 

Hi* **ait! ^Vi"/ 1 and viritf *ut, *la^rd at flit* wis<,'ham*t* 
xvhii-lt li^ff niaifi- hint }nii!|; to an nliM-iur prr^iit sitting 
tn a \\t 4 sti*in nlfi^ r 4 uiiii fir had v*jU"d vn!i4fint JVutit 
an iiastrfii duiK, nulv fit dis*nvrr that in- had pfatrd 
ifir stolrn aiiirlf in iht- hand-* nl it% authMi, 'J'hrir wnr 

tUlirtV million Mlhri Uli/rs;% tf thr I iiJti-d ^tLtfr",, 

Ot luui'sr tltr liars nt * i>iaatunk'ati**u <a this Jittlr 


these thermal centres that suggested Birnam Wood on 
its road to Dunsinane. 

Some prudent or habitual gentlemen had brought 
flasks with them. Others went to the nearest places of 
supply, and the close of the intermission took on a con- 
vivial even if precautionary color. The greatest enthu- 
siasm of the night not excepting Mr. Booth's reception 
was for a line which perhaps in all the previous history 
of "Macbeth" had never called for more than a giggle. 

In the third scene of Act Two the Porter , roused from 
his slumber by the knocking at the gate, says, "But this 
place is too cold for hell/' This was greeted with a laugh 
and successive rounds of applause, and then recurrent 
ripples as the audience waited and congealed. The har- 
dier ones stood through the whole play, but the house 
was half empty when the play was half over. 

Through the balance of the week conditions were im- 
proved, but it was weeks before the house was a finished 
theatre. The total receipts on the week were eleven 
thousand dollars short of the company's promised share. 
The manager of Booth and Barrett properly called upon 
Hamilton's bondsmen for their guaranty, and our weekly 
Mirror, with its editorial and dramatic department, went 
into the general liquidation. 

One happening during that editorial incumbency that 
closed in such summary fashion is worth telling as a coin- 
cidence. The business men of Leavenworth had wished 
to have something written about their section that would 
call attention to it and yet not look like an advertise- 
ment. I wrote a story which they approved and which 
carried the facts, and yet which seemed to be a bit of 
romantic fiction. Under an arrangement at regular space 
rates it had been printed in the New York World, and 
that paper had sent me a generous commission of some- 


thr wink/ 1 !"M H ' < f 
ti in i !!r I it f * \4 ^ \ n.. 
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t , n>i >! t \\ r ' i * i. \ " I ? l ! t ! j ta- 

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u.i*. aln^f | i -,? M , i i a 4 l J I,M v. / * jt t j* , 

I HI la! , I Jir ,i ", .1 vdi\ 111 ! f ; < 'M I , '^ ill!, if utl I 

ltt{ in I tn i i !* * 1 1 -I 1 **! p*i J* uj> f 1 H' i t \l.iv* r 

Ki;ih ;iini Li . },'"M i .r . .at* to in f i! ! uir in <vuin- 
vliip antl i J ii. f r'M 4 f * 1 i ,IM n'A ill* .' rjn^/i/. Hut 

a* I 1 1 ii H HP if i h T'M- ih*^ hi tii^t ii" * in 1 1 m i in l* 1111% 
MY i*la ^,tit- \M t|i frulfK Ibiuri! IH l!u l".4 ! 4 an! to 
thr lljnlif". t u i % l IMI l!n ),u I ih il I v a . ah tqurntK 
MU'i'i-ln! in I)M! lull, <*MI* ini^fil utlh appaii-n! ju.liir 
iiutkr t*r,tr aiJiM I*!M H I .IHM tipn I riu,, %l,i, r-"4nu'k. 
But '.la, fihik 1 \\a ti !" nrilhu thr,i UHI attn%aii 
ha\t* I Irl? 411 , in i trnt \\i .h 1** at I, IMas in , v*.a . a inc-nir* 
In tltr nhtinatr at p*hf Hi" f t * i pi t\ "^ Hi u*/, and 1 liunL 
it \\utth uhilr li*".'., v.ilh w!ativri HtLhl ainjlt-iiig 1 
\vritr uia\ i-arn, t< -.a> a hr.iiii'iiinr, v\t*nl t llir pt-r- 
si\trnt \4ing man in llir nri/.hi'-ili<*<i <*t thiity Yrars 
who, cIc-'.jHlr thf ui-Ju-s *f hi 5 :, pnulc-nl i'rinuK, Ire-Is u 
call to i'fiiiuvv his prrvatr lu-nt, 

they have their interest, I would like to jump ahead and 
tell the only other remarkable one that is in my^own 
experience. I rehearsed and produced a play called " The 
Other Girl" in 1903 with Lionel Barrymore at the Cri- 
terion Theatre in New York. It was in three acts. Ef- 
fective ending of the second act depended upon the m- 
voluntary laughter of a parson, prompted by a wink 
from a prize-fighter who was in the room with him. On 
the opening night the effect fell short. I had to leave 
the next day on the steamer Kroonland for Paris. Walk- 
ing the deck of this boat four or five days later I still tried 
to analyze my failure at that point. It occurred to me 
that certain business between members of a group on 
the opposite side of the stage had made a stronger ap- 
peal to the attention of the audience than the quiet minis- 
ter and prize-fighter on their side had made, and I men- 
tally kicked myself for my stupidity in not discovering 
this. I went at once to the wireless room and sent the 
following telegram to Mr. Charles Frohman: 

"Have the kid touch the parson before the wink/' 
Mr. Frohman rehearsed this business. The action at- 
tracted the attention of the audience, who thereupon 
saw the wink which was the provocation for the laugh- 
ter, and all that I had hoped for was secured. 

About a month later Mr. Bainbridge Colby was dining 
with the Thomases in their apartment in the Latin Quar- 
ter. He said: "This strange thing happened: On the 
steamer Cedric, when I was crossing last month on my 
way to London, I was in the wireless room. We were 

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l!u L f fi! f|i jjj M 1 i" , r ,iJ,i j* ff .JM I Lr ,*Jr f lf*i Kai k 
that I ,i*l i *v, r* * i! } < * if nr ?M ! a Tn! f L i KuK nt 
*.aur inuii!e-]fil lull jt!''uT *r ii *! a n< tfitu.trtiuiii *Lc*fi fi 
fl-a! \*.*t\]Ji{ liairjr i ft. 4 4 fial\ jilitf ! f i Iiiiir fni llir jutni 
11!^ rdl! i. in, 

I MippM-.r sl ua* in\ * **a, r i I^IM! nJM\nt*nt i4 flic 4 
(liaiiia'Ji i If nun! in at v !.a}p''wr/ t tlat If lit /r%| ti jn\ 
pfn|.|i\ tM flu li f r |t^*; u*; *tttJ tu llir ii^.japii liir i 
Ju .*.. Cji;iilr% Kijapj*. I!H ptMjiiif|ii *4 flu papu, u,i* 
a man liinf i% all fhr ri*ipl>\rr*.. 1'iat L O'Nnll, the* 
rtiiiiiij \^a- 4 piftiuutut irpMiU'i ^Lu had <ir '< r *.<{ !n * 
:id\aiu rirr U, A 1U 1 A piit|iiiilni v, Im i ain' t*i u, thai 
5t!ifiiiii i v,.,*h n \ nlutiitrai^ it If a., i*!jr ! v,h:i h 1 HI. til 
11% *aih'.rqiiri4tl f , |tr,li!/c'*I. \w* Mi, <,haih . !l, Jnr", *t 
small, r!ij|ihiilh , lamna' jif*!'-* ! ! v*it!i t iliauidiii.ti \ Milt-- 
vJti'^krfs aiui an citfiir a!*.iiar { thr pti 4 onaIiT\ that 
appraK l*i i he \\ rslc-iu piofliit t. I If i hait^.fd thr h*no2ni 

constant to the same pursuits as in youth!" Nearly 
twenty years before, in a similar mood, he had written 
in the same journal: "Men go through the world, each 
musing on a great fable, dramatically pictured and re- 
hearsed before him. If you speak to the man he turns 
his eyes from his own scene and slower or faster en- 
deavors to comprehend what you say. When you have 
done speaking he returns to his private music/' 

And his private music is his self-expression, the most 
important function in this personal hypnosis that we 
call life. 

After a few days of uncertainty I began work for a 
couple of weeks as the artist on Willis Abbott's after- 
noon paper, the Kansas City News, and from there went 
as the resident artist to the Missouri Republican in St. 

Mr. Sothern came along about this time with the 
promised interview concerning "The Burglar." No 
fledgling author could ask for a more complimentary 
opinion than Mr. Sothern had of the play. But as a 
star he felt that it would be prejudicial to his hopes to 
undertake a drama from which he was absent during the 
entire second act. He wanted me to rewrite it so that he 
might appear in that section. But though the burglar 
was out of the second act physically he was very much 
in it as problem and menace. In my stubborn insist- 
ence upon the script as written at that time I left my- 
self, as far as theatrical prospects were concerned, still 
stranded in St. Louis, " 

M \\ 

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there shot a more intelligent gleam and he started to run 
for the brick station house itself. Latham made a dash 
for the train, which fortunately pulled out as the bel- 
ligerent citizen burst past the ticket taker and into the 
inclosure. A witness of the whole performance might 
have called Latham's attack unwarranted hoodlumism, 
but it wasn't that; it was simple exuberance of animal 
spirits, and very much the kind of vitality that when 
the offering is more a matter of personality than of in- 
tellect finds a market in the theatre. Latham himself 
had a successful engagement later in vaudeville, after 
which he came back to the ball field as a coach. 

For men who are trying to write for the theatre and 
are impatient at the unavoidable delays it is worth while 
to take stock of my first arrival as a man in New York. 
I had in my trunk two long plays and five or six short 
ones. I was thirty-one years of age and had had an inti- 
mate acquaintance and relationship with the theatre 
nearly all my life. I had played many years as an ama- 
teur, three or four years as the occasional member of a 
repertoire company in the legitimate, and had more than 
a year of consecutive travelling with a company in which 
i had an interest. I had produced four plays that I had 
written, had had two years in a box-office and had shared 
for a few full minutes the lease of a theatre, while never 
losing sight of dramatic authorship as objective. I had 
refused to rewrite a play for so promising an exponent 

tL L ; ^^^ ^ in rder to kee P in touci with 
me outness and do something that would occasionally 


m my theatrical education. With all the duties of this 
>osition I was familiar. 

In St. Louis I had gone with Barney to the critics and 
nore than once helped him on his publicity. Notwith- 
standing that fact, and knowing my job, I was compli- 
mented when Barney asked me to participate in the 
Councils of policy with him and Stinson. There was a 
litch about the matter to go upon the first three-sheet. 
Barney and Stinson were comparing adjectives to de- 
scribe the supporting company, and for one reason or 
mother hesitating over all the trite descriptions. "Splen- 
iid," "excellent," "distinguished," "adequate," had 
^ach some recommending and some objectionable fea- 

Happening to know that in certain sections of the 
country there had been some regret over Mary Ander- 
son's revisiting her old territory with a company that 
;vas exclusively English, I suggested dismissing all their 
idjectives by using the word "American." This so 
caught the fancy of both men that they used it not only 
:o describe their company but to describe their star. 
Fliere was an implication of rivalry about it; but fine 
is Mary Anderson had been, Barney had a star who 
;vould stand comparison, however invited. All the parts 
;hat Miss Marlowe played that year I had seen played 
3y other actresses. In nearly all the plays I had played 
;ome part myself. I felt qualified to form an opinion 
lot only of Miss Marlowe's work but of the business 
vhich Miss Dow had devised for the other members of 
;he company, and to which she held them with an in- 
lexibility relaxed only when the opinion of some equally 
experienced person, such as Charles Barron or Mary 
5haw, convinced her of its value. 


Julia Marlowe, our young star, had played as a c 
As a young lady she had been carefully coached man 
her of parts by Ada Dow, who shortly after the se. 
of which I write became the wife of the present vet 
actor, Frank Currier. Miss Marlowe called Miss ] 
Aunt Ada. Of the several parts in which she was 
pared Miss Marlowe had been seen only in "Parthei 
in which she unquestionably excelled any actress 
her generation remembered. Colonel Robert G. Ir 
soil had seen her performance in this part, and had . 
moved to write a letter of such high praise that Mr. 
ney had sought and obtained his permission to ha^ 
reproduced on his large printing. Barney as adv 
agent had visited St. Louis twice while I was at Po 
My engagement was the outcome partly of the acqu; 
ance then made. He had with him as adviser an 
vance man, Fred Stinson, who had conducted more 
one tour for Mme. Helena Modjeska. 

Stinson was very wise in the matter of arranging fc 
mate repertoire and in getting public attention f 
female star. Barney had been a newspaper man; ! 
son was himself a writer with an ambition to do p 
So the association of us three men was at the stai 
agreeable one. Except to get the names of the com] 
and be told the salary that each was to receive, it w. 
necessary for either Barney or Stinson to lose any 


Ill Lllclt 1JLI5L 

lillb UCJLlCl WcLb CJLlUUUicL^CU. 

by Miss Dow's watchfulness in tKe wings and frequent 
critical comment right after a scene. For myself, how- 
ever, not unpractised in estimating such work, and with 
the better vantage of seeing all from the front, there was 
evident an exuberant personality of Marlowe's own, a 
personality thinking and implying and conveying a most 
bewitching overlay around all the set and studied busi- 
ness of the teacher. Nobody I ever saw on or off the 
stage could put into two words the challenge and the 
retreat, the winsomeness, the temptation, and the clean 
innocence that Marlowe, as she sat on the log near Or- 
lando, put into the words: "Woo me." 

During that period Miss Julia was most jealously 
guarded. No senorita had ever a sharper-eyed duenna, 
and I thought then that the balcony and the Forest of 
Arden were both gainers because of that background of 

What a national possession a generation has in such 
a woman as Marlowe ! What a change could be wrought 
on our national speech if one such exponent might be in 
every great centre where the girls of America could come 
under her repeated spell. 

Besides Stinson, as playwright, there were in that first 
Marlowe company Mary Shaw, Edward McWade, Albert 
Bruning, and Dodson Mitchell, all interested in play- 
writing, and all still prominently before the public. Miss 
Shaw and Bruning were wise in the maxims of the art. 
McWade and Mitchell subsequently became skilled and 
successful. Mary Shaw was easily the intellectual centre 

gesture and competent, well-shaped, responsive hands. 
Her mental equipment included gayety, hospitality for 
humor, self-reliance, ready emotions under fair control, 
a capacity for attention. One great value was that her 
beauty of face was of the kind that the stage enhances. 
It is not unusual for a parlor beauty to be lost in a stage 
frame; but Mar lowe's features were of a scale that fitted 
that larger canvas. This harmonious ampleness of fea-. 
ture, the bone structure underlying it, was one founda- 
tion of her voice, then as now the best woman's speaking 
voice on the American or English stage. I had heard 
Charlotte Thompson and others in "The Hunchback/' 
but none who by sheer variety and charm of tone lifted 
from mediocrity and made memorable such lines as "I've 
seen the snow upon a level with the hedge, yet there was 
Master Walter." 

As a beginner, meeting admiring callers in her hotel 
parlor or behind the scenes, and even on the railway 
trains with the company, there was about the girl a slight 
self-consciousness, a willingness to look to Aunt Ada for 
moral support, that was altogether girlish; but on the 
stage that near-timidity was transmuted into an arch- 
ness quite devoid of embarrassment. This archness 
hovered over every playful line and inhalation per- 
haps inhalation especially, as inhalation is the tide of 
what the Scot called the come-hither influence. 

In those early days, watched by her studious support, 
it was a question how much of her effect was the girl 

giving information. She had also been the leading sup- 
port for Modjeska, which equipped her with many of 
the traditions of her chosen profession, but better yet, 
as far as her companions in the Marlowe company were 
concerned, gave her a fund of anecdote that made that 
season a joy. Mary's particular hero as a raconteuse was 
Maurice Barry more. I had not met Barry more at that 
time did not meet him until nearly a year later; but 
when we did meet I felt pretty intimately informed of his 
professional and private career through the stories of 
this generous biographer. 

Albert Bruning is among the prominent players of 
New York at the present time. Previous to that Mar- 
lowe engagement Bruning had played Shakespeare in 
German, winning considerable praise in the part of Ham- 
let, and in that excellent and American company he was 
a notable actor. In "Romeo and Juliet 5 * he played the 
part of Tybalt. As attractive as Juliet was, and as mag- 
netic as Taber was in Romeo, and as Barren was in the 
part of Mercutio, when Bruning was on the stage as Ty- 
balt he carried such a quiet and intense air of menace 
that he was the centre of attention. Theatregoers of 
the last year or two will remember the fine impression 
he made as Polonius to Walter Hampden's Hamlet. 

The first time we put up "Romeo and Juliet/' I think 
in Washington City, the company was short one mem- 
ber for its long cast. An actor who was expected from 
New York to play Benvolio missed the train that would 
let him arrive in time for the performance. It was 


;oo late to change the bill, and at Miss Dow's suggestion 
[ agreed to go on for the part if we could find a costume. 
3ne member lent me a pair of tights, another a pair of 
ihoes, and so on. I definitely remember that Frank 
furrier furnished the doublet. He was a slighter man 
;han I, but by dint of compression I got into his gar- 

Benvolio's most important office is to catch Mercutio 
vhen he falls wounded by Tybalt in their duel. The 
;cene went remarkably well up to this point, but when 
iturdy Charley Barron, wounded, dropped into my arms, 
;his tight doublet of Currier's split up the back like a 
oasted chestnut, and with a ripping noise that defied 
leglect by anybody in the audience. I doubt if the death 
)f Mercutio ever got so good a laugh. 

Charles Barron had supported the greatest actors in 
;he American theatre. He was a product of the old Bos- 
;on Museum stock and had been at times a star himself. 
rle was an acceptable Ingomar, a good Mercutio, a fine 
Waster Walter, and an excellent Malvolio. Few actors 
>f his day, and none of the present, had better diction 
m the stage; but in private discourse he was singularly 
meven, at times almost inaudible. It amused the other 
nen in the company to compare notes and see which of 
hem had Understood most of some speech of Barron's 
is he stood with a group on the street corner or at the 
tage door, mumbling as he mouthed his tobacco pipe 
md emitting now and then some staccato explosive that 
erved as a stepping-stone through the maze of his unin- 
elligible recital. 

Stout Billy Owen, another Modjeska favorite, was at 
hat time a tower of strength in any legitimate company. 
Vhen he played Sir Toby and Frank Currier was Sir 


iarther south where we hat! a tftiarantv and needed it. 
Flu* only train that would make* our connection left at 
.en o'clock in the morning. Miss Marlowe, Miss Dow, 
.heir maul, Frank Currier, and myself, who were to $*o 
;o the station in the carriage, met in the hotel lobhv at 
.he proper time. After a wait of a minute or Uvo, whm 
he carriage didn't appear, we telephoned tfir liveryman, 
vho said that l!ir order had heen fur the same hmir in 
he evening which was ahsurd. His rij; wasn't ready 
,ntf there wasn't time to j*rt ii. 

Currier and 1 fathered up the ha-ia-e and uiir mi\rd 
iiiintet Wint to fhr street. No pa-.M-i.-t-r con\rvanee 
,*as in sight anywh<-re. To miv the* ;;uaiant\ in that 
.<*xt town mean! disaster. I stoppnl a man uho \vas 
rivinj; a i-overed milk v\a-i,n, Af'irr In , uf much 
recious time ht* declined to c*n .idt-i ! f> c- pmpn'.itifn 
liat I made. \\ r mnvc-d mi to thr utinei, IiMpin;* to 
nd our more \\illine,. On tin* idr -Jin-i at the* intc-r- 
i*tion tnn{ tvo I.uye I'miniuir \aii-, \\ifh jirfiirr% of 
leor-e \Va- Iiiu : imi t , a tin if -.ide-, and l;u;-.e Irttns an- 
tMmcin:* tln-ir a!ilit\ fui fun- or %fiuil hauK \\iih fumi- 
ire, N<i tfii\iis \\rn* in *,i"ht fc hut a slmut into the 
doon un thr i-*jner ptoduci-d ine. I askri! him what 
: would ehai,'r to take the fi\r of u. to thr .tati*n, 
)out a mile* awa\. He said U\M dnllars. I piumi'.eti 
:m fixe if hi* rt their in four mhmtr';. 

He jt ontti hi% hu\. Cunic*r and I threw the Im^a;>r 

over the lovvneil fail , atr, firfped thr tw ladies and 
,v maid jit al'fer and el/juhnl in our,rlvr,. It was id- 
ost. a stiaidit itm t thr %lalioa. < .'i-Main ufr.tarlc-s in 
r street nrer-, -ilatrd our eitr/,in; ihr^ far !i;u.-k% once 

twier, in v.hich maniruvre*. thr -,ii%'Hr%.f livirij* Julirt 
<.rh<'t*d Ijrt.'.rrn tin- thin mattjrv.t"* that lined the 
<> sidrs uf thr van. 


Andrew Ague-Cheek, with Barren's Malvolio, Taber's 
Duke, and young Ed McWade the best double Miss 
Marlowe ever had to her Viola playing Sebastian, with 
Mary Shaw and Emma Hinckley in her other women 
roles, the public was offered about as good a cast of ac- 
tors as America gets at any time. 

Robert Taber, our leading man, had been a Sargent 
pupil and had learned his business with Modjeska and 
Charles Coghlan. When he had been with Modjeska the 
leading man had been Maurice Barrymore, and con- 
sciously or unconsciously Taber's leads with Marlowe 
strongly followed Barrymore. It must be said that he 
could not have found a better model. Taber came of 
fine family. His sister, who survives him, is the wife 
of Henry Holt, the publisher. He had had a good edu- 
cation and fine associates. While I was with the Mar- 
lowe company he was my nearest friend among its mem- 
bers. Taber liked a good laugh, but his bent was essen- 
tially serious. His happiest hours were after the play, 
when Miss Shaw would let him and me have supper in 
her room, while Rob persuaded himself and me per- 
haps rightly that he was really discussing philosophy. 
I would not doubt it now but for memory of Mary's 

When Rob and I were alone he talked much of the 
star for whom in that first season he protested positive 
dislike and fortified his feeling by many minute fault- 
findings. I was some fourteen years older than the girl 
and a good half dozen older than Rob. The phrase "pro- 
tective coloring" was then not yet invented, but I was 
not astonished some two years later to read of the Taber- 
Marlowe marriage. 

We were to leave Trenton one morning for some place 


leaving the pay envelope I hoard him quote in nu*Ian- 
choly tune Honititfs line: 

"But; even thru, the muniing em*k crrw louif; 
And at the MUW! it shrunk in haMr aw;i.y, 
And vanish M i'nnn twr r.f^ht.** 

The average man must always envy the well-storked 
memory of the cultivated player. What a dclij'.htful 
element in the bright talk of John Drew, for example, 
are the pat quotations that sparkle through il from its 
remembered harking, 

Ariel Barney, proclaimed on the lull', a', presenting 
Julia Marlowe, had business ahiltu, Marlowe had 
genius. There came a time in the ;r. ieiaUon <f tltrM* 
two factors when stuve'> . impaited !!nnr\ f '; %rii*<e tf 
proportion. The pervw* who fr!l the ion- 1 <jueiu*e of 
tins inisconc<*ption mo t \\ete Stin-.on ami in\ ,rlf, uho 
had been on intimate and tttntdK iflninn-, \\itli hint. 
I think, however, that I would Lair p*ne thtou^Jt the 
other two months needed to hnrh the 4 ^ra-.Mii if il hadn't 
been for a trick hat. 

The American theatre was Ics* a httMiir%% and sin in* 
of an institution thiity-thrrr years a^u, and Marlowe's 
aucl unices in the cities were the mvuvst in formality t*> 
tht>sc* of the };rand opera. T'fierrftirr in ilic* eiiir.% her 
business stall* divssrd. I !i;tf n fur collar and this acct^r- 
dion hat as I stoud at the door. ()n- fuirut of Barnry's 
solicitude for the stai was in canv to fin df- .in,; muiu 
door a bottle of Guiunrss's stout. This mini M.itjoa didn't 
occur often, and when it did Miss Mailov. r didn't fib* 
the tonic. On the hr%t night of our second en.s-tftcment 
in Philnclelphia tfie Iobl*y was filled with Mat low r\ local 


As we neared the station we saw one of our company 
pleading with a nervous conductor who was running his 
left thumb over the heavy crystal of his watch after the 
manner of railroad men. Currier and I whistled shrilly, 
the actor saw us and explained to the conductor. A min- 
ute later we swung tail end to the railroad track like an 
emergency ambulance and the day was saved as Currier 
cried, "Out, you baggage I" The train was rocking under 
way as we went down the aisle to our seats, the sym- 
pathetic company full of questions to the agitated ladies. 

Currier, the first man coming after, explained, still in 
mock heroics, "We had to drag her on a hurdle thither/' 

How often the human mind accepts intellectually a 
fact long before ever dramatically or emotionally ac- 
quiring it. Thereafter for the much-amused Marlowe 
the angry Capulet had a magnified reality when he 
scolded the cringing Juliet: 

"Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, 
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, 
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church, 
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 
Out, you green-sickness carrion! Out you baggage!" 

In the theatre, as far back as I remember, when 
salaries were paid the old actors called it the ghost walk- 
ing. Our first old man was a youngish actor named 
Jimmy Cooper. At that time it was customary to pay 
salaries Tuesday night. One Tuesday, however, the 
money had to be conserved to move the company. As 
I neared the door of Cooper's dressing-room on my way 
back-stage he watched with hopeful eyes my coming. 
When on the return trip I again passed him without 




K'l.IA MARI.OW!-: AM) OTHKRS > 9 - 

The Bishop experiment that impressed me most tint 
first m : ;ht was his | 2a din n while hlindfolded -,n ^tide 
earned from the sta n e and hidden * h m . ;,', (Ij , ( 
vast audience. To do this the volunteer u ho had hid- 
den the article down a side- aisle was makin- hi- - econd 
trip from the sta K c In-hind Bishop, !, was eare,^ d,a.>- 
tfrnji ium, The volunteer, determined to rive no I,',-!,', 
to the blindfolded teiepathi-.t, was rmt onlv han--' 
buck hut was looking at th<- ceitin- of fV.- mu '.,l . j a ^ 
a refusal to indicate in an\ manMc/'tltr I, ,c.,t '',,! ' ",'. !j lt 

Near the hiding-place Ili-.h-.p haltr-d, and a.'!, i a 
ful waver turned to the andie' , < (I ;. ! ; l-[,j' 
is not comjjhinj', with conditi..n .. |i,- ;,, ,,,,, thin* ui" 
f the place where this anicle i-, hidden. \h' j| t , t ' !''''!'{ 
jnmi his mind is a pietnie of ..{.,j; ' Jf ,.' Iu ., ,,,,;,' ((f 
tairness the audience {,,.,! in,,, ... t , (MMlI ,,,- ( ,,; ]lln!M , 
re-anhn.:. that n-adin- l, v Iii.!, llp a . ,,,, ,,., , ;(|M , llt;m 

On \\ednf, lav Bkhop uas ill. Rij. |.,\. .''{' 'j'^j j JV 

tlav as his advaruv man. I t,,,|.'v,:h wi,^,", \ !i|| 
s.u, U . ,... paper clipping. Thru- rt .,,,,', a ,,,., ltf " 
UI ' U Mn:>fr Jl"J-.aih or anuhin-: of the ,,..,,.,1 {. 
"u-nt ..( the man ahead. OidinaiiK for a vi it in - attrtc- 
tl " ' a |;iv hke Minneapoh-, the adve.t.Mn paiH-r is 
-n the walls on Thnrsdavniorninn. The ad, , , ti ,,,,, 
'" r '" ' ht< I'^-'P'M^', and ..,,,-h -.pace a, the di.unatie 

!m 'V m< " " f: r " atv " !<} thr a "'-' 11 I'-''- a',,,d, {.,. 
partly used. N,,, u . , tllr , ( , }a , ul;ii(|l . t , ,;;.;. 

I have had oc.a.ion to sa^ If,,,r that I ui-h J , n i.,|, t 
jvnte .sonu- ,,f th,-..,. st,,,J,... h ,!,; ,.v,. M i,,lv Jam. But the evpeiienre 


In one group were Colonel McCIure, the publisher, 
and two of his friends. Barney, who was tossing a silver 
quarter in his hand, at a break in their conference called 
to me at the door, "Thomas, Thomas!" Ordinarily we 
spoke to each other by our first names. In the surround- 
ings referred to and under my silk hat the peremptory 
"Thomas!" had an office-boy sound. I joined him. 
With some display and without leaving his friends, Bar- 
ney extended the quarter and said, " I want to get a bot- 
tle of stout for Miss Marlowe." 

I heard myself answering, "Fm a stranger in Phila- 
delphia, Mr. Barney, but if I were you Fd try a saloon." 

Colonel McCIure and his friends laughed. 

The day I got back to St. Louis out of a job again I 
called on John Norton at the Grand. He was talking 
to John Ritchie, who had formerly managed Mrs. D. 
P. Bowers, and was then handling the thought reader, 
Washington Irving Bishop. 

Norton said to Ritchie, "Why, here's your man!" 

It was Tuesday. Bishop, who was having a week's 
engagement in St. Louis at Exposition Hall, had to open 
the following Monday in Minneapolis, and his advance 
agent had left him without notice. I went that eve- 
ning to see Bishop's work. It was astonishing, and as I 
came to be more and more familiar with it afterward 
it made upon me a profound impression. It deserves 
to be described at length; but as I am trying to write 
here only that which affected my ultimate vocation, I 
shall tell but two stories indicative of his peculiar power. 
In other articles not included in these remembrances I 
hope to write special and extended accounts of psychic 
phenomena. But I explain my wish for brevity if not 
my achievement of it here. 

L'uder, asking him to postpone the execution of thr hoy 
[aiming to be; 1 innocent until Bishop could reach Minne- 
polis on Sunday, when he would agree to read the mind 
f the young man, reenaet the crime, and define the boy's 
ssoeiation with it. The editor asked for the letter. 
enrolling through my pockets 1 was unable to find it. 
eareh through my bag also failing, to produce tt I told 
iiu that it must be in my trunk, but that having origin- 
Hy written it I could accurately reword it. 

When the afternoon paper appeared its first page car* 
:ed a ten-line scare-head beginnm}*, "Hupr fur the Bar- 
It Boys! Thought Reader Washington Irving Bishop 
,sks a Stay of Kxecution/* And then fulloucd rnorr 
eseriptivo lines, scaling* down to ilir written iutrodue- 
on and a copy of the letter I had composed; also the 
nportant fact that BJ-.hup was to niiivr Sunday and 
Kit his arrival was piepaiatory to hi% week's cn^a^e- 
tent at the theatre. That aftesnoon all Minm'apulis 
ud the information. I went in the jail, explained my 
ill to the captain of the puliee, was permitted to see 
le two boys, and ettnvinced them I hey had little to lose 
i permitting this expc-riincnl by Bishop, 

I wish to say here that my confidence was based upon 
u* fact that Bishop in Portland had made it simifai visit 
> a criminal's cell and diamati/ed his crime- Both boys 
'en* glad to ,i'*n \\hat I set down for them, which for 
urposes of brr*\il\ and dramatic value read simj.)!y: 
We are willing t< wail/* 

When I reached the uflice after leaving their cell in 
ic jail I wus conJVi*nted bv a di^nified, inartmMooking 

tion oi theatrical business men, predominantly advance 
agents, numbering about two hundred. Their taking it 
as qualifying for honorary membership is the most ex- 
pert rating I can quote to justify my belief that it is 
worth telling. 

At St. Paul, a half hour before my arrival at Minne- 
apolis, about eleven o'clock on Thursday morning, I got 
a Minneapolis paper in order to see what opposition 
Bishop would have in that city. The front page was 
covered with sensational accounts of preparations for a 
double hanging to occur the next day, and extended re- 
prints of stories of the crime, the trial, and futile efforts 
for rehearing and for executive clemency. Two boys 
named Barrett, employed by a street railway, had been 
convicted of the murder of a passenger at a terminus of 
the line. One claimed to be innocent; the testimony of 
his brother supported him. It was plain that in regular 
course Friday's paper would be filled with this same kind 
of news, and that it would be Saturday or Sunday before 
the papers would print anything about Bishop with a 
chance of attention. The biggest possible distraction 
was the sensational hanging. To be noticed at all we 
would have to get on the band wagon; have to go with 
the hanging and not against it. 

Arriving in Minneapolis, I had a cab driver take me 
to the principal evening paper. I asked the city editor 
if there was anything new in the matter of the Barrett 

He said, "Nothing/* 

one nigni in jcueisou \,u\ l .\USMUII. * lonoranie i./uviu 
K, Francis, recently I'nitrd Stalr% ambassador lu Russia, 
was then governor. Mike* Fanning, aheady referred to, 

was his secretary. The pvernor, who was unable to 
come to the theatre, sent an invitation to Bi-.h*p t Ritchie. 
ancl nu % to take supper at the man-Jon. i!rvit!r% the live 
men named, there was present only t!u* |nvfinur% %istc-r, 
Miss- I'Vaneis. After supprr, uhrn th<* i\n\cinni' uishr<| 
to st*t* u clemof!N!ra!iui! t Bs%ht*u a--Lnl him t*> j.;t> alone 
to his library ant( sfli\-t a w.n! funii anv !*k. \\'!irn 
the governor returnrtl \ve all fnllo\M-l hini a\ain into the 
library. Bishop \vrttt in an uidinarv walk !o the pniprr 
bookcase, took down without hrMlation llir prtpc*r book 

tlu*re w<*re p<*rhaps tw'o*.I in the fount upenn! 
this heavy law vulninc-, Iriinrd \\! in tlir 
[>rop<*r pa)^<\ went, down the pa^.r, put hi% linger tipon a 
certain word. 

Governor I'Yancis ,aid, f * I'hat\ if ! ITat'-. it !** 

The* whole prni-rulin/ ( fh'i-ipifii but little inoie time 
than I have taken in if, div tat-on, 

A few days ihnralfn ftiirlnV, Bi !top,, and I wrnt to 
Nfew York. Bi-.hop and J. I.rsv, ihr ^iral rmm ti-,t, 
had met and aj\irt*d nimn a JMiul tmit {K thr Jiillo.%inj' t 

rir ti be equalK iulrir ,t-d. It 
jiir,^ pttipo-ation, Hie- s >irtdav 
Vik Bi htp wa . a . nrst 
ihi-, c'vhil'ition 

jeason. Kitehie and 1 wri 

,t)oki*tl like a p-jud litijii 

light after our animal in 

it a Lambs Club (/a:n!.l 

:hat 1 have drst/n^rd, t)uti J, A, Itvuti a mt-mbfi, 

, % ame in after miditi ht, '\,i-. -.*i;*tual about what Iir had 

iearcl, urged Bishop in ivpeat that te-,t nr p^iiorm one 

r i-pc-atc- 

rder to 

for a show- 

but an 

' ^ Wedge f you 

condedt 8 ^ As 
for not bemg impressed " ' 

mUSt eKuse 

hanged some 

issued beginning with 

fallen at 2gb t 

the proposal and appeal ofBfe t 

and the governor's declination 

ter had been telegrarfS Tto St 

receired a wire frol g^ St 

one hundred d oll ar, 

edltions extras 

*** had 


at the '"' 

The mat - 
, because I 

a nre o ar, 

p arrived on tine and we had a sensational oper, 



In tin* early summer of" iHSt>, finding myself in New 
York and unemployed, I was j>!ad to accept the offer 
of Mr. William Ci, Smythe, who hat I associated himseli 
with another ynunr, manager named Charles Matthews, 
to produce a four-at t plav, "The Btn^jar/' whu*h I had 
built up iruia the sketeh "lulithaX Burglar. 11 Maurice 
Burryrnore had ju*-t t'lt.v.ed his eii|,*;i^ ( einrii! al ihr Madi- 
son Square Theatie in a siuvesst'u! run of Ihuidtin (!hairi* 
bers* Australian plav, "(Captain S\vif'i. f * 

Barrymore al time was not only the* iitiitiiire idol 
but \vus the {'avi*tite ItMdiiif man ft! most of the theatre- 
going men of New YoiL Mv hr4 tueettng with him -- 
in tact, my lirst identifying si^ht offiim was in ua office 
on tlu* second !!*H*I ut'a ittinnled dwelling cm Broadway 
near Thirty-first Stieet, \vhrfr Siuxthr urul Matthews 
Iiad deskri'ooiu. Will Sun the intrudtjeetl us. 

As tliis Miiifiii}% keen-eyed, huattsoim 4 . athletic fVffuw 
shook hands \viih me ant! looked rnr ovrr as critically 
its 1 w*as I'c^ardln^, him, he said: "'Soirtrwhut of a husky, 
eh?" and, still holding my right liaiul, j;i!ihc*<i in playful 
burlesque pondenntMtev; at my nis wit ft his leit. As I 
instinctively stepped him he added: "Know something 
about that, di> \ **.?** I have MTU hiys of ten Iirgin 
acquaintance in similar pretense. 



similar, and although Bishop had been cautioned against 
overwork of this kind by his physicians, he repeated it 
successfully and fell into a cataleptic fit. 

On Broadway the next day a man said, "Your star 
is sick at the Lambs/' 

I found Bishop in a little hall bedroom on an iron cot, 
where he had been for twelve hours, a tiny electric bat- 
tery buzzing away with one wet electrode over his heart 
and the other in his right hand. He was unconscious. 
Two doctors sat smoking in the adjoining room, tired 
with their watch of the night. I looked at the hand- 
some face of Bishop and sat beside him for some min- 
utes. Although he was to every appearance dead, a 
deeper solemnity suddenly came over his face. I stepped 
to the doorway. 

" I think there's a change in your patient, doctors." 

They came into the room and said at once, "He's 

In half an hour I was on the way to Philadelphia to 
break the news to his wife. Five hours later I was back 
in New York with Mrs. Bishop. 

With Bishop dead, I was again out of work, this time 
in New York. Will Smythe was also there and our meet- 
ing, together with the fact that Maurice Barrymore, 
who had just closed a highly successful engagement in 
"Captain Swift" at the Madison Square Theatre, was 
willing to undertake a summer performance of "The 
Burglar," embarked us all upon the production of my 
first four-act play in the East. 

during that ii.'ia' ,n ' / 

none informed v !f ( J< ,,, ,, i i 

in six pieces of mi-i,-. "I ,; 

World," "Redd,.-, I ,,.,,.' ., ' 

ter/' and "NcA B! ,,}'!.. " ( ' 

being written f.u him. ' ' " ! 

I never saw H.iin M-.- r -, , j , 
ous portraits of him. \i" 

American theatre h,>m , ,', {I, 

man of them all. J{,\ ., ,- 

identical with thu-e t \ j 

that for Jack's porti.^} 

had the challen;-,,- and r ; : ,- 

Physically he w a-, far i, , , , 

der breadth aeerinii.-'f.-.J ', ' ' ' ' 

and weighed abuut ',, j,'.' , ' 

In romantic COM ume-.r i,, , , 

nad the grace of a pamlu-s < j , . 

or coffee-house l u - ttil . ,. i ; 

ably indi/rcrent to I,,'. .,,'/-. ' / "' ' 

could be proud of Iii VM I,," ' ' " ; 

fighter or a. saf t ..fJ, n V rt \Vi " 
unless some savant .,, : ^,,^ 
or French roma..,,. 
that time tlie 
ti L yed silver f n 

as "Captain Swift'- , , ({l .n 

servatory, holding i n | u - s , - ""'' ' T '' 

from which his- attention I !'' ' ' ' ; ' 

/ f " ' ':' M :,.i. 

I I 

and the prize-fighting excellence had gone to Lionel. 
There is enough truth in the comment to justify it, al- 
though both the boys are much more protean than it 

Mentally Barrymore was capable of interest in the 
most abstruse questions, but as far as I was qualified 
to judge he did not care to seem profound. He was vastly 
more amused in surfaces, but to the depth that facts 
and theories, forces, events and expression in all forms 
did interest him his was the quickest, most alert, the 
most articulate, the wittiest, and most graceful intel- 
ligence that I ever knew. 

Once, describing to me a fight between a pet mongoose 
that he owned and a cat, he said: "All you saw was an 
acrobatic cat and a halo of mongoose/' 

The line could have been paraphrased to describe any 
tilt in repartee in which I ever heard Barry himself take 
part. And yet I never heard him speak a line that left 
a scar. It is hard to quote some of them and convey 
this conviction, but his smile and manner, true declara- 
tions of his intent, made the most acid speeches amiable. 

I was delighted, of course, to have him chosen for the 
lead in my first big play in the East. These young man- 
agers were considerate of my wishes in getting the entire 
cast. Other prominent artists engaged were Emma V. 
Sheridan, who had been playing leading business for 
Richard Mansfield; Sydney Drew, then in his early 
twenties, but already a favorite as a comedian he had 
been featured in a play of Gillette's and was regarded as 

irgc MUKI-. 

Joe threw ami lost, ami after the order was I'lvrii, heing 
Lso in an actor's summer, made a tour amunj* thr mem- 
ers of his own company, horrouin^ for thr pmspcetive 
ill. When the checks came Barrymoir paid fi all thr 
Inners. But Sydney's line of "Hij'Ji man out" passed 
* to the company's quotations and on all occasion, was 
scci to exclude anybody flow polite or }.;nuiou entei- 

Our rehearsals were in Boshm. Knou-inj* how mueli 
epcntled upon the result of the \raftm% 1 uas espei-iallv 
watchful, trying to dt^taeh my?.t^If an! loo! ai thr pn--.rn- 
ation ohjretivelv, a*; a eritie in t!r fhrafie, ! eutild Me 
.othing hut smvev*. As a tom h't*nc' toi m\ <".tjmate 

iiad of course the rather full i<iou! o! flu* little play 
r'hieh \vas now the third ai*t of fhr \x t \ nm\ \atuially 
be story iiitnintrd to that, aiul flu* inntft act, uhieh 
'tts li Ioj r 9 ii*;d sequence*, did not %erui to diop. 

Our fust livjif uas not m*ie ,!-oit ni h\ riulravoird 
fiVets than most In 4 nights au\ lln* nn \u JH-/, of 
.ien and women in a new plav is such thai al a hr-t pet 
.irmanee they nexn i\i\c their hest iiiiripirtali^Hi. At 
his opening ihr call 1 * urr* suthcient, the applause and 
tughter were j',reat. Ilrfiiiid tin* curtain vu- ihnu.-jit 
*e had a succ<-ss. Thr thine, that chillrd us was the fai!' 
re of the inexpencncrd mana^c^nn^nt to *,av *'0. ll'irv 
ad been in touch vuth ihr mm froiii the paper., and ur 
,*It that they rrHected the u; l u:nofi of tlio\e mm. 

Most actors have a ft 'jit diiuiri aruud vi\ o'elnck 
nd a supper when thr i\*nL l\ over, That night in Bos- 

and to understudy Barrymore m the part oi the burglar. 
Willie Seymour, later the general stage-manager for 
Charles Frohman, was engaged to rehearse the play. 
Mr. Seymour was an experienced producer as a matter 
of fact, had been in the theatre all his life, having gone 
on as a child with Edwin Forrest in "Metamora." 

The managers had little money and were staking all 
on our trial in Boston. As a matter of economy the or- 
ganization was taken there by the Fall River boat. No- 
body in the company had any important money. Salaries 
at that time were not what they are to-day. The largest 
on that list was Barrymore's at two hundred dollars. 

On the palatial Plymouth at the dinner-table we sat 
down somewhat a family group. Barrymore took the 
head of the table, with Miss Sheridan to his left. The 
rest of the company strung along on the sides. There 
arose somehow a pretended dispute over the honor of 
ordering dinner for Miss Sheridan. 

Drew said: "We'll toss for it." 

A cube of sugar was marked on its six sides like an 
ordinary die and given to Sydney for the first throw. 
It was an anxious moment, the comedy of it irrepressible 
to his temperament, and as he shook the cube in his hand 
and looked at the other derisive men before throwing 
he said, "High man out. 55 Barrymore had to remind 
him that the stake was the honor of ordering dinner for 
a lady, but Sydney's line had revealed the situation. 
Before all had finished throwing, Joe Holland, who was 
with another company on the same boat, noticing the 

of the management. I was staying in the old Clark's 

Hotel, a place for men only. At, six A. M., I turned Into 
bed in a room on an tipper floor with a door at ri^ht angle 
to a room occupied by Smythe. The weather was warm, 
the transoms were oju-n. I was waked about nine o'clock 
by Matthews calling upon Smvthe. Through the open 
transoms I could hear the dejected conference between 
the two managers. 

A bell-by knocked at the door. Matthews took the 

l*'rom (Jrismrr! Kaeh man tried to pass to the other 
the painiut dun of j,m^ brlow to interview him. Mat- 
thews iinall> went. 

After a omsidrrablr interval 1 heard his steps come 
cjuiekly to Smvthr's door, a sharj.) rap, an entrance, and 
Jus excited tone as he repujted in his partner: **Why, he 
still wants it !" 

I ; urtfier slcvp \\-as impossible to me. I dressed quickly, 
and as sunn as I could do so diplomatically confirmed 
the rwanin,', <f tin- irpmt. Later I saw (irismer himself. 
With the e;i' t r of* fur \ftnaii hi* fiac! dismissed the un- 
fa vorabh* iioiii/fs, I It* had seen the play; lit* had watched 
its effect upon f!i* audience. lie saw himself in the part. 

I shall nrvrr fni/.rl his lu-arty laii|*h or the strong sol- 
dierly face- as hr said: "Why, my boy, it'll make a fur- 
turn* for evri'% bodv T* 

*I'hat was a hatd 'I'uesday fur me. The day before I 
wotili! huvr i>i-t up*n mv abilitv to bract* up uiuler any 
conditions. But \\iint 1 !und Smvthe and Matthews 
discounting also (irismer's optimistic opinion and ac- 

\\ r ',,*'* 

. t ! j.'i M! < ,;; I* t ,. 
'-a ! ' "1 w rr>* / t: r 
I" -,:, 

1 it ! fc *i .u r'i A idf I* 

B . : 

I f ' 

Pi Mi, 

: . f \ **: , >u \i 

4 Vi..*j r f 4 / 

,lt' f i * * , h ! *! i , :IM J*+ 
|*i"^!tni . di\ hr v* i 

v , ! 11 , l)irrt, rth 
l!ii% t lu* A!IH Li*l .i?4 
jiu : " \ i ^ , ( f a ,, 1\ f* J 

Hi. lu oar! in !.iv 
{ )ic".v, s iU h,i' /* a,4i 

S\$tiiiH s ttlJi !ir, i 

t i i < 1 1 i 
i r% r! ! > .iluru: \\ *i, 


pIi-.*.:lU, "\i h.i.r, 


*! * he * ' %{? I f II 

.fit a** 


J 4 tpff*I . 

i * t u f * uii*f r .t !i i^, 
i, aiti irtui nr **) i T i ', tu '.^ f f \ ' \n il. 

1 ,vt Ml thin- m UM' ,c t i' i ! i Mf !**' , n I i li * .7 MM 
f r nai ujH'U!!l|% ;U*n*n.' llirllt JM .rpll ( tj i ' - ' , a! t. 

ltm* .'i i'.tvuutr ;H lm nn ihr !*a ifir (jia*!, vJin* hr \ 
starling juinll> with hit i>rautiiu! and lali^iiftf \\ 


Our Boston engagement was for two weeks. The busi- 
ness showed such healthy signs* that we were regretful 
that: it was not for a longer period. 

On Wednesday after the matinee Wesley Roxenquest, 
managing the Madison Square Theatre fur A. M. Palmer, 
proposed to Smythe and Matthews that the pieee he 
brought to New York for as lung a time as it would hold 
up in the summer. His terms were for the theatre to 
take each week the first two thousand dollars. It was 
of course possible to play to much less than this on the 
gross, and for the management also to be stuck for 
salaries and advertising. 

As they hesitated Barrymore said: "Take it! If the 
money doesn't come in you'll m\e me nothing, and I 
think I can answer for most of the company.** 

This decided the managers. As they -started to thank 
Barrymore lie interrupted them: "Tin not doing it. on 
your account. This is for Thomas." 

The New York opening was a night of almost equal 
anxiety to that of Boston. As one of the east I had only 
the actor's biased opinion as to how the* play was going. 
I was heartened during the first- intermission by a visit 
of the comedian, Louis Harrison, who came* to my dress- 
ing-room with a message from Bronson Howard, com- 
mending the workmanship of the act just finished; and 
when the play was over Harrisun came again to Barry - 
more's room and mine to bring us good news and to give 
his own opinum by no means an unskilled one that 
we had the best melodrama offered tit New York since 
"The Two Orphans/* 

Bronson Howard was then in New York \\ith his pro- 
duction of "Shenandoah" at the Star Theatre, where its 
great success \\as so substantially the* beginning of Charles 


ceptance, and regarding both as peculiar to his isolated 
territory and his personal needs, I was a demoralized 
author. One thing that hurt me much was what I 
thought injustice in important press comments. In the 
first act of the play my burglar was a man in refined sur- 
roundings, speaking good English; in the third act he 
was talking thief jargon. I had believed that subtilely 
effective, because in my railroad experience I had seen 
educated men quickly adopt the ungrammatical and 
slangy speech of the man on a box car. Mr. Clapp, then 
the principal critic of Boston, cited this departure as a 
mark of my immaturity. The opinion marked only his 
own inexperience with actual life in that stratum and 
environment. Two or three days later some other paper 
took issue with him upon the point, but on that Tuesday 
I was submerged by that and other objections equally 

During a walk alone in the afternoon I found myself 
looking into a shop-window with no accurate conscious- 
ness of my surroundings or recollection of how I had 
acquired them. It was only a dazed minute or two before 
objects fell into their proper categories and I was able 
to get my bearings, but the lapse alarmed me. A half 
block farther I met Mary Shaw, whose home was Bos- 
ton. Mary had seen the play and was enthusiastic in 
her approval of it and of the work of the company. This, 
however, was to me unimportant in the presence of the 
lapse of consciousness I had just been through. In fright- 
ened fashion I told her of it. 

Mary put back her head and with her contagious laugh 
of those early days, said: "Good old-fashioned bilious- 
ness, my boy, nothing more/* Mary's diagnosis was 

U) HSK auv uuu$; uut m LUC luniuui, iuici uie msi lew 

weeks I sold my rights for twenty-five hundred dollars. 
The piece did, as (Jrismer had prophesied, make small 
fortunes for all owners associated with it, 

When "The Burglar" went away for its first season, 
however, its royalty of forty dollars a week was my total 
income. I don't know what decree of fate led to sueh a 
genera! agreement upon tins figure as my value, but with 
certain obligations in tin* West economy was essential. 
Smythe relinquished a second-story front room at .205 
West Street, over a parlor that was occu- 
pied by an Italian who f.ave a table d'hote dinner for 
thirty-five cents with a pint of reef wine thrown in. That 
wan the dinner to which I treated Barrymore and asked 
him if it wasn't a hue oflering for the money. 

Barrytnore said: "Great I Let's have another I" 
Tins second-story room was let for three dollars a week, 
1 engaged it when Smythe I*ft toward the end of Sep- 
tember. It was a fine room for the money, being nearly 
twenty-five feet square and having three windows at 
the front. Among its few drawbacks were the simplicity 
of its furnishing and a rich, permeating odor of Italian 
cooking, never absent!; ant! especially high at the flood of 
the gastronomic tides. Barry more thought that any- 
body ouj^ht to br able to write in sueh rich and redolent 
<juarters l away frmn all distractions and calls, and. when 
the rear room on the same floor, separated from the front 
room only by the cuMumary wardrobes and marble wash- 
stands of that period, was vacant he rented it at the same 

Poll. 55 Maude Adams was making Her tirst nit at tne 
old Bijou Theatre in Hoyt's "A Midnight Bell"; Francis 
Wilson was playing "The Oolah" at the Broadway; 
Sothern was rehearsing "Lord Chumley" by Belasco 
and De Mille to go on at the Lyceum on Fourth Avenue, 
the beautiful little second-story theatre managed at that 
time by Daniel Frohman and supported by a clientele 
second only to Daly's. The McCauII Opera Company, 
with Digby Bell as principal comedian, was in the midst 
of a run at Palmer's; Lillian Russell was playing "The 
Brigands" at the Casino; "Ferncliffe," by William Ha- 
worth, was at the Union Square, and Helen Barry had 
in rehearsal "Love and Liberty" to follow. Denman 
Thompson was in the midst of his popularity with "The 
Old Homestead" at the Academy. 

"The Burglar" was a success in New York, and after 
its first year on the road played with two and sometimes 
three companies throughout the country almost con- 
tinuously for the next ten years. I report this to record 
a fact which may be useful to other writers. When I 
was in St. Louis Will Smythe had written to say that 
forty dollars a week was a fair royalty for a four-act play 
by a beginner. In his own inexperience he had consulted 
Howard P. Taylor, then somewhat in the public eye as 
a dramatist. That royalty was agreed upon. I was 
sure that Smythe had been misinformed, but the terms 
were adhered to. The lowest royalty that a beginner 
of a play worthy of production should have received 
would have been 5 per cent of the gross receipts, amount- 


was the old Sturtevant House, so that with the room 
hark of mint* Barrymore quite honestly had four private 

One bli//ard night, walking away from The Lambs 
(IIiil) on Twenty-sixth Street, I was stopped by a shiver- 
iiuj hoy of twenty who asked for a dime to get a bed. I 
took him with me, showed him into this back room. The 
bov looked at the sofa. 


I sait! "No/ 1 pointed to the roomy and well-furnished 
bed and left him stammering his thanks. About three 
o'eloek in the morning 1 was waked by somebody strik- 
ing a match ami turning on the { t ns. Barry more, drip- 
pin*; from the storm, stood in the middle of the floor, 

He nodded to the baek room and said: "What's all 
this in there?*' 

After cullrrlin^ my thoughts a moment I said: 
"That's a little philanthropy of mine/* 

"Well, where ant 1 to sleep?" 

"What's the matter with the Fourth Avenue flat?" 
There was some fnend there. "What about the Sturte* 
van! House and (Jnuyje?" 

Barrymore said; "i'thel is over from Philadelphia to 
visit her mother, and I've been turned out." 

"What about the room at Mrs. Hitf joins'?" 

"Kinj* Hall has that this week." 

I eouldn't help bushing at the picture* of Ameriea's 
favorite and hrst-p;iid aetor, with four apartments for 
\\hieh he \vas paying rent and no plaee to sleep. 


-- . 

retailed at ten cents a dozen. He declared his intention 
of starting in the next morning to write a play. But he 
didn't come that morning or any other morning. His 
wife predicted that such would be the case. She said 
their own apartment, wherever it happened to be, was 
strewn with stray leaves on each of which was written, 
"Act One, Scene One. A Ruined Garden. " 

Some five or six years later, when I had built a home 
and was living at New Rochelle, Barrymore came out 
one night to read a play he had completed. We had to 
explain the burst of laughter that greeted him from my 
wife and me as he began to read, "Act One, Scene One: 
A Ruined Garden." Not only did Barrymore never 
work in that Twenty-fifth Street room, but as far as I 
know he never came to it but once. 

This failure to use the room is not astonishing when 
we remember Barrymore' s way of living then. Rather 
than store his four or five trunks of valuable costumes 
which he was apt to need at a moment's notice, he kept 
them in a little hall bedroom on Twenty-eighth Street 
in a house managed by a Mrs. Higgins. The room also 
contained a little iron bedstead and washstand. Barry- 
more never occupied it, but to disagreeable persons he 
gave it as his address. Mrs. Higgins was instructed to 
say always that Barrymore had just gone out, and occa- 
sionally some wastrel transient, on an order from Barry, 
slept there. In conjunction with one or two actor friends 
he had a flat on Fourth Avenue. I think this was really 
the place where he preferred to sleep and to get his break- 


I had now become a member of The Lambs. At the 
clubhouse I passed more than half the time I permitted 
myself away from my writing. The Lambs was then in 
its fifteenth year, and contained the best element in the 
profession. It was a great honor, privilege, and education 
to be received on equal terms by its then membership, a 
total professional number of one hundred, which included 
such men as Lester Wallack, Dion Boucicault, Steele 
Mackaye, Mark Smith, Robert G. IngersoII, Otis Skinner, 
the Holland brothers, George, Edmund, and Joseph, and 
others worthy of the standard that these names indicate. 

A table d'hote dinner was served for fifty cents at the 
large club table, where the men were like members of a 
family. There was a notable musical contingent and 
often between courses the popular songs of the time. 
The gayety of such youngsters as Harry Woodruff, Cyril 
Scott, Fritz Williams, Francis Carlyle, and Ned Bell was 
as memorable as the wise talk of such elders as Steele 
Mackaye and Frank Mayo. Fun was spontaneous and 
unconstrained. At one of these small dinners I began 
my real acquaintance with Otis Skinner. He had come 
in from a trip on the road, was greeted with shouts and 
lifted glasses, and because the place on the impromptu 
programme fitted it he stood in the doorway, and an- 
swering the men's demand recited Beranger's "When 
We Were Twenty-One." I shall always remember the 


He Mini In--* ^U!, 
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tin* ut.i^ i * '.. ' 



with him ari !h I ' " f ^ * fc ^ > ' t 
a deridrdK n**A I , < ,! j:.* ? > , v* ,-, 

Hail \ w * e had *A i J!r^ .^ 4 , * > l , ) 
jeska a *.!ui\ nf Hi u* ! ' * ; , 1 ** *" 
in the npininii ui iua t% - :;!' \ * i 
inteiiMly of if draMiali*. v . ..< * ,, IT 
kind that hr '/.as^eil ii - . M r 
South their \\a* a pe-*',;ti i 2? *- ,j ! 
fought a <hjel h\ tiia *KJ, ! it f* ,1 a ! i 
standing that l!u* man ' i. i f 4 t: r t< . 
suicide. Ilii% amf nfhri u., , ' f -i . ,t ,, 
lion at that time, all n{ .ih u. v,*.;.! 
!>ined to make a Mot*, v, V* *j, u.j !rj !^ 

leSS IVnipIr/* f Ml])!|,ifir ! f** Jl.ui *, ,?,.i; 

urged hy their unihu.UMa, wrtr in 

Street room. 

'/ i 
f - - 1 1 

! t'.r 

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f 1 , ii4 v. ft 
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' ' M?r, " 

fjilr if "K* ',- 
,u.d lit!) 41 J s 

ana replaced uu'in wiiti CUDCS 01 the lowering kma that 
make central New York City a gridiron of box canons. 

In iB8c) Madison Square had just won from Union 
Square, nine streets farther south, its claim to be the 
theatrical centre. It was the smart and modern spot, 
although many of the actors of the comic-page, fur- 
trimmed Intensity still haunted the older Rialto. And 
at Fourteenth Street there was still considerable theatri- 
cal power and vibration. Under the old Morton House 
J. M. Hill still managed the Union Square Theatre. One 
street farther south was the Star, where Crane's long 
run in David 1 Jn\d\ ami Sydney Roseufeld's "Senator" 
and other plav was in occur before the passing of that 
historic house. Noith uf Union Square, where now stands 
the lofty Crntun Building, was the stately, hospitable 
Everett House; while In the east was Kieeadonna's, 
famous for spaghetti and the patronage of the Sulvinis, 
father and MM. Thesr, with the Academy of Music, 
then run by K. (* <iilmort% and Tony Pastor's own 
theatre* just behind it, put up- their ancient claim for 
attention. But thr f;i'-hionable town was moving north. 

At IVcfiU -itfth Street two tides of easy promenaders 
joined in their iloun-tmvn drift, and returning there 
divided for the noitheily walks, livery fine afternoon 
otiier than matiner davs nieinliers of the .stock companies 
of I)al>*. ( Pahn'i\ and the I,veetun t!u*atn*s, and mem- 
bers of otiuT combinations of nearly e(jual importance, 
moved in leisutvl* manner ant! almost small-town neigh- 
btirliness ihroujji the comfortable thrones of well-cfressed 
and fairly inirlli ri c*nt Aiui^ru-ans, to wlu^m all of them 

between Broadway and Sixth Avenue; the house an 
old-fashioned five-story, twenty-five-foot-front brown- 
stone dwelling with high stoop, under which was a base- 
ment entrance. It was like its adjoining houses in ex- 
ternal looks and faced similar buildings on the north side 
of the street. Those respectable neighbors eyed it with 
distrust. Leaving The Lambs and walking east to Broad- 
way you passed the St. James Hotel on the corner. On 
the other side of Broadway was Delmonico's, running 
through the short block to Fifth Avenue. The block was 
and still is short, because these two great thoroughfares 
wedge sharply three blocks farther south. East of the 
long plaza made by their intersection is the park called 
Madison Square, a plunger fountain in the centre and 
the Saint-Gaudens bronze of Farragut on the northwest 

Facing this square on all four sides in 1889 were beau- 
tiful and impressive buildings, each with its history fairly 
mellow and all with their uniform sky-line that could 
be enjoyed without suggesting curvature of the spine. 

To have eyes and never to see the sky is to be slowly 
and unconsciously immersed in matter. Where no vision 
is the people perish, and the vision of this nation is born 
and nourished and reinforced and sustained from modest 
houses that are detached and which face four ways to 
the weather and from which men and women look in 
easy angle at the sky. Some one has gone further than 
this and said that a view of the horizon is necessary to 
the sanity of the eye. In thirty-three years Industry 


painted in after years for the late Knickerbocker Hotel 
cafe, wit 1^ the difference that King Cole came from the 
nursery with the* reputation of having quite shamelessly 
and in buutc ^voix expressed his preferences, whereas the 
St. James trio depended entirely upon the law of asso- 
ciative suggestion. 

One habitue ^vas Jerry Dunn, a handsome fellow 
strongly suggesting in appearance former United States 
Senator J. Hamilton Lewis, though Dunn was rather a 
silent person. He had, however, killed a man with a 
revolver. Another sport was Pat Sheedy, who managed 
John L Sullivan. It was in that saloon, the story ran, 
that when Sullivan proposed to heat up Sheedy with his 
lists, Shrrdy, not unprepared for the attention, had 
pushed u derringer against Sullivan's body and asked him 
not to do it. 

Some politicians came there. General Sheridan 
Silver-torigucc! Grorgt\ as his Republican friends called 
him livt'tl in the hotel. 

On the nrxt block south from tin* St. James was the 
Hoffman House cafe, perhaps the finest in the world. 
The proprietor was the handsome, melancholy, gray- 
haired Not! Stokes, who hud killed Colonel Jim Fisk on 
account of the notorious Josie Mansfield. It was said 
Stokes always slept thereafter with the light burning in 
his bedroom. In this cafe, guarded by brass rails and 
plush ropc*s t hung an heroic eanvas by the great Bou- 
guereau, a painting of several nymphs trying to throw 
a fighting s;tt\r into the water. This prophetic symbol 
was 1 years before the general adoption of woman suffrage. 

In the theatre the prizes are to magnetism quite as 
much us to ideas or antics. Of the three factors, mag- 
netism is the hardest to define. To call it attraction is 


reason as slightly higher price or the watchful eye of 
the house man, Billy Edwards, ex-champion prize-fighter 
only the better element of the men about town fre- 
quented the place. A group of players and playwrights 
at a table were uninterrupted. Men nodded to them, 
or joined them if invited, but they did not intrude. 

What wise conferences were many of those expert 
discussions of current or projected plays; what con- 
densed e%ixTtenee; what discovered and tested rules; 
what classifying of situations; what precedents and 
likenesses; what traditions, conventions, experiments, 
suggestions; what a winnowing of ideas by what vigor- 
ous, original, challenging, prolific fellows; and in what 
free interchange in an atmosphere and temper stimu- 
lated to just that degree* of exaltation that can bridge 
and blend ami give an overtone and group consensus! 
Truly, "Wisdom is justified of her children/' 

For more private and smaller conferences, among 
other places, there was also Browne's famous old chop- 
house on Twenty-seventh Street just of! the Broadway 
corner; one stum* step to the hallway and a turn to the 
right for the parlor dining-room with its little tables, to 
which a third chair could fie drawn; the hot-water dishes 
fur the ft tady Welsh rabbit and the pewter mugs for the 
musty ale. 

I first saw Ptml Potter there, rewritcr of French 
comedy at thr titw% but afterward author of "The Con- 
querors/* "Trilby/* "Under Two Flags/' and adapter 
of u half scorr uf farces. lie looked an oldish young man 
then us, thirty years later, after the unmanageable 
cropped hair turned white, he looked a youngish old one. 
Barrymore made him join its, and then rallied him on 
his theories until daylight. Paul Potter was always a 


but to change the substantive. To call it pers 
is only to befog it. To recite the reasons for n 
explanation of it or to support my case adequately 
controversy those reasons would provoke would ta 
a volume. I therefore omit reasons, and avoidii 
troversy issue only my belief that the force is ele 
that its possessor is not its generator but its m 
and that the voluntary transmission of it is exha 
The truly effective actor cannot simply wipe off his 
paint and turn in to slumber. 

Our Favershams, our Hacketts, our Marlow< 
Cohans, our Drews of three actor generations, our 
mores of two, with the admixture of the Drew 
our like artists of repute, as well as those yet un 
ered and uncelebrated, cannot after a night's p 
the psychical brakes and come to a dead centre 
a machine before the stop, the human organism 
the normal nerve rate must slow down. For thi 
dation the ample apartment with trained butler or 
trained maid and the presence of understandin; 
rades who quit at the first suppressed yawn is ide 

For an income unequal to such provision the 
restaurant, the club, the cafe of the Hoffman I 
invaluable. Let us not chide that immortal col 
the Mermaid Inn, nor Chris Marlowe, nor Ben , 
nor Will Shakespeare, nor criticise too severely tha 
at the Cheshire Cheese of which Garrick was s< 
the centre and Doctor Johnson the mentor. 

Into that old Hoffman House cafe from the IV 
Square, the Fifth Avenue, the Lyceum, three t 
within a radius of two blocks, actors easily drifted. 
of Palmer's, Daly's, and the Bijou had but little 
to come. The writers met them. For some 

mil wun only twelve ol these articles one has to do it 
or hurt some of their feelings by leaving them out. But 
back in Browne's in i88<; Paul told me that, us Diderot 
had printed for him, our plays are written backwards; 
that is, constructed like a mystery story, from the solu- 
tion backward in the eiy^ma. Of course, it was helpful 
to know that, and I've told it: to dozens of youngsters. 
Who was it .said the unpardonable thing, the one base 
tiling in life, is to receive benefits and to confer none? 

There came into Nexv York that winter a typical 
Southerner in speech and appearance named Colonel 
Edward Alfneml. His home had been Richmond, Vir- 
ginia. Other citi/cns of that place reported that because 
of his courtly manner he had been called Count AlfriemL 
The colonel was about sixty years of uj,;e, lull, suddenly 
portly at the meridian, with prominent features, and 
a walruslike white mustache, which with the important 
conseiousnrss of an Kn^lish guardsman he stroked to 
hold the floor in the pauses of his discourse. His am- 
bition was dramatic authorship. His most prominent 
friend in the theatre was A, XL Palmer, above whom in 
physical stature* he lowered some seven inches. He spent 
many hours in Mr, Palmer's of lice when it was evident 
to other callers that Mr. Palmer was not insisting on it. 

Reporting thde interviews outside, the colonel fre- 
quently said: *'I am very close to A. M. Palmer." 

After a cmtplr of years, with the assistance of Mr, 
Augustus Pitou, who. signed as joint author, he produced 
a play ttndrr thr title of "Across the Potomac/' His 
second play, the only other from his pen as I remember 



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it s all over/* And fir tau/hrti a f ;'iin, !)i< I 

flat 1 wrote two plays, both under arrangements with 
Manager J. M. Hill; one for Sydney Drew, which was 
never produced; another adapted front the German, 
which was produced more than a year later under the 
title of 44 A Night's Frolic," with Helen Barry, an Eng- 
lish actress of more than masculine stature, in the prin- 
cipal rule, which fortunately required that most of her 
scenes IK* played in the uniform of an oflieer of the chas- 
seurs. That, event lives principally by the association 
of one of its least important members at that time, a 
singularly active, optimistic, dark-haired lad of some 
nineteen or twenty years named John I,. Golden. It is 
difficult to avoid his name now amon^ the Broadway 
white* lights with his presentations of "Turn to the 
Ritfht/* M 1 j^htninY* "Thank You/* and so on. 

After a while Barmuore's enthusiasm for the flat sub- 
sided notieeabK, and with the coming of the summer 
we abandoned our arrangement. We were the only the- 
atrical menace in the building, so I doubt if we could 
have maintained our occupation much longer, because 
during our last month there I heart! the colonel, whose 
point of view old Sarah understood perfectly, tell her 
to ask the lady on the floor above what the devil she 
meant by moving furniture around at eleven o'clock in 
the morning. Tin* colonel seldom slept more than six 
hours, at that. He wrote his plays from books of the 
vintage of the "Drsrrted Village." They were pitiably 
short, but filled with long soliloquies, and all of them 
written for Barry more. Barry more listening to one of 
these, and looking to me for help would have been an 

jus pomposity, ctiiu a, iiicuioci ity uiai. YYCUJLUJLLCU. 
tion, carried Alfriend about with him in many leisui 
hours. One of Barry's gentle friends wishing to embroid< 
a sofa pillow, a Penelope activity then not fallen into nej 
lect, asked me to draw in outline on a square of silk 
profile of herself and one of Barrymore. After I ha 
drawn her own profile I said: "How close to that do yc 
want the profile of Barry ?" 

The lady said: "About as close as Alfriend is to Pa 

Barrymore introduced the colonel to me and insists 
on my sharing for the new acquaintance his own enthi 
siasm. Later Barry found a furnished flat, fourth floo 
on Thirty-fourth Street between Seventh and Eighl 
avenues, with three bedrooms, a little parlor, dinin; 
room, and kitchen. The tenant wanted to sublet 
furnished for forty dollars a month. Barrymore thougl 
it would be an ideal arrangement if we three he, tl 
colonel, and I should take this flat and live there. V 
entered upon its occupation. A rotund, matronly n 
gress, the janitress for the building, did the housewo: 
and prepared our breakfasts. Other meals we took ou 
side. I don't remember a happier period* 

When the spring came and the fish were running 
thick in the North River that one could buy a five-poui 
shad with roe for thirty-five cents, General George She 
dan, having sent old Sarah word the night before, won 
appear in time with such a fish in a brown paper; ai 
as Sarah, under his instructions, prepared it and put 
on the breakfast table he would discourse upon it ai 


person, and went early to his business. Alone in the 
club, down-hearted for important personal reasons that 
must not take attention here, each morning as I reached 
Miley's room I was greeted by a formal, complimentary 
little laugh from the parrot. It was my custom to push 
the door farther open, speak to the bird, and sometimes 
sit on the bed and invite his specialty. That little formal 
laugh of his, encouraged by my echo, voluntary only at 
first, would grow in volume and expand in character 
until it revived somewhat of all the merry and maybe 
dissolute hours of exhilarated companionship that Miley's 
trade and temperament had won; laughs of a superior 
clientele, but punctuated occasionally by guffaws of 
chance and cheaper acquaintances, and by concerted 
crescendo effects spraying into broken vocables as some 
falsetto, tearful enthusiast regurgled the point of the 
story. I was a poor amateur compared to Polly, but 
together we could fill all the windows on both sides of 
Twenty-sixth Street with matrons and housemaids, sym- 
pathetically agrin and curious as to the disorderly con- 
vocation at The Lambs. It was a great way to start 
the forenoon, and required several unpleasant letters of 
efficiency experts to dissipate Polly's fiat sunshine. 

In the spring of that year the reputation of "The Bur- 
glar" on the road and "A Man of the World" at the 
Madison Square Theatre had influenced Mr. Palmer to 
ask me to become connected with that fine playhouse. 
Dion Boucicault was then under a regular retainer to 
patch or adapt for Mr. Palmer any imported play that 

preaching us with menace in every lineament. 

When we met him he said: "See here, what d 
fellows mean by sicking the colonel onto me?" 

After leaving the Thirty-fourth Street flat whic 
three men had leased I roomed at The Lambs Club 
I left it to take an apartment with my wife at a 
The sojourn at The Lambs was rich in experiences ' 
would fill a volume of small talk, smaller even thar 
One item that, notwithstanding its diminutive p] 
tions, I feel justified in describing, was of a parrot, 
rot stories do not amuse me, because as a rule so pal 
invented; but as Maeterlinck has written some 
ciation between happiness and the bluebird, I wi 
of this green one's occasional power. 

The club at this period was not prosperous; ii 
quite the contrary, and the newly organized Playei 
begun to draw from it many of its best members, 
only other permanent lodger in the house in that 1 
1890 was the owner of this parrot, John B. MI 
graduate of Dublin University. Mr. Miley's bu 
was to sell wholesale, on commission, fine liquors ha 
at that time by the old-established house of Roo 
& Schuyler. Miley was proud of his business and 
wares, and as self-respecting as if a discerning mo 
had just given him the knighthood recently con 
upon an eminent English distiller. The parrot had 
with him in many years of convivial associations 
may be inferred, but it had learned nothing der 
izing no profanity, no greetings, no call for biscuit! 

there will appear in contrast lines ol a lighter gray. 1 hese 
lines are not fixed. They move. At times, when they 
take on resemblance to a face, imagination running just 
a little ahead of the vision will muster them into propor- 
tions of perfect drawing, and memory can manage them 
into portraits. It is a fact in pathology that under fever 
nearly everybody sees these shapes. In drowsy daylight 
figures of the wall-paper grow fantastic, move, and have 
expression. In his most excited moments, Martin Luther, 
it will be remembered, could not banish the image of the 
devil from the wall of his cell, and there used to be shown 
a spot where he had thrown his inkwell at this negative 
invocation, become objective. 

After the production of "Reckless Temple/' and some 
attendant dissipations and demands upon me physically, 
and when I was in a run-down condition, this faculty 
of such seeing was feverishly augmented. Under the 
doctor's orders I had resumed strictly regular hours, not 
the easiest recovery in The Lambs. One night before 
the club was completely quiet I was trying to go to 
sleep in the dark. At the piano down-stairs E. M. Hol- 
land was playing a melody, then popular, called "Down 
on the Farm." These lines in the dark of which I have 
written assembled into definite shape, and I could see 
before me more plainly than many a stage set shows in 
theatrical light two posts of a ruined gateway, one stand- 
ing, the other fallen, crumbled. I recognized the picture 
as of a gateway I had seen in Talladega some six years 
before, but had not consciously thought of since. As I 
looked at it with some amusement an old man walked 

ivir. JT aimer oiiereu me tne ooucicauii uesK ai 
of fifty dollars a week the year round. He had i 
ing Boucicault one hundred, and told me I co\ 
the theatrical custom and say outside I was g< 
same; but that never became necessary. It v 
lated that I was at liberty to produce "Reckless 
and "The Correspondent/' which J. M. Hill hi 
tively for Barrymore and Sidney Drew. This 
Square engagement was a substantial addition t 
was good publicity, and a fine business addres 
then thirty-three years old. 

I wrote at Mr. Palmer's request "A Cons 
Point" for Mrs. Booth, who needed a one-act p 
Palmer thought the public wouldn't under 
Eighteen years later I expanded it to four acts a 
it "The Witching Hour." For Mrs. Booth's i 
need I wrote another one-act play called 
thoughts/* which she did successfully. 

"Reckless Temple" did not succeed in New 1 
after sixteen weeks on the road Barrymore a 
to Palmer's Madison Square Theatre, where, i 
ing both those events, I was at work upon a ] 
parts in it for all the company, including B* 
About making that play there is in my opinio: 
of some psychological as well as pathological ii 

Men differ in degree, perhaps in kind, in their 
mentally to see forms. My ability to draw ft 
memory leads me to think that I have at least 
age faculty. Sometimes in the dark, with no 

were produced before we finally reached "Alabama." 

Ed Holland liked the idea of the colonel written for 
him, and as he and Woodruff already had some hint con- 
cerning certain scenes in which they were together they 
soon began to greet each other in Southern dialect and 
manner. The membership of The Lambs, ignorant of 
the reason for this assumption, but amused by it, caught 
its contagion, and in a little while the club was apparently 
an organi/;itiun of two hundred Southern colonels all 
shooting culls and stinking phantom but magnificent 

The play was finished under pressure in January and 
read to the company on the stage. Prtsbrey, familiar 
with it, was not of that group, but in his little office near 
the entrance to the diev. ing-rooms. 

As Mrs, Bonth Irft the theatre she leaned over the 
closed lower half ut* Prrsbrev's Dutch door and whis- 
pered to him, "Hotlm, thank \otil** 

When we i cached irheuisals she declined to play the 
part written jtir hn and it \\;i\ gi\en to May Brookyn, 
from whom shr m Liimrd it shnztlv after the piece was 
produced. Aft ft irhr-iiMng "Alabama" a werk Mr, 
Palmer lost faith in it an* I leplarcd il with one of his* 
KnglrJi p!a\s, This attack and retreat were n*pe*ated 
twice, fiti! .iftrr thne hud been three Knglish failures 
the* irheat'.il. *>J ** Al.iiniiiin 1 ' 1 in a spirit of desperation 

^sdav, April i t iHc.|i. 
er I*\i faith not only 
nr tlark clay told me 
that whrn the VMI *t nur contract endr<l, which would 

\\rnt i 

>?l IM |* , | 


I inn 

nn \\ r 

In il 

first' \ ,u *, 

i 'i^ ( n*u 


Mr. Pa 

in thr 

plv, lint 

in its 


!iui\ am 

any way to connect it with imagination, 
association between Holland's tune, with its rural, 
mental color, and this picture is fairly evident. 

There was nothing unpleasant about this visio] 
trusion, nor was there such persistence that I felt < 
to Luther's protest. This little gateway and it 
figures played somehow through my dreams, I 
morning I found myself interested in the relations 
the two people, partly trying to divine, but rather 
ing with, their story. After a day or two the resu 
a one-act sketch. This I had typed, and carried 
Mr. Eugene Presbrey, stage-manager for Mr. P 
Presbrey was enthusiastic about the little piece, bi 
me it was a mistake to play it in that form. He ren 
me that "The Burglar" had some of its New York 
dulled by having first been done as a one-act pla; 
insisted that I had in my possession the nucleus of 
big story. He saw at once in the characters a pz 
Stoddart and another for little Miss Agnes Millei 
was the ingenue of the company at that time. 
were other parts for Barrymore, Ned Bell, and 

Under Presbrey's encouragement, using the ske 
a third act, I wrote the four-act play "Alabama." 
fun with the Southern colonel in the piece, whom I 
Colonel Moberly and whom I endowed with all tl 
mality and pomposity of our Colonel Alfriend. 
was a boy's part for Harry Woodruff, and a fat 
for Charles L. Harris, the splendid comedian wh 

(;AniF.iu\<; FLACKS OF THE ACTORS 2 93 

m the f.riu- .nan .,,in into hattle. On the first ni-ht 

Ui.-i.".i M i,,,,u- u.i., auj.mmted I,y an ahuust panic 

'"';"' ;> M. l':tl.iin. Although quite unknown to 

v!"..U mat nuuered, I smi r< ht a fin ther obscurity by 

mim >. ! " lliit ' ! ; ' I '"M in the j.aileiy. A similar t'imid 

.iic nt the ..fu.l.m., acro-s the- aisle attracted my at- 

''. I\ . Mr. Pal,,,,.,. Uhen the first curtain 

h ,MJM j.-.i lat, ,htrr am! applause, the must c!e- 

i' t} '' ";'';_' '"injKt.u ran ask for, Mr. Palmer 

f ;" f a! ."" }l!l 'u 1 '!"*. littrd in an iiujtiiry mixed 

fl a .! HI; ',MU ,. 

'!'"- '_'! Nji. IMnt. *i!I M-nu-iuhrr his regular fen- 
<-- aul uitrll.a <tl an.f .!i iij,, ,,| .{,,.,1 repression; also 
. Ltl ' l;- t!r '' He .1!.,, ha.l lather full ,j ray s ; t i e 
! '^" (|< ' '''!'!- n..t vi uiu'MjiHuon then us sinee 

it>li' i I ;t I; ) nt the -, sf, ? \ i.i.Mi . 

' Ilr ; f " ' 4 t 3 ! '" '''^ ''!'' 5' hi- v.hi'te laun tie, ami 

{ "" ! - " ! ' ; '" ''/ -MJUJ..- i ini.-.J tin- uneuinfortahle 

-' >Ij " il "" ' ' :i - r i''-ni'jtei! UIMHIIHIV i'unetitm. f-'otir 

'''"^ ' !1{ '';' '' t:*i i'u ut.iMit in ulm-h the amlienee 

t.tlm i'u, ',' t '..!,-.i ..{u.ti ium ;U f ^-.ave me courage 

. IM ihe 3if!i . , I',, j far >r, un 

^ S > '''! '"t , pnmomued n-spnnses after 

I "^ ^ * # 4 

! * * lhs| *< '"i '>, t, if Mi. Piifftrr hatl also ventured 
11 *'J** I-*<I, I fn*"A ill i,itifioit In iltr winti mid 
'' I "* - ^ i, to rr ilir ir.i <*f ihis {irifurfiiiuicc fruin 
,1.., .LJ ,.. 

Msrn TJ.* ;i, 4* r , rfi tf t rrrnrti in fur \v<* had In*<-n 

!ir I 11 "" -i t * ', itnl Mr. Palinrr was nut 

t" ^' f .* " ' !, i .'s thr flr-pir-, JMit uf the disftS- 

l> r '', 'T' .T dr f f f r ihf t M?i/ii!iil;if iuiis u f nuUlV 

-! I ' . . ; , ..ttt-i. ' 

iy Hi!* *\ i I .*::', it I.-, i r.-jr- in mif fir^t apartment 

IMi )'!T,J ", 

, *> I 

I I 



in the old Oriental Hotel, opposite the Casino. As v 
had to take an early train for Chicago, we agreed n< 
to look at any of the papers until we should have had z 
undisturbed breakfast and were alone together on tl 
train, speeding from police detention. I gave her tl 
paper in which I felt I would get the most considera 
treatment, and took myself the one I believed most ho 
tile. Its very head-lines disarmed me. I looked up ar 
met an enthusiastic glow imparted by the notice she hs 
read. We hurriedly went at the other papers. The pre 
was unanimous. "Alabama" seemed the surprise of tl 
season, and was characterized in terms almost too laud; 
tory to refer to except by proxy. 

In Chicago, as Willard's advance man, my calls < 
the newspaper offices were exciting, owing to telegraph 
reports about the New York first night, and the dramat 
men were kind. But that day an ailment that had bee 
threatening became acute, and I had to submit to a 
operation under ether that put me in bed for the ne^ 
ten days. During that time the men on the Chica^ 
papers gave me all the help I could take. I was told th* 
whatever I got to them concerning Willard would fir 
space. Thus encouraged, I dictated to my wife lor 
specials for each paper, which she carried to the office 
and I doubt if any theatrical attraction ever went im 
Chicago or any other American city with better publicil 
than those generous fellows handed us. 

Presbrey kept me informed of the play in New Yor 
where it was doing capacity business, and the royall 
checks made me think of the first time I had ever s; 
in an overstuffed chair. We got the New York pape 
every day; the ads and paragraphs were fine, and son 
of the papers carried editorials about the play, inquirii 


if New York managers had not made mistakes in leaning 
on the imported article when native subjects seemed so 
acceptable. And then in the midst of all of it came a 
long telegram from Nat Goodwin asking me to write a 
serious play for him, to choose my own subject, and offer- 
ing a royalty of 10 per cent of the gross receipts, with an 
advance of twenty-five hundred dollars. I agreed to do it. 
I ^ With the Willard company Mr. Palmer came into the 

V c rty> delighted with conditions in New York and heartily 

C approving all those he found in Chicago. I passed the 

^ credit for the display to the men to whom it belonged, 

especially to a young writer named Kirke La Shelle, 
whom Mr. Palmer engaged that week to take the place 
with the Willard company, which for sufficient reasons I 
I was giving up. La Shelle later became a theatrical cap- 

; tain, and produced for me "Arizona," "The Earl of Paw- 

; tucket/' "The Bonnie Briar Bush," and "The Education 

| of Mr. Pipp." Mr. Palmer asked me to forget his ter- 

I minating our contract and to go on under the old ar- 

j rangements for another year. He consented to my writ- 

ing the play for Goodwin, which he expected from the 
optional claims of our Madison Square agreement, 
j , There were more checks from New York, and this 

? - twenty-five hundred dollars from Goodwin. I was able, 

, with a cane, to get about comfortably. I had been away 

from St. Louis for twenty months. We went home to 
see the folks. Crossing the Eads Bridge in the morning 
>j I got to thinking of Whitlock, alias Jim Cummings, who 

*** robbed the Missouri-Pacific express-car to cancel the 

mortgage on his mother's home, and I felt ashamed of 
myself. My mother then lived in a rented place. I didn't 
tell her my inspiration, but we went together and picked 
out a house. 


called Silas Higgins, or something of that kind, and who 
talked about nutmegs and apple-sauce. Mr. Palmer 
asked me to make this character proper to its section 
not only in name and in speech, but in view-point and 
relation to the story. I wrote a character which I called 
Colonel CaUjoun Booker. Mr. Palmer, at my sugges- 
tion, engaged for the part Burr Mclntosh, at that time 
about thirty years of age, fairly prominent in the Bo- 
hemian life of New York, celebrated for his good nature 
and his willingness to take chances, and for a pronounced 
mimetic faculty. Palmer knew nothing of Mclntosh, 
but I had heard him tell stories at the clubs and was sure 
he had the foundation for the part. With Palmer's per- 
mission I stressed Colonel Calhoun Booker's importance 
in the play, feeling that its presentation would be a ballon 
c/V.s\Vtti for "Alabama," which was to follow; and I be- 
lieve that the success of Mclntosh helped determine 
Mr. Palmer to go through with it. 

"Needham's Double" was one of those plays of dual 
personality, resembling in kind "The Lyons Mail/' It 
was invented and unlikely, and on the first night in New 
York Mclntosh, with his breezy manner and his welcome 
Southern geniality, would have walked away with the 
honors if the opposition had not been a star in large type. 
He played the part during its short run and left it to 
do Co/cmt/ Mohcrly in the second company of "Alabama." 

After the original "Alabama" company played its 
New York and Chicago engagements, and before it re- 
opened at Palmer's in the fall of i8<)2, it went to Louis- 
ville. Mr. Palmer asked me to go there and look over 
the performance. The Louisville engagement was in the 
fine old playhouse belonging to the Macauleys, so dear 
to me in memory of Johnny Norton and the more recent 


In the middle of April, 1891, after Mr. E. S. Willard, 
for whom I was serving as publicity man, opened his 
mid- Western tour in Chicago as Cyrus Blenkarn in Henry 
Arthur Jones' play "The Middleman/' with Marie Bur- 
roughs as his featured support, my wife and I went to 
St. Louis, and afterward to the Minnesota lakes and the 
Northwest. We returned to Chicago in the middle of 
May to see the Western opening of my play, "Alabama/' 
which had been forced out of New York by a summer 
sublease of the Madison Square Theatre. My father 
and mother came from St. Louis to see that first night 
and visit us a few days in Chicago, where I tramped over 
the crowded down-town streets with father hunting land- 
marks of the small town he had known as a printer and 
medical student in his youth. The first week in June 
the parents went back to St. Louis and my wife and I 
returned to New York. 

Under my arrangements with Mr. Palmer I had re- 
written parts of "John Needham's Double/' a play by 
the English author, Mr. Joseph Hatton, produced Feb- 
ruary 4, 1891, by Willard at Palmer's Theatre. This re- 
write was after I had completed "Alabama," but before 
that play was produced. An account of it in this place 
is a little out of such time order as I have attempted, 
but not enough to make the dislocation jar. Hatton had 
put into his play a supposedly Southern colonel whom he 


wren to-aay s number, were few, their triumphs 
not numerous; but in the '8o's there had been some not- 
able successes with American subjects: Florence had 
played Woolfs "The Mighty Dollar" to extraordinary 
business; Curtis had had success with "Samuel of 
Posen"; Raymond had made a fortune with Colonel 
Sellers in Mark Twain's "Gilded Age"; Denman Thomp- 
son, under the encouragement of his manager, J. M. 
Hill, had elaborated a vaudeville sketch into "The Old 
Homestead." Concurrently with these American plays 
on the road was a cycle of big productions of English 
melodrama like "Romany Rye," "The Silver King," 
"The World," "Hoodman Blind," "Lights o' London," 
and the like, the exploitation of which throughout the 
country had developed a school of publicity men who 
knew accurately what part skilful press work played in 
all these successes. They also had a thorough knowledge 
of the respective values of the patronage to be obtained 
in the various cities. This experience and this knowledge 
had come along together with the rapid growth of the 
country upon which both depended, and while the older 
managers, content with their local triumphs in New York 
and Boston, gave their attention to those centres, these 
lesser agents and the publicity men referred to were wide- 
awake to the value of the road. 

Just back of Palmer's Theatre, both formerly and 
later Wallack's, on Thirtieth Street, in the basement of 
what had been a dwelling-house, was the office of Jeffer- 
son, Klaw, and Erlanger. The Jefferson of this firm was 
Charles Jefferson, eldest son of Joseph Jefferson. Klaw 

aided by those Kentuckians who have the Southern in- 
stinct amounting to genius for hospitality and enter- 
tainment. At an effective moment in the evening he got 
the attention of the party close on to a hundred men, 
I should say and with his arm through mine in the 
centre of the floor explained the circumstances under 
which our acquaintance had been made, and claimed to 
be proud that I was a product of a newspaper office. 

Then shifting his arm over my shoulder, a habit he 
had with any younger fellow he thought it would help, 
and reverting to the play, the subject of which was the 
reconciliation of the two great political sections of the 
country, he said: "This boy has done in one night in 
the theatre what I endeavored to do in twenty years of 
editorial writing. 5 * 

No half-way measures about wonderful Henry Watter- 
son, gone since I last wrote of him in these chapters. 

With the opening of Palmer's at this time, the little 
Madison Square Theatre passed into the control of 
Messrs. Hoyt and Thomas. Charles Hoyt was the au- 
thor of a line of comedies as distinct in their kind and 
for their day as the George Cohan plays are three decades 

There was in the business department of the theatre 
of America at that time a relationship of forces worthy 
of comment here. Those forces were then functioning 
principally in New York. Although perhaps traceable 
to more remote origins, they focussed and funneled 
through the chanels of publicity. 

play was as yet untried; that other theatres as suitable 
as the Square could be got for it in the eity, and 
that Miss Morton had no right other than the most tech- 
meal one, and none whatever in justice, to impair Mr. 
Palmer's property by forcing it out of a theatre where 
tt had such momentum. As a matter of fact, the new 
partners were right. Miss Morton's manager would 
have benefited rather than have lost by some financial 
accommodation that would have deferred their premiere. 
"The Merchant" was produced in warm weather and 
was not successful. 

Charles Frohman knew nearly all the men then play- 
ing in the American theatre. He had travelled with 
Huverly's and Callender's Minstrels, with modest ven- 
tures of his own; he was a most approachable and hu- 
man person, and with his little office* just one flight of 
stairs up from the Broadway sidewalk, where anybody 
entered without knocking in those days, his acquaintance 
and his popularity rapidly grew. After "Shenandoah" 1 
he acquired a lease of the Twenty-third Street Theatre, 
between Sixth and Seventh avenues, and produced "Men 
and Women," by Belaseo and De Mille, on the model of 
the plays they were then supplying the Lyceum. This 
was fallowed by other dramas and a string of farces* pro- 
vided by the skilfully original as well as adapting pen of 
William Gillette. This success built for him the still 
beautiful Kmpire Theatre at Broadway and I'Wtieth 
Street, which he opened with Belaseo's line melodrama, 
"The Gii I I Left Behind Me/* in which Frank Morduunt, 
William Morris, Theodore Roberts, and others appeared 
with the boy actor, Wallie Edclinger, as Dick. 

rear room, Charles Frohman had his first office under h 
own name. He was another of these men. 

Erlanger's genius was of the synthetic kind; he ha 
the faculty of combination. Very rapidly, under h 
activity, there was built up the first big syndicate ( 
American theatres controlling the best time on the roac 
Charles Frohman's vision was the supplementing one c 
producer. He also knew the country, the tastes of th 
people, and had an uncanny flair for what would be a< 
ceptable. But both men, and lesser ones with whor 
they were associated, approached the whole theatric 
question along the lines of availability and salesman 
ship. What were the things for which there was a mai 
ket, and how rapidly could the public interest in ther 
be created, stimulated, and expanded? These two set 
of managers, the Palmer-Daly-Daniel Frohman groui 
on one side, and the Charles Frohman-Hayman-Erlange 
group on the other, approached the business from entirel; 
different points and with entirely different methods. Ai 
example of approach and method is furnished by "Ala 
bama." When that play was produced in April, 1891 
there was ahead of it in the Madison Square Theatn 
but four weeks. After that time Mr. Palmer had rentec 
his theatre for Martha Morton's play, "The Merchant/ 
and although "Alabama" immediately played to ca 
pacity and would have rapidly restored the failing for 
tunes of Mr. Palmer, it never occurred to him to depar 
from the arrangement made to sublet his theatre. Tc 
get ready money, he was therefore obliged to sell a hal 




Clay M. Greene, in a burlesque of that play, had the 
_ Jonel in agony, reading news of an injury to Irttle^Dicfe, 
hand the telegraph tape to the major and say: "Take 
it. I must get back." 

"Back where?" 

"To the centre of the stage/' 

FII talk about me. 

We were friends, Charles Frohman and I, from our 
first meeting in 1882 until he was lost on the Lusitania 
m I9 ! 5 thirty-three years. After 1892 he produced 
nine plays of mine "Surrender/' "Colorado," "The 
Man Upstairs/ 5 "The Other Girl/' "Mrs. LeffingweH's 
Boots," "De Lancey," "On the Quiet/' "The Harvest 
Moon/' and "Indian Summer," and five others which 
I had rewritten but did not sign. I don't remember that 
we ever signed a contract, and I am sure that we never 
had a difference. He was among the first men upon whom 
I called when I first came to New York to go with the 
Marlowe company, and when I returned with the thought- 
reader Bishop. He was the first manager to ask me for a 
play after my coming to the city. I wrote for him many 
bits not mentioned above. These little things were often 
written in his presence as he pushed a piece of paper 
across the desk when a subject came up in some related 
talk. He had a fashion of doing that with other play- 
wrights Gillette, or Fitch, or Carleton and it was great 
fun to give him some bit for one of his girl stars and hear 
him say, "That will go in to-night." 

There was never any talk of remuneration for these 
little things, as the burden of obligation, if obligation 
existed, was always so heavily on the other side for the 
hundreds of little courtesies that he found one way or 
another of extending. Charles Frohman had a fine dra- 

-I 4*l I !?./ c,!/ I n/vfj\'/;f /'; jhtttic! }' mltntttn , 


matic sense, and without attempting exactly imitation 
had the mimetic faculty that suggested the object of 
his protrait quite as definitely. Men amused him much, 
and when he told of his last visitor the interview was 
likely to be vividly dramatized. I remember a report 
of a visit of Colonel Alfriend, the Southern author of 
whom I have written. 

C. F., with his irresistible twinkle, said, "The colonel 
was here to see me," and then without another word 
there was the pantomime of the high hat laid carefully 
on the table, one finger after another of one glove care- 
fully withdrawn, then the entire glove straightened out 
and laid across the hat; the same treatment for the other 
hand; the silk- faced overcoat carefully taken off, shaken 
out at the collar, folded, laid over the back of the chair; 
the button of the surtout carefully adjusted at the waist; 
mustaches stroked, and the victim transfixed with a 
steady and piercing gaze. The scenario of a play was 
drawn from one inside breast-pocket. 

But C. F., in propria, interrupted "I am going to 
do a play by J. M. Barrie for Miss Adams. If you had 
brought me in something for Miller " 

Then C. F. was stopped; another scenario came from 
the other inside pocket. This was not exactly the kind 
of story that was wanted. Then, still as the colonel, 
C. F. put one hand over his head like the legendary Wes- 
terner getting a bowie knife, and drew a third phantom 
scenario from the back of his coat collar, this last gesture 
burlesque, but so in character that it was impossible to 
find the line dividing it from preceding comedy. 

Charles Frohman had a bit of philosophy that he car- 
ried through life. He had learned that existence was 
supportable if he had one real laugh in the day. Among 


men interested in art and the theatre as connoisseur 
patrons the wisest that I know is Mr. Thomas B. C 
I was at a loss to comprehend his standard of exce 
in the drama until I heard him say one time tha~ 
play which for two consecutive seconds made hin 
get himself, made the playhouse disappear and hi 
feel that he was in the presence of a real event, w* 
him a notable play. He said: 

"One seldom gets from a studio a canvas of un 
excellence throughout. There will be one feature 
better than the others. I can prize it for that fe; 
And if I get a play with the scene I have indicated 
three or four times when the scene is on to get the 
pleasure from it that I get from the excellent note 

C. F. seemed to apply an equal theory to relas 
and the day's conduct. The thing that amused hi 
would write upon a blotting-pad, and recover some 
of its joy by telling it to many a subsequent visitor, 
ing the rehearsals of "The Other Girl" referred 
previous chapters we had on our third or fourtl 
reached the first repetition of the second act. I w 
the stage with manuscript and a blue pencil, the 
pany standing about, slowly marking positions o: 
parts, when C F/s office-boy came with an en\ 
carrying across its back the well-known blue disp] 
Maude Adams' name. As the boy waited for an a: 
the rehearsal stopped long enough for me to rea 
sheet inside. 

It carried in large and hurried handwriting, in cc 
crayon, "How are you getting along at rehearsals 
out me?" 

Taking the inquiry at its face value from a busy 



I wrote across the note one word, "Great," handed it 
to the boy, and forgot it. Two days later I stopped in 
at the office for some necessary conference. His letter 
with my comment was pinned on the wall. 

He said: "That furnished me laughs for two days. 
I showed it to everybody." 

^ He was also a practical joker, and would go to con- 
siderable lengths, but never with any of the cruelty or 
lack of consideration that practical jokes sometimes 
breed. When "Alabama" went on its second visit to 
Chicago he was interested in the management. 

He^said: "Til bet you that it'll do a bigger business 
than it did the first time." 

As it was to be in the same house and we had played 
to capacity the first time, I didn't see how that could 
be, and said so. He wanted to bet, nevertheless, and 
rejecting cigars and hats as stakes he fixed upon a suit 
of clothes. I demurred, feeling that it was unsportsman- 
like to bet on a sure thing. He generously gave me that 
advantage, however. The business on the second trip 
was nearly double, because of the fact, of which C. F. 
was aware, and I not when he made the bet, that the 
play had been chosen for the local police benefit and all 
patrolmen of Chicago were selling tickets. The increased 
royalties reconciled me to the loss of the bet. The bill 
for the suit of clothes came in with C. F/s indorsement. 
The price, one hundred dollars, amused him greatly. 
We must remember that back in 1892 fifty or sixty dol- 
lars was a fair sum for a suit of clothes. C. F. was fond 
of telling all this when he had me and some other man 
in his office. 

Considerably later he was to open with a new play, 
the name of which did not please him. On his blotter 


he had a half-dozen alternative titles suggested by per- 
sons who had called during the day. The man who gave 
the winning title was to get a suit of clothes. He told 
me the story. I suggested "Never Again/ 5 which C F. 
wrote on the blotter and said would be taken under con- 
sideration. My wife and I dined down town that night 
and went to a play. As we were coming up town to the 
Grand Central Station all of the exposed ash-barrels, 
boxes, and temporary scaffolds were being covered with 
snipe advertising of "Never Again." I went to an ex- 
pensive firm and ordered their best suit; the price was 
one hundred dollars. I asked them if there wasn't some 
way to increase it, and after fastidious additions induced 
them to boost it to one hundred and fifteen. C. F. added 
that to his story. 

With the success of "Alabama" the continued avidity 
of the public for the Southern type drew Mr. Palmer's at- 
tention to " Colonel Carter/' by Francis Hopkinson Smith. 
The story, which had appeared in one of the magazines, 
was already in book form and was probably a best seller; 
one heard of it everywhere. I had carte blanche as to 
material, but felt a little overawed by the popularity of 
the book and the authority of its author. The play was 
only mildly successful, but it marked a very notable 
date in my own affairs, a friendship with that man of 
such extraordinary versatility, Hop Smith, as his friends 
called him, that lasted until his death in 1915. I have at 
hand no scrap-book to spring upon the defenseless reader, 
but I think it an act of simple justice to the author of 
the book to quote from "The Wallet of Time," by Wil- 
liam Winter, America's greatest critic of the theatre: 

"Coming as it did at a time when the stage was being 
freely used for the dissection of turpitude and disease, 


that play came like a breeze from the pine-woods in a 
morning of spring." And of the wonderful artist, dear 
Ned Holland, he writes: "His success was decisive. The 
GJemt'I -with his remarkable black coat that could be 
adjusted for all occasions by a judicious manipulation 
of the buttons, his frayed wristbands, his shining trou- 
sers, his unconsciously forlorn poverty, and his unquench- 
able spirit of hope, love, and honor was, in that remark- 
able performance, a picturesque, lovable reality." 

With the production of "Carter" completed, and with 
plavs for Goodwin, Crane, and Charles Frohman to write, 
1 ended my connection with Mr. Palmer and turned to 
the wider field. Mr. Palmer had about decided to aban- 
don management anyway, although, with his caution 
over any considered step, he did not do so for two years. 

During those* two years he produced "Trilby" at the 
Garden Theatre and one or two plays at his own house, 
in which the bru.utiful Maxine Elliott made her first ap- 
pearance, Mr. Palmer, who had been a public librarian 
in his youth, was the most eulttvated manager I knew 
personally -1 never met Augustm Daly. But Mr. Pal- 
mer's culture made him timid in a business that was fast 
olierinn premiums for adventure. I remember the melan- 
choly of the man in his gradual retirement, as during 
that' period he said to me: "I'm an old man" he was 
considerably under sixty at the time "and I cannot 
eompete with these younger men who are coming into 
the field." lie named particularly Charles Frohman and 
Mr. Krlan^er, 

It would he of interest to remember the kind of world 
in which we then were living in that period beginning in 
iKc>2 and covering the next five years of which I now 
write. The President of the United States was Grover 

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Thomas P. Gilroy was mayor of New York City; the 
community \vas busy discussing rapid transit and the 
prospect for a first subway, for which it seemed Impos- 
sible to borrow money. There was a great stir in mu- 
nicipal consciousness all over the country. L. S. Ellert 
hud just been elected mayor of San Francisco on an inde- 
pendent ticket and a promise to give clean business as 
opposed to the sand-lot variety of politics. Mayor Pin- 
gree, of Detroit, had won on a campaign for city lighting. 
Mayor William Henry Eustace of Minneapolis was clos- 
ing u business administration, and although contracts 
with the lighting companies had five years to run, Min- 
nt'upulis was resolving at the termination of that time to 
have her own electric plants, Chicago was hoping to 
elect Mayor Harrison in order to have his direction dur- 
ing the period of the World's Fair. And Nathan Mat- 
thews, mayor of Boston, had been elected on a ticket 
for municipal lighting and an extension of the transit, 

For the season of Vji "02 my wife and 1 had resumed 
possession of our apartment on the upper floor of the 
Oriental Hotel on the Thirty-ninth Street side, overlook- 
ing the roof of the Casino. In the summer and early 
autumn evenings we could sit at the window or on the 
little lire-escape balcony thereby and see the operatic 
performance on the Casino roof as comfortably as if from 
a private box, though a bit remote. Part of our royul- 

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Persons intm-sted in play-writing and I am per- 
suadrd they an* not Few in number will see how that 
dears tlu^utmosphere. When you must or may write 
fur a Mar it i . a big start to have the character agreeably 
ami tlrimiirlv chosen. To secure the love interest, I 
thought of a jiiri who would be of a little finer strain than 
the siu'iitf Upr indicated, and the necessity for conflict 
suggested a rival. The rival should be attractive but 
unworthy, and to make him doubly opposed to Good- 
win, 1 dtriiird to have him an outlaw, some one it would 
lie the sheriffs duty and businessbusiness used in the 
stage sense in arrest. 

I have told in earlier chapters of my experience with 
Jim Cumminjjs, tin* express robber, who had given a 
messenger on the Missouri-Pacific road a forged order to 
carry him in his car, and then after some friendly inter- 
course* had tied the messenger and got olf the train with 
a suitcase full of greenbacks. The need for a drama 
criminal decided me to make use of Cummings as Good- 
win^ rival, a glorified and beautiful matinee Cummings, 
but substantially him. This adoption rescued the sheriff 
and the girl from the hazy geography of the mining- 
camps in which my mind had been groping and fixed 
the trio in Mi//oura. 

Newspaper experience in those days before the flimsy 
and the rewrite* emphasi/ecl the value of going to the place 
in order to re-port an occurrence, and I knew that, aside 
from I first* tht'rc characters and their official and senti- 
mental relationship, the rest of my people and my play 
were waiting for me in Bowling Green, Mi'/y.oura. I 
told (looduin of the character and the locality, got his 
approval of the idea that far, and took a train for Pike 


In tl<o,r da\s Mrs. Ti .MM a'id I asrJ to ho'd hands 
n our r\ruii l( . | MMi-na ? > ,; !><l I fhn^ if - n'div 

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said hr'd v* t Id I hr ?i? > f : ;M t hr !,f \f j*' I MM, . 

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the only passengers except a man who sat well forward 
by the heater and seemed in trouble. When the con- 
ductor, whom I knew, came along I asked him about 
the man. lie said: "That's Nat Dryden. You must 
know him/* 

1 did. I went forward to Dryden's seat, lie was weep- 
ing and muttering to himself, though slightly consoled 
by liquor. 

When I spoke to him ho turned to me for sympathy 
and said: "Oh, (Ins, (Jus\ Nancy died last night/ 1 

Nancy was his wife, and was known as one of the hand- 
somest \\omen in Missouri. 

"Yes, last ni*'ht ! And, oh, (Jus, how she loved you!" 

41 Why, I don't think I ever met your wife." 

"1 know it. But you remember that convention at 
Jefferson City when I was a candidate for attorney-gen- 

I nodded, 

"The fourth ballot was a tie between me and that 
blankety-blank-blank from Galloway County. You were 
at the reporters' table. At a pause in the proceedings 
you rose from your impotent and inopportune seat, and 
addressing that eonvention in which you had no rights 
\\hntever you said in u loud voice: 'I want it distinctly 

understood that the press of this State is for Nat Dry- 

a# ** 

I nodded. 

44 Dear boy, it beat me. But I went home and told it 
to Nuney, and we've loved you ever since/' 

My wife and I stopped only a day in St. Louis, and 
then 'we started back for New York. There are few better 
places than a railroad train for building stories. The 
rhvthmic click of the wheels past the fishplates makes 

of my contending people. But that is a relief that must 
be deferred. Like overanxious litigants, the characters 
are disposed to talk too much and must be controlled 
and kept in bounds by a proportioned scenario, assign- 
ing order and respective and progressive values to them. 

Before beginning to write I submitted the story to 
Goodwin. He was playing at the Fifth Avenue Theatre 
at the time, I think, in Henry Guy Carleton's "Ambi- 
tion," but I am positive about his rooms at the Worth 
House annex of the Hoffman House just across Twenty- 
fifth Street. I called by appointment at twelve o'clock. 
Nat had been a little wild the night before, and was now 
propped repentantly against his pillows. As I entered 
the room a German waiter was standing at the foot of 
the bed with an order blank in his hand. Nat was study- 
ing the menu with a most regretful discrimination. 
Faintly assuming my permission, he gave his order, the 
obsequious German responding and writing down. 

"Bring me a wine-glass of orange juice/' 

"Vine-glass, oranch juice/' 

"Dry toast/' 

"Jez-sir, try doast." 

"Piece of salt mackerel." 

The waiter answered and wrote. Long pause by Nat. 

"Cup of coffee." 

"Coffee, jez-sir." 


Following Nat's appealing look, I explained to the 
puzzled waiter the significance of the last instruction. 

Goodwin was so enthusiastic about the story that it 

THE EARLY 90'S 315 

was an added stimulation to the writing of it. I got a 
little inside room near our apartment in the Oriental 
and began work on the play, which as far as dialogue 
went almost wrote itself. One night in particular, after 
talking in minute detail the third act to Goodwin, really 
playing it with him, I went to my table after an early 
and light dinner, but with some coffee that I had the 
bell-boy bring at irregular times, and other reinforce- 
ments not so deadly, and wrote the entire third act of 
the play before the daylight came through the windows. 
I was a good deal of a wreck when it was finished, and 
the handwriting was difficult to read; but when finally 
transcribed it was never altered, and the play could be 
prompted from that script to-day. 

Early in the World's Fair time there came a chance 
to do the play at Hooley's. Goodwin had a fine com- 
pany, somewhat miscast in some particulars, but all of 
ability, with handsome Frank Carlyle as the villain and 
a tower of strength in Mclntosh, whom I persuaded 
Goodwin to take when he had been rather set on getting 
McKee Rankin, a much more expensive and older actor. 
We had exactly eleven days in which to produce the 
piece. It was one of Goodwin's greatest first nights. I 
had frequently been behind the curtain with Nat in other 
plays, but never saw him begin one. That night in Chi- 
cago he had a perfect case of seasickness, and with diffi- 
culty controlled his nausea during the acts. He told 
me then that his nervousness always affected him that 
way with a new play. 

I shall never forget his pale face nor his descriptive 
line as during one of the intermissions he looked up at 
me and said: "My boy, a first night is a hoss race that 
lasts three hours." 

Senator/' and looking about for a play to follow it. 
Crane some years before had had a play by Clay M. 
Greene. called "Sharps and Flats/' in which he and Rob- 
son had jointly starred, and Greene had rewritten for 
Robson and Crane some other script. Joseph Brooks, 
Crane's manager, wished Greene and me to write to- 
gether. It was arranged that Greene and I meet Crane 
at his summer home, Cohasset. Greene was to be in that 
neighborhood with a yachting party. My wife and I 
planned to stop on our way to Ocean Point, Boothbay 
Harbor, Maine, where Mr. Eugene Presbrey and his 
wife, Annie Russell, had a bungalow, to which they had 
invited us for part of the summer. 

At Mr. Crane's home I found a request from Greene 
for Crane and me to come to Boston, where a yacht on 
which Greene was a guest was anchored. This was agree- 
able, as Crane had his own steam yacht, the Senator, 
and was in the habit of running up to Boston once or 
twice a week on excuses not nearly so good. Greene's 
host was Harry M. Gillig, owner of the schooner yacht 
Ramona. The Senator anchored near by and our party 
went aboard the Ramona, where, with Harry Gillig play- 
ing a taropatch and Frank Unger strumming a banjo, 
the distinguished comedian showed the boys that he 
could still shake a foot. Crane began professional life 
as a basso in a comic opera company, and went from 
that into Rice's burlesque, " Evangeline," in which as Le 
Blanc he had not only to sing and act, but to dance. Be- 
sides the jollity of it there was an amusing incongruity 
in the sight of the sedate Senator in yachtsman's fa- 


tigue doing a rattling jig on the deck of the schooner. 
After a jovial afternoon Crane went home alone to Co- 
hnsset, and my wife and I joined the cabin party of the 
sehooner yaeht tinder Gillig's promise to sail us up to 
Prrshrev's, an easy cruise of two or three days. 

Harry Gillig, Californian, had recently married a 
daughter of a California multi-millionaire. This young 
couple wrn* on their honeymoon. The Gillies had with 
them a Western party, including, besides Mr. and Mrs. 
Greene* I Tank Unger, father of Gladys linger, the young 
playwright of to-day; Theodore Wonvs, painter; Charles 
Warren Stodkiurd, poet, author of "South Sea Idyls"; 
Harry Woodruff, aetor; and Charles Thomas, partner of 
Charles Hoyt, of the younger group of managers. Gillrg 
and Unger, as members of the Bohemian Club, San Fran- 
cisco, were also members of The Lambs, \\here I had met 
them and lnr t un an intimate friendship that fasted as long 
as both men lived, 

By the time the Ramom* reached Boothbay Harbor, 
Gillig and his eabin party were opposed to my wife and 
rue* leaving for the visit to Presbrey. The amiable con- 
test was adjusted by our spending a few days ashore 
while the boat entisecl near by, and our then rejoining 
for a run to Bar Harbor and back, when our host took 
Presbrey aboard, too, for a sail back to New York. Any 
cruise so composed and dowered can (ill pages with its 
record, I shall not write a line, but will leave all to sym- 
pathetic understanding under the embracing words of 
youth arid fellowship, sail and song and sea, and summer. 

It would be with the greatest regret that I would elimi- 
nate* from my t-xperienees that summer and parts of two 
subsequent ones on the Rnmtma, and yet 1 think that 
nearly all the embarrassment that comes from having 

strawberries, as ivir. ivieivmc otuuc icmt^o, .^^c^ov, ^\, 
feared they would spoil his taste for prunes; and then 
we people of the theatre are so easily misled by appear- 
ance, and also by a creative wish to realize a fancy. Only 
three or four years ago I met Henry Miller in San Fran- 
cisco, where, like myself, he had come to put on some 
plays in that summer. 

"Hello, Henry ! Why aren't you on a vacation after 
your busy season at your New York theatre?" 

"Because I was not content with a place in the coun- 
try good enough for any man to live in, but being a damn 
fool theatrical person had to build stone walls around 
it, and terraces, and make a production. Now I'm still 
working to pay for it. 53 

On the Ramona, Greene and I hammered out a story 
we thought would do for Crane's play. It wasn't easy, 
because Crane, like all the comedians at that time, 
wanted a comedy-drama, something that would give 
him a chance for the untried substantial powers he was 
sure he possessed. With this story in hand we had a 
season ahead of us in which to write the dialogue. 

Although again getting a little out of the order of 
events, for the sake of cohesion I will jump ahead to the 
production of the Crane play which we called "For 
Money." It was a four-act construction, and with a 
dominant serious note. Crane played a man who had 
been embittered by finding in his dead wife's locket, 
which he had thought contained his own portrait, the 
picture of another man. This unhappy discovery had 
been made many years before the opening of our story, 

THE EARLY 90'S 319 

and the ingenue of the play, who had come under his 
protection, speaking in pride of her antecedents, showed 
to Crane a portrait of her father. The unhappy star 
was to regard it and say in a quiet undertone to himself, 
"The man whose picture I found on my dead wife's 

Charles Thorne or John Mason or Lucien Guitry might 
have got away with that line, but when Crane spoke it, 
registering a startled surprise, and spreading his hands 
in a manner that had been irresistible in the old-time 
comedy of " Forbidden Fruit/' the house rocked with 

Greene said: "Some of 'em wanted to cheer for the 
man in the picture." 

The performance was in Cleveland, where Greene and 
I had a few friends. Sympathetic people tried to restore 
the equilibrium of the play by appreciating its other 
serious values, but as Greene said at our little post-mor- 
tem when the evening was over: "Yes, people came to 
me in the lobby and said they liked it, but they didn't 
slap me on the back/' 

By the end of the week Brooks and I took blame for 
our fall-down in equal shares. The play wasn't as good 
as it might have been, and Crane didn't handle serious 
stuff as well as he hoped he would. 

I once made a caricature in my guest book of Francis 
Wilson, under which Frank wrote, "Du sublime au ridi- 
cule il n'y a qu'un pas, which some years later I was able 
to translate. But the fact of the easy step from the sub- 
lime to the ridculous I knew by experience. Two weeks 
ahead Crane's time for his New York season at the Star 
Theatre was waiting for him. 

I said: "Joe, I think I can save the printing, the 



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Civil War to take a comedy view of some of its episodes, 
and that after the many serious plays that had handled 
it the public would be glad to have the subject treated 
humorously. C. F. thought so too. He liked the script 
as I gave it to him, and it was turned over to Eugene 
Presbrey to rehearse in Boston. Presbrey was so ap- 
preciative of its values that he thought it a mistake to 
make a farce of it, and after a conference with C. F., 
who went over to look at the rehearsals, they decided 
to play it seriously, stressing melodramatically every pos- 
sible point and introducing a horse. When I arrived at 
about the dress rehearsal the enthusiasm of those two 
men overbore my first conception of the story, and we 
went to the public with it as a serious play. It lasted 
on the road only some sixteen weeks. 

Maude Banks, the daughter of General Banks, was 
playing in the piece the part of the only Northern girl. 
A requirement of the script and of the part was a blue 
silk sash on her white dress, as I remembered the young 
women of war days declaring their loyalty. At the dress 
rehearsal Miss Banks declined to destroy the effect of 
her white dress by putting any color on it, preferring to 
leave the company rather than be disloyal to her dress- 
maker. C. F. said it was too late to do anything about 
it, and the young lady's whim prevailed. I don't think 
she ever played under Mr. Frohman's management again. 

Louis Aldrich, a stalwart actor who as a star had won 
great reputation in Bartley Campbell's "My Partner" 
and other dramas, played a Southern general with a line 
that I had taken verbatim from an assertion by Colonel 
Alfriend that the South had whipped the North on a 
thousand fields and had never lost except when over- 
come by superior numbers. Aldrich declined to deliver 


this speech, because personally he was a Northern man, 
so that altogether we had considerable trouble with our 
temperamental actors. There came a time in C. F/s 
experience and development, however, when he was 
somewhat more insistent on the effects that he wanted, 
and when actors were not so ready to oppose him. 

In the spring of 1892 we built at New Rochelle the 
house which is still our home. The versatile, volatile 
Sydney Rosenfeld at that time was among the first if 
not actually the principal librettist of America, and a 
writer of comedies. He had one or two successes on 
Broadway, and he and I were very closely associated in 
The Lambs. At his suggestion we went to New Rochelle 
to find land on which to drive our stakes. For some 
reason or other Sydney postponed his building and finally 
abandoned the intention. I recall our first day's nego- 
tiation with Sydney's friend from whom we hoped to 
buy the land. Mr. Leo Bergholz, ever since that time 
in the United States consular service, was showing us a 
little pine thicket on his own land, densely grown, the 
ground covered with fallen needles. He had a pretty 
wit, but stood somewhat in awe of the great Rosenfeld, 
who wrote smart dialogue for the Francis Wilson operas 
and had also been an editor of Puck. 

Commenting on the seclusion of this copse, Bergholz 
said: "No ray of sunshine ever penetrates this gloomy 
fastness/ 5 

When neither of us smiled at this mediaeval utterance, 
Bergholz repeated it. With some difficulty we continued 
serious. As Bergholz approached it for the third time 
he lifted his hands after the manner of a coryphee, and 
dancing in most amateurish fashion a feeble jig, he said 
again: "No ray of sunshine ever penetrates this gloomy 


, looking solemnly at Leo's feet, remarked: 

gloomiest f tness I ever sa 


. drawn 
ferences as 

** believe that an essential feature ^ o to 

Vture was a rooT that could be s^ en^ 

Barnes, the house .should .droop its wing 

Weltered brood like a mo er f } 

.ketch that I t 

a.txd which my wife sti 

o a the back of an envelope >** r 

to our joint needs. When . ** 

to New Rochelle to board m order to 

prise. There was no hot^ JU* one of 

m the place was kept by two elder Y 

a Mrs. David whose ^husband had b ^ ^ 

merchant of that ^^^Fort Sfocuin, had been 
David's Island, now occup^d by ^ andt 

named. We were -a^^^n. I ave them ^ 
inquired for ours. Witn nib p heard 

name of Bronson Howard. They had 

^ we wen 
near tlie ente r- 

They had never heard of that. 

was superseded by an experience of my own. In 1909 
Mr. Shubert asked me to go to Chicago to overlook the 
performance that the John Mason company were giving 
in my play, "The Witching Hour/' at the Garrick Thea- 
tre. I purposely stood in the lobby until the curtain had 
gone up, and then in my most humorous manner asked 
the man in the box-office if he passed the profession. The 
lobby was filled with posters bearing Shubert's and 
Mason's names, and my own, in that order of impor- 
tance and display. The treasurer asked my name, the 
branch of the profession in which I was. I told him. 
He asked me the names of some plays I had written. I 
named four or five, omitting "The Witching Hour/' 
He said he would have to ask the manager. The man- 
ager came to the box-office window, put me through the 
same questionnaire, and shook his head; and it was only 
when I told him how he would disappoint Mr. Shubert, 
and pointed to the three-sheet bearing the name I had 
.given him, that he in any way associated the sound with 
the type. 

At New Rochelle I became intimately acquainted with 
Frederic Remington and E. W. Kemble. These two 
illustrators had been friends for some time elsewhere, 
and were great companions; but the most beautiful side 
of their friendship needed a third for its precipitation. 
Kemble is universally amusing when he cares to be. Few 
men are his equal in putting the spirit of caricature into 
ordinary verbal report or comment; even his famous 
"Kemble Koons" do not show such sure fun. Reming- 
ton responded promptly to Kemble* s comedy, however 


expressed. Most men who know it do the same, but 
Remington went further. When Kemble had left him 
after any interview, all of Kemble's woes of which Rem- 
ington had been the repository were suddenly dwarfed 
in the larger horizon of Remington's experiences and 
transmuted into side-splitting jokes. In his mind, Kem- 
ble was never grown up; and Kemble reciprocated. 

Remington's throes, viewed through Kemble's prism, 
were just as amusing. They took even each other's art 
as playfellows take each other's games. There were 
years when much of their leisure was passed in company. 
Their understanding was mutual and immediate. One 
night after the theatre, on the train home from New 
York, sitting together, Remington was by the car win- 
clow, Kemble next to the aisle. An obstreperous com- 
muter was disturbing the passengers, men and women. 
The busy conductor's admonition had been ineffective, 
the brakeman's repeated expostulations useless. The 
men passengers seemed cowed; the rowdy was gaming 
confidence. On his third blatant parade through the 
car, and as he passed Kemble's side, Remington's two 
hundred and fifty pounds of bone and muscle reached 
out into the aisle, and with the precision of a snapping 
turtle lifted him from his feet like a naughty boy and 
laid him face downward over Kemble's interposing lap. 
With the spirit of perfect team-work, as Remington held 
the ruffian, Kemble spanked him, while the legs in the 
aisle wriggled frantically for a foothold. The correction, 
prolonged and ample, was accompanied by roars of laugh- 
ter from fifty other passengers. Being done, Remington 
stood the offender on his feet. The man began a threat- 
ening tirade. Before half a sentence was uttered Rem- 
ington had him again exposed to Kemble s rhythmic 


tattoo. This was enough, and when again release* 
fellow promptly left the car for the seclusion o; 

In those early go's my sculptor friend Rucks 
relation to life was not unlike my own. He was woi 
in a department of art where there was no regulari 
income, and where his opportunities were the rest 
competition. Next to getting an order for a play 
finding a story satisfactory to a star or manager 
seeing RuckstuII win a commission in a compel 
where his sketch had been approved. When he go 
order for the Hartranft equestrian statue to go i 
front of the Capitol at Harrisburg it made quite a 
stir in our colony. Besides myself, both Remingtor 
Kemble were artistically interested. 

After one has submitted a sculptured model si 
which is perhaps eighteen or twenty inches high 
procedure toward the heroic group that is finally " 
in bronze is through what is called a fourth-sized mo 
say, for horse and man perhaps four feet high. I 
stull decided to make his final clay model of the fin 
group in France. Studio rent, plaster-casting, an< 
final bronze, together with one's own living for the 
that the work would require, would all be so : 
cheaper that such a foreign residence, with some 
of a holiday color to it, would about pay for itself, 
fourth-sized model, however, he would make in this < 
try, and for the fun that it would be for all of us ] 
suaded him to put up a half shade on some open gi 
back of our house at New Rochelle and do the 

Remington, a very methodic worker himself, d< 
his ability to play in off hours, got up early, put 

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THE EARLY 90'S 32? 

entire forenoon, and with the interruption of a light lunch 
worked until nmrly three o'clock. Then every day dur- 
ing this stay of Ruekst all's Remington came over to look 
at the progress of the model He once said that when 
he died lie wanted to have written on his tomb: "He 
knew the horse/* And that could be said of Remington 
about as truthfully as of any other artist that has ever 
lived In America. RuekstuII also knew the horse, but 
from another angle. It was interesting to hear the dis- 
putes of these two experts as RuekstuIFs horse pro- 
grossed in its modelling, Remington always arguing for 
the wire-drawn Western specimen and RuekstuII stand- 
ing for the more monumental, picturesque horse of the 
Eastern breeders. 

During that time I went: to Remington's studio one 
day, where he was drawing a Westerner shooting up a 
barroom. That hulking figure in the foreground, how- 
ever, obstructed other detail that he wished to show. 
Remington immediately dusted off the charcoal outline, 
and instead drew his gunman in the background shooting 
down the room. 

I said: 4I I'Yed, you're not a draftsman; you're a sculp- 
tor. You saw all round that fellow, and could have put 
him anywhere you wanted him. They call that the sculp- 
tor's degree,* of vision/* 

Remington laughed, but later RuekstuII sent him 
some tools and a supply of modeler's wax, and he began 
his < Bronco Bust erf * It was characteristic of the man 
that his first attempt should be a subject difficult enough 
as a technical problem to have daunted a sculptor of 
rxperienee and a master of teehnie. His love of the work 
when he got at it, Ins marvellous aptitude for an art in 
which he hud never had a single lesson, are some evidence 


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membrred so pleasantly Mr. HowcIIs' little comedies, 
* 4 The Elevator; 1 "The Garroters," "Register," and the 
like, printed in 1884 and 1885 in Harper's. Slightly op- 
posing Mr. Howard, I took the liberty of suggesting that 
that might be the case. 

Very definitely this veteran then asked me: "Thomas, 
what is a dramatist?" 

I answered: 4 *A man who writes plays/' 

"Exactly! What plays have these men written?" 
Then reinforcing his position he told me that the capacity 
to write plays invariably evinced itself in a disposition 
to do so before middle life. When called upon to speak, 
however, Mr. Howard took a sympathetic attitude to- 
ward the venture and talked encouragingly. One other 
speech that 1 remember in a general way is that of Mr. 
Henry C. De Mille, father of the present De Mille boys 
of dramatic and motion-picture fame. One line par- 
ticularly had a considerable influence on my way of think- 
ing. De Mille reported a proposition by Harper Brothers 
that he should write for them a set of rules for play- 

He said: "I at first accepted the commission, but 
later declined for the reason that I feared that if I once 
formulated a set of rules for writing a play I might some 
time be tempted to follow them." 

It was about that time that Frederic Remington, 
speaking of his own art, as illustrator and painter, said 
to me: "Tommy, if I felt cocksure of anything about my 
business I would begin to be afraid of myself." 

The resolution of each of these experts to keep a per- 
fectly open mind about the things they were doing went 
far toward retarding my own ossification. 

Mr. McDowell established his Theatre of Arts and 

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THE EARLY 90'S 331 

to ^ntcral laughter that almost closed the performance. 
It is interesting at least to me, that out of this expensive 
essay these somewhat technical points should be the 
lasting impressions, and that all the fine literary offer- 
ings intended tor the reformation of the theatre should 
have so vanished. 

In these early oo's Joseph Brooks conceived the idea 
of having a play written with George Washington as the 
central character. This was suggested by the resem- 
blance between the portrait of Washington and that of 
Joseph Holland, then at the height of his popularity as 
an actor. Brooks's idea was to associate Joe and his older 
brother Edmund. I undertook to write the play, and 
mack* a fairly thorough study of Washington's life and 
times. Avoiding the error of the biographical play which 
tries to cover too much, I confined my story to the period 
when Washington was a colonel of the Virginia militia, 
and before he had married Martha Custis. I found a 
character for Kd Holland in Virginia's Scotch governor, 
Dinwiddie. When the play was done the professional 
engagements of the two men did not allow them to under- 
take it immediately, and before both were at liberty one 
had fallen ill. The joint project was abandoned. Having 
faith in the play, I wanted to see it tried, and for that 
purpose went to Boston, where the Castle Square Stock 
Company at that time had as leading man Jack Gilmour, 
bearing considerable resemblance in face and figure to 
the traditional Washington. This stock company played 
a new play every week, having only live rehearsals in 
which to prepare- 
On our first night a young actor who was playing 
Bryan /-air/ax, with two scenes in the first act, was not 
at hand when we readied his second one. The usual 


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THE EARLY 90'S 333 

been two years at Harvard College under romantic con- 
ditions. Harry had won the affections of a daughter of 
a wealthy family whose members objected to an actor 
as a husband for the young woman. They agreed, how- 
ever, that if Woodruff would go through Harvard and 
equip himself for another profession the objections would 
be withdrawn. They also agreed to pay his way. While 
Woodruff was at his studies the family took the young 
girl abroad and, with a change of scene and her wider 
opportunities, succeeded in arranging for her an alliance 
with one of the nobility. With this accomplished, the 
family had notified Woodruff that the financial support 
they were giving him at the university would be with- 
drawn. Harry was courageously making arrangements 
to pay his own way through the remaining two years, 
and regretting that he had not secretly married the girl, 
as he had an opportunity to do. 

This possible set of relations a young man in college 
secretly married and the family trying to marry his wife 
to a foreign nobleman struck me as a pretty complica- 
tion for a comedy. Having a contract with Goodwin 
for something to follow "In Mi///,oura," I developed that 
story into a three-act play which I called "Treadway of 
Yale." Goodwin accepted both the scenario and the 
finished script, but before the time came for production 
he married Maxine Elliott, of whose dramatic ability he 
had such high opinion that he thought the comedy gave 
her insufficient chance. He therefore forfeited his ad- 
vance payments on it and returned the script. It was 
produced' some time later under the title of "On the 
Quiet" by William Collier under the management of 
Will Smythe, and later revived by Charles Frohman 
when Collier passed under his direction. Collier went to 

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TOE EARLY 90'S 335 

African tom-tom in a red vest, made its appearance. 
Ja//. was its offspring. Jazz is ragtime triumphant and 
transfigured, the Congo arrived at kingdom come. 

The nation's loot kept time. The two-step gave way to 
the fox-trot and the shimmy came along with jazz. Cen- 
tral Africa saw ghosts. Some moralist speaks of a cer- 
tain ferocity in nature which, "as it had its inlet by 
human crime, must have its outlet by human suffering." 
Why may not jazz be the cutaneous eruption of the virus 
of black slavery? If Davios and Vaughan are accurate 
in their translation of Plato's " Republic" the idea is not 
so novel as the inquiry, for therein Plato says: 

44 The introduction of a new kind of music must be 
shunned as imperilling the whole state, since styles of 
music are never disturbed without affecting the most 
important political institutions. The new style/' he 
goes on, "gradually gaining a lodgment, quietly insinu- 
ates itself into manners and customs; and from these it 
issues in greater force, and makes its way into mutual 
compacts; and from compacts it goes on to attack laws 
and constitutions, displaying the utmost impudence, un- 
til it ends by overturning everything, both in public and 
in private*." 

It might no doubt amuse Plato to take fifty years of 
musical progression in America and check its changes 
against our changing compacts, laws, and constitutions. 

"But, say, this guy Plato where docs he get that 
eompax-ttmU'onstatution stuff? Who wised him to any- 
thing about show business? An' lissun! This Davus 
and Vaughan -words by, music by I never ketch them 
on no big time neither." 

I ; reclerie Remington, with a natural social philosopher's 
view of them as they worked not only in the theatre but 



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In preceding chapters, in trying to tell how I came 
to go at the business of writing plays, to tell how my 
attention was lee! in that direction and how information, 
experience, and material for the work were gathered, I 
have tried to use discrimination. This is probably not 
apparent, but as I mentally review what I have con- 
sidered the high lights of this irregular report I am con- 
scinus of much that has been omitted. 

For example, there were the facts and happenings 
connected with making a play which was called "New 
Blood/* and was produced by Mr. Joseph Brooks late in 
the summer of 1:804. If this publication were political 
in its character I might slam ahead and call a lot of people 
a lot of names, because, fair-minded and unprejudiced 
asM have tried to be, I iVar that I am a good deal par- 
tisan. I have frankly told that as a young man I was a 
Master Workman in the Knights of Labor. I deeply 
sympathized with the working classes of the country, 
to which I thought I belonged, and their problems be- 
came my own as far its study and investigation went, 
and also as far as I could express myself and be tolerated 
as a member of one of the principal political parties. I 
made speeches in all the presidential campaigns after I 
became of ag<S and occasionally talked in local cam- 
paigns in the congressional years. 

It will 1 be remembered that in the early go's two ab- 
sorbing considerations in the country were the trusts 


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and depict came into collision. The most outstanding 
figure <m the labor side was Mr. Eugene Debs, now, in 
!()>:>, in the public eye because of his attitude during 
the \\Wld War and his consequent incarceration at At- 
lanta and his subsequent pardon from that place by 
President Harding, In i8c)4 Mr. Debs had asked that 
a difference of opinion between the Pullman Company 
and the men working in the Pullman car shops at the 
town of Pullman, near Chicago, should be submitted 
to arbitration, Mr. George M. Pullman, the president, 
who hud been a great benefactor, in that lie had built 
a model city for his employees, was deeply hurt at what 
he considered their ingratitude, and declined to discuss 
arbitration. Writing in a maga/ine of his attitude at 
that time, and the various patents the Government had 
granted him, Doctor Albert Shaw said: 

Mr, Pullman should certainly fed very good-natured, indeed, 
toward a nation that has afforded him such unparalleled opportuni- 
ties and has rewarded his talent, and energy with such colossal trib- 
utes of wealth. . . To very many people it seemed clear that he 
ought not to have allowed his local quarrel to go on unsettled and 
unappeased until it had assumed continental proportions. 

The same impartial writer condemned Mr. Debs for 
extending the strike to the American railroad unions 
and through them obstructing trains that: carried Mr. 
Pullman's cars. When Mr. Debs did this he also stopped 
trains on which there were* the United States mails, with 
the* result that President Cleveland stepped into the situ- 
ation, and when our * 4 New Blood" company approached 
Chicago toward the end of July the train on which it 
was ran through a district with miles of burning freight- 
cars on either side and arrived in Chicago to find that 

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burst the new dress in a hurried adjustment, and a second 
act was held several minutes while the modiste put in 
a gore* The whole night took on a tone of unreality. 
In a dispute between Mr. Palmer and Mr. Brooks over 
stage* Iiands, extra ones, though needed, were not en- 
gaged, and altogether it was one o'clock before our first 
performance ended. Our New York press was as bad 
as. Chicago's had been favorable. Charley Frohman saw 
the play in the middle of the week and liked It. But in 
Ins characteristic way he touched at once upon what he 
thought made it faiL 

A .strike-leader who has been shown Into his employer's 
hreakfust-room, after stating his claim and the condition 
of his people, points to the table and says, "What you 
have left there on your plate/* and so on. 

Charley said: "That workman saying, * Those bones 
are as much as one of our families gets for a day/ was 
speaking to a parquet full of people that leave bones. 
You can't say those things on the Atlantic seaboard, 
although you may in Chicago/* 

My own belief is that the play came when papers and 
magaxines were so full of the stuff that the public looking 
for entertainment didn't want any more of it. But it 
hat! been written under conditions less hectic. 

As a playwright I was depressed and needed encour- 
agement. I thought I had been writing from my knowl- 
edge of the Middle West and from my experiences as a 
young man, and that those were all I had that was val- 
uable to tell I was forgetting that a man's education 
may constantly go forward, and if he is a writer or a 
painter or sculptor people would still be interested in 
seeing things through his temperament. An older man 
at that time, L. J. B. Lincoln, said encouraging things. 

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its subject, and because it is a fairly condensed expression 
upon masculine club life in general, and because it is a 
good indication of Lincoln's style as well as a good ex- 
ample of impromptu performances, I wish to quote it. 
He said: 

The evolution of Bohemia as a factor in civilization may be written 
from the annals of clubdom. From the day when neolithic man 
emerged from his cave and discovered that the grape-juice which 
he had squeezed into a cocoanut shell the day before had become a 
beverage whose ruddy glow tingled his heartstrings and made him 
forget his troubles, he became convivial. Becoming convivial, he 
called his friends about him and established a club. Since, an'un- 
broken line of care-dispelling, self-forgetting, self-despising good 
fellows; Arcadians, Corinthians, Bohemians. So the Anglo-Saxon, 
in his gradual absorption of the best things in civilization, has de- 
veloped to its greatest value the essence of club life the dining club. 
Literature in English rings with that especial institution. From the 
imagination of Chaucer in his Canterbury Pilgrimage to the realities 
of Ben Jonson's Apollo and the Mermaid Inn; from the Kit-Kat 
Club, Will's Coffee-House, and the still extant Cheshire Cheese 
with its hallowed chair of Doctor Johnson to the countless groups 
which now meet in and out of Alsatia to engender the flow of wisdom 
which a hospitable round-table can alone induce, there is one long 
and brilliant procession of Bohemians of every rank and class, with- 
out whom language becomes tame, art pedantic, and life, as Mr. Man- 
talini so succinctly put it, "one demnition grind." 

Having been thus respectful to Luther Lincoln's 
memory, and after stating further that he was one of 
the most vital influences of an artistic and literary kind 
that ever came into The Lambs, I hope I shall be for- 
given for talking of him in lighter vein. With all his 
ability to encourage other men, there was a touch of 
fatalistic despondency in him concerning himself. Not 
any of his male forbears of whom he had information 

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sorbeol from his talk and stones in the preceding eight 
or nine years, and added to this equipment a most useful 
admonition from Captain Jack Summcrhayes, whom I 
met in St. Louis, where I stopped a day or two to see 
my people. Summcrhayes was attending to some war 
preparations at Jefferson Barracks and happened in the 
city for that day only. Our meeting was accidental. 
His contribution was this: 

That department letter you carry will command anything those 
iwn can give you; hut they'll feel happier if their contributions seem 
voluntary and come only under the head of General Milcs's permis- 
sion. Also you will find that they are marooned out there, and that 
they will he mighty glad to see you; that about the only thing they 
have worth while to them is their rank, and at all times, especially in 
the presence of their junior officers, the more respect you pay to that, 
the more you do to preserve its traditions, the happier you will make 
those old fellows feel. 

When, after several weeks in the territory, I came to 
say goocl-by to Colonel lid win V. Sunnier, who had given 
up to me the best room and private bath in his quarters, 

he said: 

Thomas, although you've been a member of my family here, I 
never came into u room or went onto the porch where you were or 
loft a group of which you were a member but that you stood up at 
my going and coining just us one of these lieutenants would, and I 
want to say to you it made me feel damned fine. 

I don't think I would have done anything to hurt that 
brave officer, but I am sure I would not have been so 
punctiliously attentive to that little ceremony if it hadn't 
been for the friendly counsel of Jack Summcrhayes. 

On the way to Fort Grant one leaves the railroad at 


Willcox, at that time a little one-street row of one-story 
shops and barrooms. The hotel proprietor told me as I 
came off the train for my first night in Arizona that 
an ambulance with four mules was there to carry over 
to the fort a captain who was expected on the train ar- 
riving at five in the morning. I saw the driver of this 
outfit that night. He promised to tell the captain of my 
presence, and in the morning I was standing around 
ready to be invited. But again, under the remembered 
advice of Summerhayes, I didn't spring my headquarters 
paper on the captain or try to address anybody except 
the commandants to whom the letter was directed; and 
as it meant very little to this captain to learn that a 
stranger wanted to go to the fort, his four mules and his 
ambulance ambled off without me. I went some hours 
later on a little two-horse depot wagon that made a daily 
trip, and was again fortunate in that fact, as the driver 
on that twenty-mile jog told me many useful things. I 
was directed from the coIoneFs quarters to the officers* 
club. There was no attendant. The single room con- 
tained four or five officers playing cards around the table. 
After a pause one of them casually looked up. I asked 
for Colonel Sumner. He nodded toward that officer. 
Sumner, with his cards, paid no attention. 

I said, "Letter from Washington/' and handed it to 
him; and then, exactly as I had seen messengers re- 
hearsed in "Held by the Enemy" and "Shenandoah," 
I stepped back and stood still. The colonel opened his 
letter, glanced at it quickly, struck the table a blow. 


All the poker-players stood promptly. I was welcomed 
and introduced to the group, with which I spent the 
great part of one of the most enjoyable sojourns of my 


life. The poker game was immediately broken up and 
adjourned, and a half-hour afterward I came from a 
refreshing bath and in my store clothes to a fine midday 
dinner in the colonel's home with his amiable wife and 
wholesome and attractive daughter. 

That was on March 17, 1897. I don't have to refer 
to any records to recover the date, because from the 
lunch we went to the parade-grounds, where a big tent 
had been set up with a telegraph wire leading into it, 
and the men of three troops of cavalry, and I think two 
infantry companies, gathered to hear the report by rounds 
of the championship prize-fight between Jim Corbett and 
Bob Fitzsimmons, then beginning in Carson City, 
Nevada. Among the officers I saw one or two faces that 
struck me as familiar, and then one of the few civilians 
there, limping a bit on a cane, I recognized as my Leaven- 
worth attorney, Hon. Thomas P. Fenlon. He introduced 
me to his son-in-law, Captain Nicholson, also at the post 
and in whose quarters he was staying. Nicholson had 
been one of the officers in Plowman's court-room that 
busy afternoon eleven years before when they had ridden 
over from Fort Leavenworth in full dress to protest the 
foolish slander of the talented Helen M. Gouger. 

I am working now between the need to economize 
space and a wish to talk freely enough about my experi- 
ence to fix whatever significance it may have to other 
men trying to make plays. And when I say significance 
I mean only that. I don't mean a rule or a way of doing. 
Each man writing plays makes his own rules, and one 
man at different times will have different ways. If I 
seem occasionally minute it will not be because I regard 
any act of mine in epic fashion, but only because I re- 
member it as an articulating part of what subsequently 




became machinery in a play. I had been writing 
too long to be entirely free from habit. I suppose 
man sent out to write a comic opera would at leas 
by thinking in terms of a quartet. All those fine s< 
every sturdy private, the smart officers, the force 
colonel, each of them began to be in my mind a p 
factor if not centre of romance. 

The officers' quarters there in Fort Grant are 
and face the parade-ground. To the western end 
row the first two or three are two-story building 
stantial as any brick or brownstone residences 
city. They then tail off into bungalows, with fine 
porches, and all, because of their doby walls, wii 
window and door recesses from eighteen inches 
feet deep. I don't remember how many ladies \ 
the fort; I should say half a dozen. The majc 
these, of course, were married; and when w< 
checked off their husbands it left a fine circle oJ 
tached officers, attentive, complimentary, respect 
heard no breath of scandal or even of gossip that 
way involved this compact little community, but 
impossible to view them with an imagination b 
the theatre without beginning to play chess wit 
reputations. Nothing could be further from fac 
any hint of discordance in the household of Color 
Sumner and his wife, almost his own age; but as I ' 
to use him as a principal character, I had no compi 
in mentally hooking him up with a much younger ^ 
somewhat regretful of the disparity in their yea 
course this discontent of the wife would be evi< 
more than one of the young officers, if not actually 
in or promoted by one or another. Besides d< 
life at the quarters, there were a few wives down 


barracks, and one or two daughters of enlisted men. My 
difficulty on the first day or two was to keep an open 
mind and not have these characters form associations in 
my fancy that would by repetition of the concept begin 
to take on the authority of fact. 

As I listened to Colonel Sumner talk at his dinner- 
talkie of cattlemen, Indians, and soldiers; as I heard 
Mrs. Sumner tell of Tony, the doby messenger that came 
down the valley with social notes, I felt that the field 
was too rich to make immediate commitments of selec- 

Some dispenser of mental tonic has said that thoughts 
are things. I oiler no opinion on that, but if they are 
they're curious things, and it is hard for one who trades 
in them to keep clear of superstition. I have seldom 
begun to work earnestly upon any line of reflection but 
what that line has been frequently twanged by cross- 
currents that the overeredulous would misread. I wrote 
earlier in these chapters of coincidences, naming two that 
were noteworthy in my own experience. Personally, I 
am willing to accept the explanation of somebody whose 
words, but not whose name, I remember, to the effect 
that a line of thought is like a magnetized wire, and that 
particles from all the waves and currents that cross it 
adhere when there is sufficient affinity. If that is true, 
a man thinking along certain lines would mistake the 
selection by his attention for fateful response. 

I wonder if this is an approach too clumsy to another 
one of these points. I was slowly dictating the stuff 
above about the military post and was thinking as I 
had been thinking for a day or two about Hooker's ranch, 
sonic ten or twelve miles away from it, and how I could 
be accurate about certain items, when Robert Bruce, 

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who came periodically to get their supplies from the 
government. He told me also of the ranchers who were 
his neighbors at intervals of ten and fifteen miles. | , 

After a few days at the post I was taken over to \\ 

Hooker's ranch. The administrative centre of this was t,l 

also the residence of Mr. Hooker, his daughter-in-law 
and grandson. This doby hacienda was a quadrangle 
about one hundred feet square, with blank walls some 
eighteen feet high outside. Three sides of the inner court 
were made up of little rooms one-story high, with roofs 
sloping to the centre and rising to somewhat less than 
the height of the outer walls, whose superior margin 
served as parapet in case of attack. A fourth side of the 
quadrangle, besides having a room or two and a shed for 
vehicles, had a large reinforced double gate that could 
be thrown to and fastened with heavy bars and staples. 
In the centre of the court thus formed there was a well, \ 

so that the colony might have water to withstand a 

Henry C. Hooker was a quiet little man who had been 
some twenty-five or thirty years in that locality selling 
beef to "government and Apaches"; at times on the 
defensive, and at other times on friendly terms with his 
savage neighbors. He had known the old Apache chief, 
Cochise, the predecessor of Geronimo, and had a hun- 
dred interesting tales of his experiences with Indians, 
and cowboys, and soldiers. He was under the average 
height of the American, was slight and quiet, and while 
adopting him I took the liberty of replacing him in my 
mind with a more robust and typical frontiersman; but 
hundreds of the lines I finally gave to Henry Canby, 
the rancher in the play of "Arizona/ 5 were Hooker's own 
words, which I remembered, and as soon as I was alone 

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bustle for it in un Indian uprising. This had the disad- 
vantage of harking back to several other American plays, 
and to something of the color of Jessie Brown and the 
relief of Lucknow. But there was nothing else in sight. 
To reach San Carlos from Fort Grant was a day's cavalry 
match up the valley to Dunlop's, and another day's ride 
over the mountains. The first half of this journey was 
made in an ambulance with mules drawing it, while a 
small detachment of cavalry, a telegraph construction 
outfit, two Indian guides, and live or six pack-mules 
with supplies were in the escort. Dunlop's was another 
doby house, with ornamental steel ceilings on the ground 
floor, and an upright piano. 

We had an early start the second morning, with every- 
body in tin* saddle. Captain My or, in charge of our de- 
taehment, lent me a handsome pacing stallion, gentle 
and a weight-earner. The features of our second clay's 
trip, none of which I used in the play and which there- 
Ion* have little place in this recital except as they con- 
tribute to a sense of hardship and the stamina needed 
to meet it, were narrow trails on the hogback of the moun- 
tains, where the aneroid barometer showed five thousand 
feet, and where the path was so narrow that everything 
was intrusted to the animals, which carefully picked 
their way one* font in absolute line before the other, some- 
times all four set for a short slide and often each stone 
gingerly tested to make sure of footing, climbing grades 
dn which no horse eould have carried any rider, and where 
no tenderloin, no matter how stout of lung, could have 
climbed in that thin air unaided. 

The procedure was to take with one hand a tight grip 
on the long tail of your horse, and let him pull you as 
you walked behind him and led the horse for the man 

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that lust week in March that we turned up the collars 
of our leather jackets lined with sheepskin; yet we rode 
through bright air so clear that the sun burned our cheeks 
more swiftly than August in the Mississippi Valley. 

At noon we stopped a half hour for dinner and to rest 
the horses. It was astonishing to see an Indian put a 
coffee-pot on two or three little stones the size of a lien's 
egg, slip under it u bunch of burning grass not larger 
than a shaving brush, feed it with a few splinters, and 
boil two quarts of coffee quicker than I have ever seen 
it heated upon a stove. 

The Gila River is filled with quicksand. Here and 
there is a ford. As we approached the river a trooper 
rode from the fort a mile away, took his station on the 
opposite bank to guide our string, which made the ford 
in Indian fashion. 

Captain Myer called back: "Lift your feet; out of the 
water! Hold up your horse's head or he'll lie down and 
roll! Follow your leader closely I" 

At that hour of sundown, after a day in the saddle, I 
could do everything commanded except hold up my feet; 
they dragged inertly alongside the stallion and the river 
flowed into them over the boot-tops. When we pulled 
up at the little bungalows which were our destination 
two troopers helped me get my right leg over the back of 
the saddle and kept me from falling when, it reached the 

A kindly fat old doctor who was there looked me over 
and without the formality of an introduction said: "Put 
this man in a hot bath/* As he did so I put him into my 

While in tin* tub a striker brought me a. telegram from 
Colonel Sumner: 


"How's the patient?" 

I dictated the answer: "Not so beautiful as he was, 
but knows more/* 

When I came down the four steps of the little shack 
to go to the mess-room the next morning I took each 
degree slowly and hung onto the banisters like a man 
half paralyzed. There is nothing like a good case of horse 
rheumatism to put a tenderfoot out of commission. 

A week at San Carlos was interesting. One had the 
Apache at first hand; but as all that color was revised 
from the play before production, space for it here would 
only emphasize the fact that there are a good many chips 
and much rejected material in every workshop. But 
such discarded stuff is still valuable to have in the lum- 
ber-room. I sha'n't talk of deceptive distances or tell 
any stories of men starting to walk a seeming three miles 
and learning that their visible objective is fifteen miles 

Besides, one isn't always credited. On the trip home, 
an hour or two out of El Paso, is the station Alamogordo. 

A shrewd New Englander asked: "What are those 
mountains to the northeast there? " 

"Those are the Sierra Blanca White Mountains." 

A real Pinkerton, penetrating, unwavering look; a 
self-possessed stroke of the chin whiskers and then cold 

"Young man, the White Mountains air in New Hamp- 

In the territories on the way back and at home I was 
busy on the play, with an Indian uprising as my prin- 
cipal machinery. And in its first draft the play was so 
finished. . 

Early in the morning of February 16, 1898, James 


Waterbury, the agent of the Western Union Company l 

at New Rochelle, telephoned me that the Maine had * 

been blown up and sunk in the harbor of Havana. Know- i 

ing the interest the report would have for my neighbor, f \ 

Frederic Remington, I immediately called him on the f I 

telephone and repeated the information. His only thanks ^ 

or comment was to shout "Ring off!" In the process of * 

doing so I could hear him calling the private telephone K; 

number of his publishers in New York. In his mind |; 

his own campaign was already actively under way. h 

One incident of that campaign illustrates the primitive t 5 

man in Remington. He and Richard Harding Davis ^ 

were engaged to go into Cuba by the back way and send * f 

material to an evening newspaper. The two men were : \ 
to cross in the night from Key West to Cuba on a I 

mackerel-shaped speed boat of sheet-iron and shallow -| 

draft. Three times the boat put out from Key West ;! 

and three times turned back, unable to stand the weather. ; * 
The last time even the crew lost hope of regaining port. I 

Davis and Remington were lying in the scuppers and j 

clinging to the shallow rail to keep from being washed ! 

overboard. The Chinaman cook, between lurches, was (\ 

lashing together a door and some boxes to serve as a f 

raft. Davis suggested to Remington the advisability of ^ 

trying something of the kind for themselves. j| 

"Lie still!" Remington commanded. "You and I /] 

don't know how to do that. Let him make his raft. If -\ 

we capsize I'll throttle him and take it from him." p 

Some months later, on learning of the incident, I tried r? 

to discuss the moral phase of it with him. c 

But he brushed my hypocrisy aside with the remark: ^ 
"Why, Davis alone was worth a dozen sea cooks I I 
don't have to talk of myself." 


It wasn't a difficult task to take out all the Indian 
stuff in my manuscript and to make the motive the get- 
ting together of a troop of cowboys. My impulse was 
prophetic of the Rough Riders. I wrote Denton's cow- 
boy troop and the khaki jacket into the play at once, and 
changed such few speeches of the script as this introduc- 
tion made necessary. On July 8, President McKinley 
nominated Colonel Leonard Wood to be brigadier-gen- 
eral, and Lieutentant-Colonel Theodore Roosevelt to be 
colonel of the First Volunteer Cavalry. 

A few years ago I wrote some prefaces to precede cer- 
tain printed plays of mine. If it wasn't for fear that 
watchful editors would strike out the statement I would 
quote the Boston Transcript to the effect that when 
Thomas is dead these prefaces will be put together in 
limp leather and printed as little classics. Perhaps if 
I don't tell the names of the plays or their publisher this 
statement will get by. In one of them I said: 

"This play was salvage; that is to say, it was a mar- 
keting of odds and ends and remnants utterly useless 
for any other purpose." And elsewhere in these remem- 
brances I've said that all is fish that comes to a play- 
wright's pond. 

Late in the winter of 1896, when the other guests had 
gone home after dinner, Mr. Joseph D. Redding, of the 
Bohemian Club, San Francisco, was at the piano in our 
living-room at New Rochelle; listening to him were 
Mr. Will Gillette, my wife, and I. Redding was running 
over the keys and talking through the music in that enter- 
taining way which as musician and talker he has in such 
eminent degree. 

Over one haunting melody he said: "Here's something 


I heard a little girl singing alone, hidden from the rain in 
a cloby doorway in Santa Barbara/' 

There was a moment's silence when he finished the 
melody, and my wife said: "A little girl that could sing 
like that wouldn't be alone." 

Gillette, in his metallic tenor, added, "Besides, it never 
rains in Santa Barbara." 1 

Each of these lines was worth a smile to our firelight 
party; and just as I am telling the story to you I told 
it at a banquet-table at the Santa Barbara Club in 1901. 
I hoped only for good-natured reception and was at utter 
loss to understand why men slapped each other on the 
back and roared with glee and rocked on their unsteady 
chairs. The toast-master felt I was entitled to an explana- 
tion. A real-estate man present explained the laugh by 
telling that Gillette some years before had bought a con- 
siderable country estate* at Montecito, a suburb of Santa 
Barbara, lie had bought it on blue-prints and photo- 
graphs shown by the agent. One of these photographs 
showed a bounding, purling brook, snapped immediately 
after one of the infrequent rainstorms of that section. 
On the other three hundred and sixty-four days in the 
year this watercourse was dry. 

That kind of thing amuses real-estate men. 

On that winter evening, however, Gillette told us 
nothing of this dusty brook, but asked Redding to repeat 
his rainy music. 

Those were the firelight times before the introduction 
of auction bridge and when people of sensibility some- 
times sat about and played or listened to little inter- 
pretations of that Redding kind. I have more than once 
solved some knotty problem in play-building by a mood 

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all together, and was unable to make and untroubled 
by any distinction, so that when I got him into the play 
I was able to have him finish his lover's declaration after 
the song with "and damn to hell my soul, I love you I" 

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In its revised shape I submitted my completed 
script to Charles Frohman. Although his influence 
procured the railroad transportation that I had 
getting to Arizona, and he had been looking forvvaard 
the completion of the play, something in the soracp"^ 
in my reading of it, because he listened to the fou*~ 
as I read them, decided him against this 
With the war on, managers were timid and my 
drama seemed unlikely of early production. I 
myself with the conduct of The Lambs' first all-star gar** 

There are few social clubs to whose functions 
with propriety ask attention. But The Lambs, 
of its theatrical membership and prominence, is 
that few. For many years an occasional night kad 
taken in the club when members free from profession**! 
calls got together in an entertainment the back>orxo ci 
which was some burlesque by some skilled man. xxjpof* 
some current success. Programmes from several of till ON r* 
intimate performances had occasionally been give::n t * t 
the public of New York. In 1898 it was decided to ma k * 
a much more pretentious appeal by players, all of -win out; 
should be stars. Contracts for the exclusive services *if 
one dollar per week for the last week in-May were d:r a w f 1 1 
between the club on one side and on the other Nat: Grooc f - 
win, De Wolf Hopper, Stuart Robson, William 



Joseph (irismer, Jesse Williams, Victor Herbert, Ignutio 
Martinetti, Victor Harris, and some forty other men of 
almost equal prominence; u half dozen playwrights and 
as many musicians; also Victor Herbert's band and 
orchestra of lifty pieces. 

The company, all told, included over one hundred 
men. It was computed that their joint salaries, accord- 
ing to what they were then getting upon the road, would 
for that week have amounted to one hundred and twenty- 
five thousand dollars. Theatres were leased for one night 
only in New York, Brooklyn,. Washington, Philadelphia, 
Boston, Springfield, Pittsburgh, aw! Chicago. Advance 
work for publicity was done in all these cities. Contracts 
existed for a special train of four sleepers, three dining- 
cars, and two baggage-cars. Rehearsals were well under 
way when war was declared. Matters of equal importance 
from the amusement point of view were crowded front 
the papers by the war news, ft would have been possible* 
to cancel the tour and contracts and pay all claims in- 
curred for some fifteen thousand dollars, and such a course 
was advised by Joseph Brooks, the manager at the head 
of the business group. As general amusement director 
of this gambol, which was to lift the debt from a new 
clubhouse recently built, the necessity of additional in- 
debtedness if we gave up the trip decided me to go on 
with it. When Brooks quit I put the business manage- 
ment up to Kirke La Shelle, then handling the Bostonians. 
The club gave the week of gambols in the cities named 
and took in sixty-two thousand dollars. 


This businesslike resume of that venture is impressive, 
but the sentimental side of it will appeal to those ac- 
quainted with the players. I shall tell only of the first 
feature of the programme: an old-sty le-minstrel first 
part, pyramided on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera 
House, in which, with Herbert's band, there were one 
hundred men. The interlocutor, end men, and vocalists, 
all in the regulation evening dress, at the end of the 
opening chorus were on their feet. The great audi- 
torium of the Metropolitan Opera House was crowded 
from parquet to dome with one of the most select audi- 
ences ever assembled within its walls. When we remem- 
ber that we were only in the first month of our war with 
Spain we can form some conception of the enthusiasm 
as this audience rose when the medley finished with the 
"Star-Spangled Banner," and then the burst as every 
nigger singer at cue drew from the inside of his white 
vest, instead of a pocket handkerchief, an American flag 
of silk. 

We had been under pressure to start promptly in order 
to make train connections for the next town, and I am 
not sure that anybody has ever explained just why the 
curtain was held. The facts are, however, that it was 
difficult for my wife to get to the Metropolitan at 8.15 
owing to certain attention that our baby had to have 
at that time before it got to bed. She had promised to 
make haste, and I had promised to stand in the prompt 
entrance and if possible to hold the curtain until I saw 
her take her seat in the front row of the dress circle. Men 
on the stage were fretting, and the audience there was 
twenty-seven thousand dollars in the house was getting 
impatient, but the baby delayed them only four minutes. 

In June of that year, 1898, I made my first crossing 


of the Atlantic Ocean. With us on that boat were seven 
members of The Lambs CIubChaunecy Oleott, Wal- 
ter Hale, Vincent Serrano, Rowland Buckstonc, Joe 
Wheelock, Jr., RuckstuII, and one other. First-class 
fare was fifty dollars; the lowtrst quotation now is two 
hundred and fifty. The old Victoria was a cattle-boat 
with bilge-keels that is, an additional keel on each side, 
somewhat below the water-line, to prevent her rolling. 
The eat tie were where the steerage ordinarily is, and we 
never knew of them. The usual orgnni/.ing person was 
among the passengers, bent upon netting up a concert 
for the benefit of disabled seamen. And the captain 
thought; it would take the passengers* minds from the 
constant fear of Spanish gunboats -submarines were 
not yet in use. Our American actors couldn't recite, but 
they could play if they had a manuscript; so with their 
urging and advice and occasional assistance I wrote a 
comedy about twenty-five minutes long dealing entirely 
with the ship's company, which we called u Three Days 
Out/' In it Chauneey Oleott played an old Irishwoman, 
Hale a romantic tenor, Buekstcme an English financier, 
and young Wheeloek, who looked like the bathroom 
steward, impersonated that official* borrowing and wear- 
ing his clothes for the performance; Serrano played a 
Spanish cattle-raiser, Ruckslull was a walking gentle- 
man, I was an American business man. We went aft 
near the steering-gear to rehearse it in the open sunshine. 
Three days before we got into port we gave a performance 
which netted a handsome purse for the beneficiaries. 

Charles Frohman was in London at that time laying 
his first plans for Ins extensive theatrical control that 
developed later. We had our card filled with all kinds 
of agreeable appointments, and I met then for the first 


time J. M. Barrie, Bernard Shaw, Alfred Sutro, Beer- 
bohm Tree, George Alexander, Arthur Bourchier, and 
Max Beerbohm. 

Our first night in Paris was the evening of July 14, 
the anniversary of the fall of the Bastille. Instead of 
the firecrackers and pinwheels of America, Paris expressed 
itself in street festivals and dances. In every arrondisse- 
ment, or ward, there was a central gathering where music 
was furnished by a municipal band and where the neigh- 
borhood people danced on the clean asphalt of the street. 
It was into one of these circles only a few years before 
that Charley Evans and Bill (Old Hoss) Hoey walked, 
and catching the time of the music began an impromptu 
dance of the American model. To visualize this fully 
one must remember Hoey, with his full black beard and 
eccentric manner; and remember the natty, smooth- 
shaven Charley Evans of those days in his flat-brimmed 
straw hat; and then the pair of them surrounded by the 
gradually widening circle of astonished Paris tradesmen 
as those two American boys competed with each other 
in remembered and invented steps of vaudeville assort- 
ment. That would be a rare treat to-day for an American 
audience familiar with that character of dancing and 
gathered at Longacre Square. But at that time, for 
that simple pirouetting bourgeoisie, it was electrically 

I shall offer no tourist's impression of Paris, but there 
is a notable remembrance of Jean Jaures, the great so- 
cialist, pleading for evolution, not revolution. He was 
assassinated a few years later, but Ruck and I went to 
hear him then. He talked upon the theme I have fur- 
tively referred to in earlier chapters, and which in the 
past hard winter of unemployment more than one pub- 


Hoist advanced. Jaures was sure that the trouble with 
capital and labor \vas not one of class warfare, but that 
both classes in some fashion were troubled by the ma- 
chine in industry; by competition between owners of 
competing machinery, but principally by competition of 
the human creature against the insensate I'Yunkenstein 
creation. If is remedy was an ownership by the state of 
all the mechanical facilities of production. 

Some day we shall diseriminately tax them according 
to wist* conferences between all nations, 

When we came to recross the Atlantic, in August, 
there was still some fear of the Spanish gunboats. 

As our trouble with Spain subsided I carried the play, 
"Ari/.ona/ 1 to Kirke La Shelle. There was no theatre 
available in Now York; he arranged for the production of 
the play at Hamlin's Grand Opera House in Chicago the 
following summer, i8tjt>. I have said earlier that Kirke 
La Shelle had the quality f the captain, and 1 am sure 
that had he lived he would have been one of the most 
dominant influences in the American theatre. Only to 
the theatrical reader will the following be significant, 
but the original cast of M Ari/<ma" included Theodore 
Roberts, Edwin Holt, Mnttie Earle, Mubel Hurt, Robert 
Edeson, Olive May, Sam Edwards, Arthur Byron, Vin- 
cent Serrano, Eninklin Garland, Walter Hale, Lionel 
Bnrrymore, and Mentfee Johnstone; and the four or live 
other characters \\ere by people of less repute but of 
equal earnestness ami ability. Few authors doing a 
melodrama have had better co-operation than that. 

There was- an incident of the first night that seems to 
me worth telling, I had rehearsed the* piece myself, and 
in that work been busy* Having need for a squad of 
soldiers to firing on two men under arrest, a Few days 


before our opening, I spoke to a group of supers that 
had been called. 

"Any of you had military experience?" 

Two or three replied affirmatively. To the most likely 
of these I said: "Where?" 

"In Cuba." 

"Can you train four men in the manual and the drill?" 

He said, "Yes, sir." 

"Pick your four and report when you have done it." 

In a little while he was ready. At our dress rehearsal 
La Shelle and I sat apart in the parquet. Things had 
gone well. We were on the last act. Two sympathetic 
characters were to come on in the custody of the noncom 
and the squad. They did so, the seven of them marching 
to their proper places on the stage, with a smart "halt" 
and "carry arms." 

I stopped the rehearsal and said to the young man, 
"Go back and make that entrance again." 

While they were going out to do this La Shelle came 
across the parquet in the greatest earnestness. 

"I thought that was splendidly done." 

"So did I." 

"Why did you send them back?" 

"I want to see them do it again." 

In a curtain speech the next night I told this incident, 
then reverted to a rehearsal of "In Mizzoura" some five 
or six years before in Chicago, when from a similar group 
of supers I had asked for a man who could heat and weld 
and put a tire on a wheel, and found exactly the proper 
helper for Burr Mclntosh, the blacksmith. I ventured 
the belief that if I were to write a play about the stars 
and called upon a bunch of Chicago supers I could find 
among them a volunteer astronomer. I told the audience 


that this young man who had responded so promptly 
as a soldier and had drilled his squad so efieetively would 
be on in the next aet ; lie didn't know 1 was speaking of 
him, hut if the aiuhenee thought as mueh of his perform- 
anee as l,a Shelle and I had thought they would under- 
stand why I emphasi/ed it. When the two prisoners 
and the squad eame on a few minutes later they got the 
biggest round of the play. That young super was a lad 
named Sydney Ainsworth, who the following year was 
playing a responsible part in tin* play, and the next year 
with one of the mad eompanies was playing the hero. 
He beeame a favorite leading man, 

On August 18, in that summer of i8<;t), Kid MeCoy 
was to meet Jaek MeOrmaek. MeCov had many ad- 
mirers in our eoinpany, and, as I remember, the general 
odds were some four to one on him. The dressing-rooms, 
whieh were 4 under the stage of the (*nuul Opera House 
at that time, were bu//.ing with interest in theupproaeh- 
ing battle as our men were making up for the night. 
Harry Harnlin and I hud tiekets for the light, but de- 
elined to take any of the attractive odds that were of- 
fered at the theatre. 

The meeting was only three or four bloeks away. As 
the two men faeed eaeh other in the first round Hamlm 
was searehing his poekets for some mutehes. A sound from 
the ring and a startled response from the amiienee re- 
elainu'tl his attention, While MeCoy had been gaily 
guying with some of tin* press men at the ringside, 
McCormaek had knoeked him out with the first ptineh. 
Uamlw and 1 were soon baek in the theatre. We seemed 
to have been only wandering from one dressing-room ''to 
another. Lionel Barry more, Arthur Byron, Robert 
Ecleson,. and Walter Hale had not yet gone on. Theodore 


Roberts, Edwin Holt, and Vincent Serrano came off 
a minute or two from the first act, and we were a! 
quickly to take all the bets offered on McCoy at the < 
cessive odds. We disappeared. Later news came di 
to the theatre and found a sad family. At Rectoi 
after the performance, Hamlin and I confessed to havi 
seen the fight before the betting and disgorged our 
gotten gains. 

One notable engagement made that summer takes i 
mind back a few years further to a set of incidents tl 
seem amusing. In writing these reminiscences I ha 
hit only the high spots. To give even a paragraph 
each of some sixty-four plays produced would be an ite 
ized bill of grief, unpardonable in any recollections, 
couple of years before my trip to Arizona I had dc 
a play for Mr. Daniel Frohman which I read to his see 
artist and stage-manager and him, and which at tl 
time was acceptable. Something prevented the prodi 
tion and I revamped it from a serious four-act play t< 
three-act comedy called "Don't Tell Her Husbanc 
T. D. Frawley had a stock company at the Columl 
Theatre, San Francisco, under the management of Go 
lob and Friedlander. They wanted to produce the p. 
under my direction and sent me in advance money 
railroad fares, sleeper, and expenses across the contine 

At the railroad office I met Crane's manager, Jose 
Brooks, who, learning my destination, linked his a 
with mine and said: "Just starting for California w 
the Crane company. There's an empty section in < 
car and glad to have you." He declined to take ] 
money, saying it would vitiate his railroad contract if 
made any subsales, but he added: "The boys play pal 
and they will be glad to win that from you." 


We were lour days crossing the continent. The poker 
players in Mr. Crane's company were himself, Brooks, 
and my good friends Walter Hale and Vincent, Serrano. 
Under a moral obligation to lose those one hundred and 
twenty-five dollars to them, I came in on every little J 

pair only to call up that protecting, fate that is said to 
hover over the weak-minded and the infantile. I landed 
at the old Baldwin Hotel with the hundred and twenty- 
five intact and some more contributed by the four gentle*- "* 

men named. In the delightful grill of that old hotel, 
long since destroyed by fire, 1 saw (Jottlob and I 'Vied- v 

lander having dinner. ( Jot t lob came over to my table. * 

I told him tin* arrangement under which I had travelled 
and that had 1 lost tin* money I should have considered 
it a legitimate although circuitous, application of the 
expense fund. Not having lost it, I returned it to him. ^ 

It was worth one hundred and twenty-live dollars to see 
that new sensation in his business experience. He carried 
the money back to I ; riedlander. They held an excited 
consultation, nr.anietf me curiously; later both joined 
me, and after manv tentative* as to the kind of enter- 
tainment 1 would find most agreeable carried me of! to 
a private box at n pri/.e-light that was 1 occurring that 

In Mr. I'YawIey's company, which contained such ex- 
cellent players as Frank Worthing, I Tank Carfyle, {'"raw- 
ley himself, and Maxine Elliott, there was also the more 
experienced actress, Madge Can" Cook. I ler little daugh- 
ter was just biy.inning her stage experience, and as I ^ 

remember took the part of u maid to carry on a. card in 
our play. The gill's stage name was KIcanor Robson. 
She* did so well with Frawley that a short time thereafter 
she wits playing leads in Denver, and when Olive May 

< i 


had to leave the "Arizona" company during our summer 
in Chicago Eleanor Robson came to take her place. Not 
since the early days with Mar owe had I seen a young 
woman who had come on the stage with so many fine 
natural qualities, and before she opened in the part of 
Bonita I told La Shelle that she would be a star in a short 
while, and it would be wise to make an immediate ar- 
rangement with her. He agreed with me; but, deferring 
his negotiations until after the New York opening of the 
company, found that Eleanor Robson was then under 
a starring contract with Mr. George Tyler. New York 
will remember its artistic disappointment when after a 
few brilliant characterizations Eleanor Robson became 
Mrs. August Belmont and society and charitable enter- 
prises gained what the stage lost. 

My little play, "Don't Tell Her Husband/' was taken 
by Stuart Robson, who changed the title to "The Med- 
dler," and played it for two years. The increased friend- 
ship between Hale, Serrano, and myself at the poker table 
in the Crane car, together with our transatlantic trip, 
deepened my wish to have them in the "Arizona" com- 
pany, where their grip upon the public was the result 
of their own merits. 

There is a series of happenings in the relationship of 
those two friends that carries an interesting psychological 
study. After a time in the original company Hale quit 
the German-character part and played the heavy man 
opposite Serrano, now advanced to hero. Near the end 
of the third act it was Serrano's business to walk over to 
Hale, who stood well down left, and after looking him in 
the eye a minute slap him over the side of the face with 
a sombrero; a trick slap with the force of the blow falling 
more on Hale's shoulder than upon his face. In one of 


I\ peil'it'inanees, however, a leather band around 
i!uer had struck I laic's face and hurt him slightly, 

< a;,'Ji to make him apprehensive thereafter; and 
\ i m the street lie fell unconscious. The doctor 

hi', ilitilculty to this fear of the blow. Hale left 
Vii',emenl and returned to his earlier work us etcher 
[u'ltrator. He travelled with his talented wife,, ttir some time in Europe, came back to 
i -at re, and played several parts with distinction, > 

i total interval of some ten years he was playing 
piece, 4I A. a Man Thinks," in which John Mason 
t* star and Vincent Serrano was the hero. i 

inr opining ni^hi in Hartford, near the end of the 
u't, Hale luiyuf Ins lines and couldn't take them 
itr piuinplcr. lU* was all right at the next day's 
>uL But aj'.ain at nt^lit the same lapse occurred. ^ fi 

s a coiiM'teaf iotts artist, and in great depression 
o me and wanted to surrender his part. I asked 
' try another prrfonnanee aiui let me look at it 
iv front. For l lie third time his lines escaped him* 
the play was over Hale was positive in his decision 
. I 'said: 

liter, 1 think the trouble is that it is Serrano who 
clown left and confronts you* Your position on 
tj4e and your personal relations in the story are 
lat they were in that old cowboy play; but if you 
member that Serrano doesn't wear a sombrero ; 

not jviujn It* strike you with one, and that you 

vinj.; Mr. !)c Lnki in a parlor story of New York, 
liculty \\i\\ tlisappear/' 
Clayed perfectly that night and was never troubled 

manner a^ain. < 

these papers Lcgan to appear in serial form 1 

r ^ j^ 

ordinary memory. But here are two sides of that in- 
teresting subject: In the previous chapter I have written 
of Mr. Robert Bruce bringing me some information that 
I needed about Henry C Hooker, the Arizona ranch- 
man. Until Mr. Bruce came in at that opportune mo- 
ment I had never seen him. 

Now on the other side: I wished to write about a 
cornet-player and his performance on a memorable night 
in 1901. It would be all right to refer to him imperson- 
ally, but my effort to get his name is a fair example of 
much of the work that has been incident to all that I 
have written. This cornetist was in a company support- 
ing Mr. Peter Dailey in a musical play called "Cham- 
pagne Charlie/ 5 which I wrote for him and which was 
produced late in August in that year. Last October, 
1921, I tried to get Dailey 5 s manager, Mr. Frank McKee. 
He was out of the city, address unknown. After two later 
attempts to locate him, the question of the cornetist 
came up again just now as I reached the end of this chap- 

I stopped dictation and for thirty minutes my secre- 
tary and I pursued the following process : Walter Jordan, 
a play agent and sometime friend of McKee, is called; 
he gives McKee 5 s residence; information gives his tele- 
phone; we talk to McKee; he remembers the cornetist 
very well, but the enterprise was twenty years ago and 
he forgets his name. Peter Dailey is dead. The next 
important member of the company is that excellent come- 
dian Eddie Garvey; Garvey would probably remember 


lie musician. We try to locate Garvey. Miss Huni- 
xTt, of the Packard Theatrical Agency, thinks Garvey 
s with Charlotte Greenwood's company on the road 
mdcr the management of Oliver Moroseo. Morosco's 
>fllce is called in order to locate the company. They tell 
us that Garvey left the company two or three weeks 
igo; they haven* t his address, but the engagement was 
nude through an agent named Leslie Moroseo. 

Leslie Moroseo, when called, knows Mr. Garvey *s 
iddress and his telephone number, but is reluctant to 
;ive them to persons inquiring over the photic. Our 
dentity is established, the nature of the business ex- 
>IuinecI, and the Saturday Evening Post reierrcd to; then 
Survey's number is given; fortunately Garvey is at 
lome; he remembers the name of the eornetist and the 
nan himself very well. He says that the eornetist; was 
rVilliam Disston, of Philadelphia, where his father was 
L skilled maker of cornets. William Disston and Garvey 
vere together in many <>f the Charles Hoyt productions, 
lotably "The Milk White Flag/* and Disston's singular 
kill as a eornetist, almost equalling that of the famous 
ules Levy, got him his engagement along with Garvey 
\\ the Peter Duiley company referred to in which he was 
eatured on the programme and gave a cornet solo. Gar- 
'ey remembers the night in question, although he doesn't 
emcmber the exact date* I Ic and Disston left the theatre 
ogether. Disston wan a convivial person, and the eom- 
>any being that week in Providence,, Rhode Island, Diss- 
im and Garvey went to the rooms of the Musicians* 
Jnion, where there were some beer and songs and music 
util a late hour. Tlicy then started to go home, but 
i order to do so were obliged to pass the oiliee of the 
^evidence Journal. In front of this building about a 

"' ii. i 


thousand men were gathered, watching the bulletins in 
the windows. As the last one appeared Disston took 
his cornet from its case. 

My own relation to that occasion was this: I was in 
bed in the stately old Narragansett Hotel. The night 
was warm. Two windows of the room were open. At 
about three o'clock in the morning I was wakened by 
the sound of the cornet. It came over the night air, carry- 
ing the strains of that impressive old hymn, "Nearer, 
My God, to Thee." It took a moment to recognize this, 
and then the expertness of the playing convinced me that 
the player was Disston. I got out of bed and leaned 
on the window-sill. As the cornet began a repetition of 
the hymn it was joined by a male chorus of some thou- 
sand voices, and there plainly came the words: "E'en 
though it be a cross that raiseth me." I knew then that 
President William McKinley, who had Iain wounded for 
a week in Buffalo, was dead. I was surprised as I listened 
to the finish of the hymn to find that my cheeks were 
wet with tears. "Nearer, My God, to Thee 5 * had been 
a favorite hymn with my grandmother. My mind went 
back to her and the death of President Lincoln to the 
tears, the solemnity of that tragic time and, in the mid- 
dle distance, Garfield. 

Walter Wellman, famous journalist, wrote of that 
night in Buffalo, where in the Milburn residence President 
McKinley died: "In his last period of consciousness 
. . . the surgeons bent down to hear his words. He 
chanted the first lines of his favorite hymn, 'Nearer, 
My God, to Thee/ A little later he spoke again; Doc- 
tor Mann^wrote the words down at the bedside, and the 
last conscious utterance of William McKinley was: 

" 'Good-by, all; good-by. It is God's way. His will 
be done/ 



"The President soon afterward lapsed into uncon- 
piousness, and did not rally again. The end came at 
.15 A, M., Saturday, September 14." 

Three Presidents of the United States had been killed 
y madmen. The reverberations of those three shots I 


TO COLOHMX) I UK Si 'A *^ f \ S I HI \L 

I have wiilten of a \ * '? ! > v 
order to *et watni.i' I i TV- ' i 
earlier of }'nin/. !M I t * M 
familiar with flu* CM" ? , ; 
of its liua! IM'MJ, N 
to ovi rstatr f ht i , i } *? ^ f ' 
at first hand. It w.i- I ' U* 
himself fiesli on hi . * 
illustratin",. Ku l;.n*i f Iv J ' . ! 
tice s visiting, ncMti\ t M- . v 
in his se;u eh fi \ i \ .?: * ^ i 
when C )hatlc*- !'i i -i ,r , f; /M, ! , 
product* "Aii/nua/' v, "? 1 " 

1 Was } f ja<l tu ;'M !M ( '/. ^ i * * * . 

llu* result ni t'at f " - T ', 
a!>out. I /.it ,t pi 4, tf t >. ' , ] * 
with ami t 1 ! ,IM ,u ^ 
a string o! buno. !i j\ ' %/ .T 
as I had seen thrin dt n i 1 ! \*-- 
fine touch on paptt an*} * r^, i 
but when t!e Inniiis i oi tfM- *,' , ' 
and drew attention hum !'*...'.. 

valuable. 1 hr flralr,! ta- 't , * 
tered interest. I f.ine\ P n -.. * 
playwright fails beeatr.i- ! i: . ,,-i , 
considered his Jtren^th; J , ! >. 
use of such things. Alit:t it^ o ! r a j 

k* I/- :*4 n 
1 -; ,- r 

, r- it', 

! * * i-, 

r ' , , r 


dramatist, Mr. Clyde Fitch, produced a play called "Her 

Own Way/* in which Maxim: KHiott was the heroine, but 
in which a little hairdresser girl who talked Hast; Side 
slang made the most pronounced impression. 

Nothing had been easier tor Fitch than to write this hit, and when he found it was so acceptable 
he said: "Well, if you like* that kind of thing I'll give you 
twenty such characters/* and immediately wrote a play 
in which he did. This was a piece called "Glad of It/' 
in which he multiplied Ins Fast Side hairdresser till she 
was a blemish. 

I had been successful with "Alabama/ 1 with "In Mi/.- 
zoura/ 1 and with "Ari/ona" in carrying forward a. simul- 
taneous interest in two or three different couples, being 
careful, of course, to have them contribute to what was 
the climax of each story. In "Colorado" I had practi- 
cally five such interests, and though the material in the 
main was good, it Jailed to joints. 

The gathering of this material, however, may have 
an interest. My intention had been to write a play about 
the Colorado mines. To get the material I had meant 
to go to work in one* of them. I didn't believe that any 
practical miner would mistake me for an expert. I 
planned to get something in a clerical way on the sur- 
face of one of the properties or in the sheds. To do this 
I went, by the advice of my Rocky Mountain friend, 
John C. Montgomery, to the law offices of ex-Governor 
Charles Thomas and Harry Lee. Harry Lee, who was 
a man of about my own agt% advised against my project. 
There had just been a strike* in the mines, and there were 
still a number of secret-service men working under vari- 
ous guises. 

"'In the way you propose/' Lee said, "you won't be 


in any danger, but the men will promptly put you down 
as a private detective, and though they wouldn't molest 
you, you would never get near them, and the intimate 
stuff you are trying for would elude you/' 

There was an experienced, practical miner, tough man 
and strike leader, on their books by the name of Phil 
Flynn. He was a good deal of a free-lance, constantly 
moving about on new prospects. If they could locate 
Flynn and put me under his care Pd be in the way of 
getting the desired information. A long-distance tele- 
phone caught Flynn at Colorado City on his way to a 
copper district in Northern New Mexico. He waited 
over a train for my coming. I had had a rather romantic 
account given me of Flynn before joining him. Accord- 
ing to the men in Lee's office he had been educated for 
the priesthood and had abandoned it:. At any rate, he 
had a fashion of quoting Latin. To my mind, after a 
few minutes with him, he suggested neither the priest 
nor the scholar, but rather the railroad foreman. He 
already knew niy business from his long-distance tele- 
phone talk, and as we went along on the railroad gath- 
ered my purpose in detail. It was decided that I was 
not to pose as a practical miner but as a mine-owner in- 
vesting in properties. He gave me a few stock phrases 
that would partly carry out this impression, and when 
in doubt I was to be silent. We stopped at a junction 
called Trinidad, where the yard foreman knew Flynn. 
Flynn told him I was from Leadville. The foreman asked 
how things were up there. I could answer only in the 
general way that they were pretty good, but a main dif- 
ficulty was the lack of cars. He knew this, and was try- 
ing to forward empties. 

"Where did you get that car stuff? " Flynn said as 


our own train moved on. I told him I had seen it in the 
morning paper. 

"Well, you'll do, Tom." 

In the evening we left our railroad at a town called 
Springer, from which we had a few miles 1 ride in a stage 
to the driver's home, where we passed the night. Next 
morning we started with a two-horse wagon for the foot 
of the Little Cimarron : - pronounced Simmaroon. A 
prospector was camped there with a tent and a few cattle. 
Flynn made his acquaintance and left our wagon in his 
care- We went up the trail on horseback. At the end 
of the afternoon we had got as fur as the animals could 
comfortably go. They were headed down the trail again 
and started with a .spank. Hynn explained that there 
wasn't, any way that they could get lost. They had to 
follow the little stream by which ran our trail. No 
matter how long it took them, they would bring up at 
the camper's outfit where the wagon was. 

The kit 1 started with we had left at the stage-driver's 
home in the valley, and each carried only a blanket, be- 
sides such toilet articles us one could put in the pockets 
of Iiis reefer. Leaving Colorado City, Flynn had asked 
me if I had a gun. I showed him a .38 hummerless which 
he thought would do. Before reaching the mining-camp 
he suggested shifting it to the right-hand pocket of my \i 

reefer instead of the hip, where I hud it. I le didn't think 
there would be any trouble, but though my post 4 was 
buying certain eopper mines, he was really fining back 
to recover these claims, which he had learned had been 
jumped by the employees of the big mining company 
operating in that district. I learned this with a creepy 
feeling in certain peripheral nerves, but have reason to 
think it was not betrayed* 

^ Tin-: 

The camp v\ j:i % h \\ , 
bunk-house ,ir:>! a -. i ,'.. 
log eahins. i'h r ], i: 
as they were, {*} I-;',- 5 :' 
a little |',ang,u , >,,\; v, 
about. nine i>\ M\. I t . ' 
lintf f'unks <me .JJI..-M- ;',, 
than the .nliu.ti\ <!-,-. ',.' 
pin<- Ixntiths. () ,j,,. , 
ntllal up in thru arnv , 
In the niuf. ),,, , _ i, 
utt-nsils. tJ,,-,,. .,,! 

In <>< cunu-i i if ti'f i,, , 
over the utlin, r,,i i},,. , . 
no aa'onunud.iti. .; j Jt ,^ . 

thcniinrrscaiar in (j.^n ;' ,- 
Il If an Imur aJt.j , . t , ' 
One of" tin- jjjuiv w.i. a i ,' , . 
twenties, with 0,1, f m ,,. .. J<; 
turesquea i W re a-, our 7 , ,',,, 
was one oth.-r '\inr,u. n , t >t 
j lu . j,, - MJ/ 
amj ^ 

for himsefr. The,,' 

ot ownei the InuJ,!,, 

-< the few Innn, that. tl , 

, ..... 

, '. ',' 

The place- Kr . w ,,;,,;,; ';;';' , 

the days were *.,. A|V| *^ ; 


i fi 


. , 

!!l - U| ' rj - "' , : ! ',,.! 
'"' J ""- r - I '-- > *. ., 4i -j th.a 


Flynn and I couldn't stay in the cook-house. Flynn told 
him he was wrong about that; his friend Thomas would 
sleep on the table; himself he was going to stretch out 
on one of the benches and some boxes that he put along- 

Without removing boots or any garments, with a folded 
gunny-sack for a pillow, and covered by the blanket, I 
slept four nights on the kitchen-table. Tin* foreman of 
the outfit: would have had authority to oust us, but: he 
made no attempt to exert it. The first morning, after a 
solemn breakfast, during which nobody but the boy in 
corduroy spoke to us, Hynn and I went a mile down the 
trail to borrow a couple of picks. The company had 
plenty in their blacksmith shop, but refused to lend them. 
The blacksmith, when alone, seemed a little more com- 
municative and more willing to be friendly with Hynn. 

When, after getting our picks and an hour's walk, we 
got to the ground where Flynn had located we found that 
his identifying stakes and signs had been replaced by 
newer claimants. These evidences Hynn promptly de- 
stroyed, and set up again stakes with his own name on 
them. This done, we put in the rest of our time digging 
what in mining parlance was called an assessment. This 
is the removal of enough cubic material to meet the re- 
quirement of the mining laws, and we were just within 
the expiration of the time-limit to do it, 

We were in a singular social atmosphere and set of 
circumstances. The cooks turned us out the same rough 
meals that they provided the company miners, without 
any discussion as to the propriety of doing so. The 
miners ignored us during the meals, although Phil swore 
roundly at the unidentified thieves who had tried to steal 
his claims. The cook and his helper were rather poor 


., ' * \ * * " ' ' ' " 

J*r; , ! ? ' 

A! ' - 

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i i 

wnj I 4'.', ; I *.*' ^ './)" 
i! ,*!!<- jjr, ' *v 

*r !' r" '.?,-( I /.,* ' . 

* ^J^J . , <,; M .-. /, ,, 

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fur >4tvJ 1 h 
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Si J *!?: Nt 

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At Cripple Creek I met interesting characters and 
learned nuuii about Bynn, There had boon a fire a 
couple oi yeais before while Flynn was absent that 
swept the side hills and left men, women, and children 
without shclu-r. Bvnn returned when the conflagration 
was over, and to his astonishment his little cabin was 
the* only *m' left in that district. 

He looked fiver the surrounding misery a moment and 
quietly went over to his mvn cabin and set it on fire. 
When he rejoined the sufferers he said, "Now I'm with* 

As we went through the little mining city on that first 
nij'.ht of our visit we gradually accumulated a crowd of 
ndmiirrs. I was in a fair way to make a mistake about 
FlyitfA popularity until 1 discovered that, the interest 
was- in me. I got Hynn in a corner and made him eon- 
irss. Some one had asked the name of his companion. 
As a great sreiH he {tad whispered, "Jim Jeffries/* Some 
two years before jeiirtes had won the championship from 
Biih Ht/siwwuns, had later won from Sharkey, and some 
uunlhs pt'fvrdiitj4 the time of which 1 write had knocked 
out Jamrs J. Coi bet t. On the sidewalks and in the bar- 
rooms, nmrh to ! ; IyunVs amusement, men jostled us a 
little unpleasantly. I feared that as enthusiasm mounted 
suiw iota! tvlrliitfy would lake a wallop at me in the 
hrliei that he wa% measuring his capacity against the 
\voild ihawpion. Under a pretense of important letters 
I #ot bark to out hotel. 

The stutf I j.-,ot from (*iippl<* Creek was principally 
character tudirs. Bv the time we reached Leadville, 
I B Iynn was f hoiotijjily enjoying the fiction in which we 
were* mutu.'dK intt-rrstcd. In that city 1 was introduced 
to a man ansiotis In iH-t rid of a gold mine. It became 

f 1 13 

f T* 1:1 vi *!'*.}: \\i 

1 1 

t f ,, :i r. 
f >M* ^ , 
* k , i M , ii 

,, II .- , 

T K ! l 

f h r.:.. I IM!; r,%, !. . 

i il|fr% 4t*?i, aK'l ihr 


scaped. After a cold crawl of twelve or fifteen feet we 
'merged into the unobstructed gallery again. There was 
10 guaranty that the material through which we crawled 
vouldn't shift omv more and imprison us, or even catch 

is in transit. But it didn't, and after a terrifying hour 
ve were U}',ain on the surface in God's free air. I didn't 
>uy the gold mine; the best 1 could do was to take the 
natter under advisement. But I was so overloaded with 
ensutinns that when 1 came to write my play 1 hud my 
.illain and his guilty partner eight hundred feet under 
M'ound, in a eat'.e on a cable controlled by the hero, who 
VMS on the MB face with the damning evidence in his 

When we got hack to Denver, Hynn refused to leave 
tie until 1 had hern given safely into the hands of our 
:Viend, Many 1 .er. As he .said good- by ^ ur the time being 
:tr turned to I .re: 

"What I like about your friend Tom here is we took 
tins two \verk'. 1 uip together, and we were in some tough 
ulaec's. But he* urvei said once, *\Vhen are we* going to 
;>rt nut cif hac?* or * I low long does this last?' He's all 


I confessed to Lee that I'd often thought those ques- 
tions, but hail refrained from asking them because they 
would tn nouise hasten our departure or terminate 
:nir difficult ii-s; and, furthermore, I didn't want Phil 
Hynn to think I was a quitter, which in my heart I 

Hynn was much interested in stories of the theatre, 
und also the things about Fred Remington, and a year 
later showed up unexpectedly, but not without welcome, 
tit NV\v Rnchrlle. 

Remington thought him a veritable nugget, and spent 


<:i '-'I * ".''>.' v,< i; 


*, * 


h I 

! . , I ,-,., 
M ':K- 

> i,- 


V Ml I . '. ''i .1 
>.','! tt. '', ' 

.' !: . t" 

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. ' I ' . .', 

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by his \\ ish for change. Bnmson Howard, after his come- 
dies of "Suruu>nu" and "Green Room Fun," wrote 
"Hie Banker's Duuj'hter," "Young Mrs. Winthrop," 
ami after another comedy, "The Henrietta/' returned to 
serious work in "Shenuwlouh" and u Aristocracy." Gil- 
lette wrote his comedies, "The Professor/' "The Legal 
Wreck/' then his serious play, "Held by the Enemy/' 
and, after a string of comedies which included "Mr. Wil- 
kinson's Widows/ 1 "Too Much Johnson," and 4I Because 
She Loved Him So/* returned to serious work in "Secret 
SIT vice" and "Sherlock Holmes." Henry Arthur Jones 
hud even a wider run#e through outright melodrama and 
farce, ranj'jnj', fit mi "The Silver Kinjj" to" Whitewashing 
of Julia.*' ( iiyde Fitch, after his lighter social portraiture, 
wrote his bii; plu\ , "The City." One will not he accused 
of claiming a professional kinship to these masters if like 
them he confesses the human side which craves variety. 
My own attempts ranged nil the way from melodrama to 
musical comedies and broad farce. After the experience 
with "Colorado," the reaction was naturally to the 
lighter moot Is, 

Before "Colorado" was produced, and while it was in 
rehearsals, I went one night to the Empire Theatre to 
sec* If. V. Esmond's comedy, "The Wilderness." That 
excellent company of Charles I-'rohman's contained such 
actors, since stars, us Murjyiret Anglin, William Courte- 
nay, Charles Kichmun, Mrs. Whiflen, Margaret Dale, 
and in a quite minor iVIe, Lawrence D*0rsay. My wife 
and 1 were* watching I In- play from a box, and when D'Or- 
suy left thr sta}.;e 1 noticed a movement in the parquet 
like a receding wave as the audience settled hack in their 
seats. They hud moved forward in their attention in 
less concerted action; but as they heard D'Orsay ap- 


{or his second scene their interest was i in me- 
diate and the forward inclination was in unison. 1 called 
my wife's attention to the fact, and ufiea D'Orsuy came 
on for the third time \\c both noticed the peculiar re- 
sponse. I felt that tin* player so welcome in such neg- 
ligible material a,s hi.- slight rule oiiVied was of stellar 

i knew D'Orsay as an actor v\Ito luid attracted atten- 
tion in Captain Marshall's pla\ , "The Royal Family/* 
aiui as an interesting personal li f nire ubmit the eluhs. 
Mo describe him m a line, one \\ould have to use the* su often applied to him b\ his ciitic-,: "The Ouitla 
tyju* oi heavy jMiartlsmaa.*' Hr. e\pie'.%ion is the domi- 
nant one* o! distinguished, ipatjne, lut/jisli toleration, 
alternated with bland astonishment, not unmixed vuth 
140-od nature, but al\va\s self-coiifidc-nt, self-suihcient, and 
aristocratic. 1 be^an thinkin*'. abitit Iiim as the central 
figure for a comedy that I had arteet! to \\riir for Mr. 

On the Ameriean sta}* 4 e, to |^rt the greatest value* From 
such a man as a kind uf omicpaper Kn^Iishman t>f !>reetl- 
ni|.% it was imperative to surround him \\tlh Americans 
and give him an Amnican background. In dulit^ this 
1 naturally saw the Americans amused xvitli his speech 
and manner as 1 hud %rrtt them awusrd by him in private 
life; but us I thought more intimately of him i remem- 
bered that his funnirst munents were his attempts to 
IK* u!tr,vAiurrit*an. lltis phase seemed only incidrntallv 
valuable until through d\\ellinj* on it, thr idea came 
to me to put bun in a situation where he uiiiili! lie seri- 
ously obliged to assume it altogether, and with the in- 
ception of that idra 1 had the bent and the impelling 
factor of my story. The eiwstruetion would be along 


ic of establishing an Englishman who would have 
tend to be an American, and his experiences after 
;an to do so. 

were permitted to say to a dozen English and 
can playwrights of to-day Pinero, Jones, Gil- 
Polloek, Al Thomas, Forbes, Winchell Smith, 
( Maugham, and so on, "What made an ultra- 
hman in America pretend to be an American? 
*r promptly," "they would reply In chorus, "A 
n." That is the dramatist's formula, and it was 

And the dramatists would be agreed on the next 
Find the woman. 

It that it would be piquant for the woman to be a 
widow who had resumed her maiden name. Under 
overb this would make her twice shy, while at the 
time it would remove her from the ingenue class, 
>eing bndly overworked. After considerable study, 

must not. be minimized by any ready relation of 
nit upon the idea of having my Englishman mas- 
king as an American unwittingly take for sufficient 
i the name of the girl's divorced husband. This 

great find, as any one interested in playmaking 
adily agree. 1 decided that my Englishman should 
seen and been attracted by this young woman while 
as travelling on the Continent, and that instead of 
g to America in search of an heiress his trip should 
i? definitely in search of the woman, 
ave more than once in these pages spoken of the 
of material which seemed to have no significance 
4 time of its acquisition. Here's another example: 
I't go up in the Ferris wheel at the Chicago World's 
in 1893 because I dramatized the wheel sticking 
my car should reach the top of the turn. In 1899 


I said so to Maurice Barrymore as we stood looking at 
the same wheel transported to and set up at EarPs Court, 

"Well, since it's been here the thing has stuck twice/ 5 
said Barry; "one time for twenty-four hours." 

A policeman standing by took up the story and told 
us how a sailorman climbed to the cars with coffee and 
sandwiches for the imprisoned patrons. 

"A lot of good stories/' he added, smiling, "fellows 
with other fellows' wives, and all that sort of thing." 

I expressed my yokel astonishment as to how the sailor- 
man could have managed it up to the topmost cars. The 
bobby's tolerant answer set the story in my mind for all 

"Well, you see, sir, 'is mother'd taught 'im to 'old on 
good and 'ard, and 'e did." 

The idea of putting two romantic people together for 
twenty-four hours in the same car at the top of the Ferris 
wheel seemed to me excellent preparation for a comedy. 
I adopted it. 

When my story was well in hand, newspaper training 
impelled me to familiarize myself with the proposed 
scenes of it, the three locations in the Waldorf-Astoria 
Hotel. I stated my project to the business manager of 
the hotel, and met a chilling and discouraging reception. 
The house could lend itself to no enterprise of that kind. 
So two days later I drove to the hotel in a cab with my 
wife, and with a trunk and valises. The room clerk had 
us shown several rooms and suites. I chose a suite I 
thought suited to the earl. The rate, without meals, was 
forty dollars a day. We stopped only one day, but the 
forty dollars put into my hands many valuable physical 
suggestions, as well as the truthful color which is so valu- 



able in a well-known district. It also enabled me to make 
sketches for the scenic artist and get suggestions helpful 
in the general construction of the story. 

After I had begun to write the play Mr. Frohman had 
gone to London. I cabin! him, asking if I might have 
D'Orsay f*r the piece. 

With characteristic brevity he answered "Yes/ 1 
My comedy, "The* Ear! of Pawtucket," was done by 
the {inic Mr. I'Yohman came back, but the cable for D'Or- 
say had meant to him only the engagement of a minor 
character. He was warm in his approval of the play, 
but declined to risk IVOrsay as the star. I could set* no 
other exponent. !''ivhman generously released D'Orsay. 
Two hunts after he had done so I hud completed an ar- 
rangement with Kirke Ln Shelle, who took the play solely 
upon my description of it, and because he had to move 
promptly in order to get. lime at the Madison Square* 
Theatre, where !\It/abeth Tyree was starring under her 
own management in a play not. very successful. Miss 
Tyrce was exactly the type of girl that we wanted for the 
heroine, aw! she hal the additional attraction of being 
the owner of this lease fur the Madison Square Theatre, 
While* I was slill in Ln Shelle's oilier, I .a Slielle arranged 
for Miss Tyree to hear the play, and before she went to 
the theatre thai night I had rend it to her, she had ac- 
cepted it, and itfirr giving the following day to the selec- 
tion of the company we slutted on the second morning 
to rehearse the piece, with only eleven clays between us 
and the Monday on which we proposed to open. Among 
the company assembled on the stage of the Madison 
Square Theiitie lor rehearsal %vas an actor of experience 
and ability, Mr. Knie\t Elton, engaged for the part of 
the valet, Hr ant! D'Orsay Had been together in an 


English company some fifteen years before in the prov- 
inces, and met now for the first time since. 

"Oh," said Elton to D'Orsay, "are you in this piece?" 

D'Orsay said, "I hope to be." 

Elton gradually realized he had been speaking to the 
star. The reported episode amused C. F. 

We had one of our best first nights, and next morning 
a fine press; but our performance had been with insuffi- 
cient preparation. Being familiar with the script from 
both writing and rehearsing it, I had at the first per- 
formance undertaken the office of prompter, and, in order 
that I might not be more audible than the players, stood 
in the first entrance with a small megaphone through 
which I whispered when they seemed to hesitate. 

In the second intermission a prominent critic said, "I 
like everything about the play except the wretch with 
the megaphone." 

But feeling that much more depended upon main- 
tenance of our tempo than absence of the occasional 
note from the megaphone, I stuck to the method. Our 
stage-manager's time-card registered our last curtain at 
an hour that was not improved upon during the long run 
of the piece. D'Orsay starred in the play under La 
Shelle's management for three years, and at the end of 
that time returned to Mr. Frohman to star in another 

Altogether I read or proposed many plays to Charles 
Frohman. Some were accepted, many were refused, 
both in script and in projected story. Charley one day 
said to me: "It's always a great pleasure to refuse a 
play of yours, because it seems to get the thing off your 
mind, and then we have an interesting conversation." 

For my own part, as I look back, I can add that the 


pleasure was not altogether one-sided, because Charley 
never refused a play or a story without proposing sonic 
project for another one. 

When ho turned hack the script of "Pawtuckct" and 
released D'Orsuy from his company in order that 1 might 
do the play elsewhere he said: "As soon as this is off your 
mind start in and write me a comedy for John Drew, and 
if you can I'd like you to put a part in it for Lionel." 

Drew had recently had great success in a play called 
"The Mummy and the Humming-Bird/ 1 in which his 
nephew, Lionel Barry more, had the part of an Italian 
who had no English words and ventured on few Italian 
phrases, hut trusted to convey most of his meaning by 
eloquent pantomime. 


I think Lionel Barrymore's fundamental ambition in 
life was not so much to be player as to be artist. Every- 
thing in black and white or on canvas or in stone interests 
him intensely, and for two or three years he left the stage 
to devote himself to the study of color in Paris. In the 
theatre his happiness is delineating character, and he 
goes at each new subject with the technical interest of 
an artist interested in surfaces and in the force behind 
them. He made his first big impression in New York by 
playing an old Boer general in a melodrama done at the 
Academy of Music. The part was a prophecy of his 
gallery of old-men portraits made notable in "The Cop- 
perhead" and again in "The Claw/' For his Italian 
with John Drew he had taken lessons from a master in 
order to be right in the few phrases he had to ejaculate, 
and he had gone into the Italian colony to study the 
manners of its people. It may be that C. F/s commis- 
sion to put in a part also for Lionel centred my attention 
more than the obvious commission to get a story for 
Drew. At that time, to see Kid McCoy, champion mid- 
dleweight fighter of the world, and Lionel Barry more 
together no acquaintance of either would mistake one 
for the other. But the mistake could easily be made if 
either was seen alone half a block away. I began to think 
of a prize-fighter. In order to get a thoroughly contrast- 
ing part, I chose a minister of the gospel. I was indebted 



to the current newspapers for that idea, as there was 
some young clergyman at the time in the public eye 
through his advocacy of athletics. 

There was no haste for the play. My friend RuckstuII 
was settled in a little town called St.-Leu, some fifteen 
miles out of Paris, working on his heroic equestrian statue 
of Wade Hampton. Letters from him carried the allur- 
ing post -cards of the city beautiful. I was a little track- 
sore with New York, and mentally a little weary with 
the vociferous self-approval of the National Administra- 
tion. My boy and baby girl were beginning to lisp 
French, perhaps wrongly, from their uncertain bonne. 
My wife wanted to pursue her musical studies. I thought 
it would be fine to have an occasional half day in some 
Parisian tifrltVr. "Ari/ona 1 * was doing well. D'Orsay 
was making money. Letters of credit seemed possible I 
Paris ! 

There are too many guide-books of Paris, too many 
accurate pictures of its beauties too many interesting 
and rattuifitte descriptions of it from Dumas to Du 
Manner, for an American playwright fatuously to at- 
tempt further to encumber the field. Bui for a man 
momentarily escaping from America, and especially from 
New York, there are some attractions that have not 
bent cininirriitrd, 

An -editor of n Western paper, recently writing of a 
local improvement society and of the conditions of in- 
dividual premise's says of one citizen: "There is no hy- 
pocrky about Brown, lie is not one of those men who 
beautify their front yurds and leave the back yards filled 
with ash-euns, rusty tin, and disorder. No hypocrisy. 
Brown's front yard is just us dirty as the back one/* 

New York has that kind of candor. When a visitor 


debarks from a steamship and comes through our water- 
front streets, whether from Hoboken or the North River 
side of Manhattan, he has a ride through a front yard 
that prepares him for all the dump-heaps of the rear, 
broken pavements, dirty gutters, tumbled tenements, 
ragged hoardings; and then through our necessitated but 
oppressive canyons, where the sky-scrapers shut out the 
sun for all but a few minutes of the day. And if he hap- 
pens to be a home-coming American from Paris he groans 
inwardly with a despair that he knows no effort of his 
own lifetime can lift. Having made one such round trip, 
I looked on Paris for a second time with a knowledge of 
these American features and a wish to find the elements 
that made the great contrast. 

One principal item is sky-line. The building laws of 
Paris fix the limit of houses definitely at six stories, or 
twenty metres, sixty-five feet. The mansard roof is an 
intelligent effort to observe the letter of this law and yet 
steal a few additional vertical feet under the allowance 
of roof. As property is valuable, the legal limit is uni- 
formly reached; but monotony is avoided because the 
race of architects turned out by the Beaux-Arts, where 
we send our Americans to learn the rudiments of their 
profession, has found a variety in the unity that makes 
for restful beauty. Again, the poverty of Paris in its 
water-supply seems to result in another blessing. The 
water in some of the mains is not potable, as they say, 
pas de la source, and the Parisian is as lavish with it in 
the streets and fountains as he is economical of its use 
in his bathtubs. 

Every morning, in every block, a street-cleaner turns a 
little rivulet through the gutter, dams it into a little lake 
with a bunch of burlap, and with his long and homely 


broom of osiers sweeps it over the wooden pavement 
levels:, washing baek the debris to the run and gradually 
extending rivulrt and lake until he has accomplished his 
bioek. The morning gutter and the sky-line call atten- 
tion newly to each new day, 

And then this third item: Intelligent Paris recognizes 
and admits lite eye as an organ., It is not to be more 
lawlessly availed than is the ear. No man for cummer- 
eial jnu poses shall without restriction assault the passers* 
attention with his blatant demand. The twenty -four- 
sheet stand, the bar bane three-sheet poster do not exist, 
beeause the munieipality puts a tax upon every shed of 
paper that, solicits its attention. Advertising spaee is 
relatively as valuable on the walls as it is in the news- 
papers, and so posters are artistic* of more than ephemeral 
value, and are in the main confined to handsome little 
kiosks set up at interval*, for their aeeommodation. 

\\hen will Aim-lira U-arn this value of public right? 
When will all the unsightly boards that eonitne our rail- 
way joiunev to hidmus :dtr\s of proelamatory and man- 
dalui\ atlav'L* be tej.ul-ited by proper assessment tinder 
Mate domain to things of tolerable sightliness and sourees 
o! revenue' t* the JMHU publie whom they alfliet? When 
will uitoiic*mlin^ i-iti/ens be peimitteil ti travel and look 
hum ihrii ear wiiidu\vs on letic-.hinf* Ian<lseapes without 
briiif* euiiiin;i!!i!rd to use StiUtum^. Alarm (lloek or 
Sokum\ Condnrnf Mill? \S h\ mu- 1 there always be 
tufeipMsrd In'twrrn the niininative indivi<lual and the 
sirnuj^iapfn <*f his M.ikei i he i'ommeieial persuasion of 
his fellow iiutiu moiu-v mad? 

To our wititnf, Jui the theatre Paris i% always rieh in 
Mi^^rsiion. Linlr j>Iavs thai have not the importance 
in get into /.'//iWrufimi, or even into the printed 

THI ; , HUNT ci' MY iu*;\fi<;\fB!u\c;K 

lirK*hur\ tlmuutu" i*it*. thit jjr\,rj w J.<- t'rir way in 
Auu'tira, air at thr -mall ?hr ifjr . ^:i ? ?<* 1 l'<vaiK ami 
tin- hav k .trrrt', at;,* I in thr Oui'.'rj a.i>! in M nitmaittv* 
MHI*' than halt' !' t;*"i -<M,iiM'v, r,i h -. *iiir hnlr M^** 
K*",tivr, tii fir ',*r.v*r thai oKiaV* ;i^I nt^r,. Whnt 1 
{i;ti} tin l)j*'U*U,tn ' w<it* j(i** Kni Jir*i I *.rnt it nvcr ti> 
(! f i\ !> tnai! tjntli-i thr tirlr *! f< I'hr Pu^, anif ihr I^r- 
sun/* Htui tnulrr titlr it ^ * ann- ^uu'r-l, Hut hrfun* 
r *'t *%n t* irfi^.n ,/' 1 s \1. l''j'h?n,iu ha*! iriYivn! 

ui-viin'-t llu- as-.fn Liti'*!i. H*- h^-1 a t.iuui jrlurTatUT In 
li.i* t!i'ir dvplr.f.ui*-, aM-l .t 1 ^ 1 ! l f j ! 1 '4 n;?!>, .fit.itl far 
llir l!l!% J'rrliM/. tlia^ J'ir ^"i-l "iMf.^u" ua i * lint MI 
%;irr^%,i!t^'l that *:?r in:, h* n-* u-.- t 1 , f't: * v*f,h *J course 
Jill'\4!!i^L \Vr t iljr.l th* )1 4\ " t tr < > n Vl ( *'l!/* 

Cl l\ fr!l ih, if l? ^.njj.i'/t .!-* IM pi' th A intu thf 
putt t' thr jura* hu h'.'ir\r/, IM- t'rr f!?r haiav'tt*r 
ulthu^h an njual p.u! i:\ tlr pl.r, \ \al-ir aul in thf 
wiiiin^,* i'tiM H"t h*tn it'* *rn L iii i t'r;^ur uiih the 

i'}$4!4i'!t 4 t it! thr ptj^ ; Jrl, It* ! '", r-1 th.t* Hat t 

n^, tin 4%'Jk ia""''l with hi*> MU* !<** \I % . Ih^ s 'i, ^ 
|lio%r H!I* ju^^l .'ipi-tlj* ;,fcU , ! * ]*.' Luru thr 
Ifl^ii llir Jirttri a** *f whm ti^- l,i V* "^ouM hr thai ill 
llii't plav* u% in ** 1 hr Muwwv :4^>l thr I !uinfii!!i^-ilifif* 
lir IiatI Mtilv thr itlMtr %!JMA \ juit. It ^ a ifirirfMS** llr* 
fiiirtl IH k*f 4 p LJ^^f ! a^ thr jm*/Ji'.t anl jut MISJU* uvui! 
nlU* I<% h i*iiii|t Ji^in in thr |utt ll^-i! haJ hrrji mrat*! f***!* 
t \tl\ Dl'rtt, t'lauk \V*|thi:i/ t % r, r?i f ;,i f ti r'! li thi., :$Jlil 1 

havr t"\ri srrat a wan.v.rr ni tvr *Aith in^ir ruthu*.iaMU 
\n }*ri an a'lwjuatr ^nrup.pjv. 

1 inn MMIV l> li,'rt l!it fc ti.niir ti! thr pi i\ ill Vblurh t 
vriv hrautitul j'irl il that Unir } 4 ai in:i4r an Jwjizrvann. 

This girl was Diiiti l)r Wt4t\ thr r, t jr nf I;!%ir Df 


Wolfe's brother. There was sonic slight domestie-in- 
!aw difference that made these ladies not agreeable to 
i*aeh other, and the wish to see them both in the same 
?ust piqued Frohman's sense of humor so much that he 
set about the seemingly impossible task of persuading 
the two ladies, with the result that the valuable co-opera- 
tion of both actresses was obtained. Selina Fetter, who 
had been a favorite New York leading woman when she 
married Fdwin Milton Royle, was induced to take a part 
somewhat more- mature than those she had previously 
.shown in. For a young reporter, Richard Bennett was 
engaged; ant! Mich excellent actors as Joseph Wheelock, 
Jr., Ralph Dehnoie, and Joseph Whiting, together with 
Jessie Uusley and Mavi-ie Firlding, then one of the great- 
est favorites of the \audeville theatres, were also engaged. 
The Criterion Theatre, in which we were ultimately to 
play, was rixnt to us' for all our rehearsals. That one 
should inrnt iMii this mav pu/./Ie the layman, but such 
conditions an* not al*Aa\s provided. I think the rule is 
to the cnntrarv; th;t! the' majority of plays are moved 
about in tin if iehe;U'-als from >ne theatre* to another, 
and cKvusiunallv into some hired hall. There is a great 
advantage in in thr playhouse in which you 
are to open, ant! getting alwa\s the proper tonal values 
and the phv steal relations- that are to be undisturbed 
and unrevised. 

As SOCHI as Lionel knew In 4 was cast for the pugilist 
he hunted up Kid McGiy and passed much oi his time 
outside the theatre with the champion. This admiration 
was reciprocated, and when the play opened McCoy 
came often to see his counteifeit presentment. One dif- 
ference between Ban 1 v more and McCoy was that the 
Kid's hair was as einK as Lionel's wa.s straight. For a 

4 o> THF. rUI\r 01- MY KI-Ml MBR\\CK 

period in the i rK lull M} 1-e i'iv. a'ld 1I all I Ll!u\\ 
tlaiin. .ill t\ / iu\ he v>a in ! 1 ,"'iei I; i*{ !,i , hair nrti- 
tieialK Ufihi 1 i u ! i r\i':iii i ? t Midti pinpiiL fu piesent 
t hi . tiiin aat> :i d fa . *t *'. 

I Siau* ua' ft to lilir.e thit an ft^tri ja, f imlk'uU*tl 
In \lt. \\hitluL, *.!i'* iia;iri f "a iff'il a i'lMta^trr just 
irltM .rt! } nan tKr ta!lr .^ rj< i ^al ni.ilt <nc^ an i prra* 

iitianiiiitl tin III!!' rlU r "I rl! i i ,r, ! : r ti, ,t Illiir llnl 
jihi'i ! *:nri) n '.** i pi* f 7 *l Jt . ! lf ' Ti*^!jr. I In* li%t" n{ 

* ill' ihui i t!-ri a . aa a ( !i,i . '* i 1 t! - I !^<n MIL r thiu* 

iih r I'J*' (.hi! \\ji, t^ 4< ! w i*^ tii^:L ii v f i*!!i iiiM'4 uf 
fhr t la\ i*i'^!. * I ' ; "i ! : 'il Iraf. la t! r ii'cMi.als 
t tt ll'l , -.i i r ii' \\ In !'**, IP '?i l!i,t:i MH r *!ii iMl 1 *,ui- 
if Ttln I*: . j*ai r . ia-I.i k - r , that ! f ir t 1 ! L^I* !iai r - 1 was 
a lin/ u! lura /.ir *\* ! in-i u:m i! 1 i*.il In had 
UrM-i l.ikt it r!!'i i , ai.'l IM Ka* I 1 *.* i IM ; . at *I, -. \alh 
thr la*!^ t \li , S i* Inn an hr v, a h: . k * * j MM u i*!*l. 

In l*ati., \!im! v M t t*M hoi ;< 'i , ! : : tui tirli, hinl 
atlfiiliMii ihr n*\rl f , ! 1 ' 'MI*! \lrj; , *., v, It. i tflalril 
|M Sul i, Onr ul Hit" r %iuf ii 8 , i \ i!i -! ** 1 hr I'M iti-*n of 
Pcy f % HaijMi/' II n*Lt!f an a./ 1 n'. jal*fi:l tia'uinjj 
M! \li-/, l*i \ \, rM :i l* ihi M..I . h*iii., i*f hn < Kin and 
*thii ap,*aif * th t*. .4 *jitini* jn In* ^ ; thr > r i-al 
hit 4 fin* \mn,< !.!, in 1 uudn 111 thf authi**. pla\ f 
and thru thr uuamu,*u . ^ uunju-ni **S if " }ti* * *; *u lh^%t* 

drlt; jiltlll i-haiai tfli .U ' , iliiM ti 4 j'u, atl the lli,r Hllil 
ihr atilhui* 4 ^ic-at /NI*| ijt.;.se in liintiu^ an rxjuwrni 

\\l\n pu i ,' f*d ihfin and t!ii"i!n *.,ritl hi * pinr imtt 
iailuir* I tain v thi* r. ut an uzr.r.'j.d rv^rnnur uith 
playH'ii/jii \Jiu !ia\r pu*! n c idra . aiul ^Juc!iiit their 
own plays, 

As I hnvr wiiurii ill eat Her pa;tes, I w;i*; tli!i;*ed t<* |!* 
buck tu I*uris a day or two aflei we nju-ned at ihc 4 (,t> 


;crion; but before I left Barrymore's success was so 
pronounced and his identification with the part seemed 
;o permanent that Frohman asked rne what I thought 
>f featuring him in the play. Of course, with my ad- 
niration for the boy and my older friendship with his 
>arents, as well as a sense of justice, I was delighted with 
t. "The Other Girl" was produced late in December, 
[903. Ethel Barry more was at that time playing at the 
rludson Theatre in "Cousin Kate." I saw her the fol- 
owing summer at her Uncle John Drew's house at East 
ilampton. The first vivid experience she had to report 
:o me was of a night in midwinter when leaving the Hud- 
;on Theatre to go home she had encountered on Broad- 
vay a billboard on' which was a great stand starring 
Lionel Barrymorc, her brother. Ethel said she was so 
^leased that tears sprang to her eyes. I was able to tell 
icr then of her own first night in "Captain Jinks" at 
:he Garrick, when her father and I leaned on the bulk- 
icad of the filled theatre. 

Then Barry's eyes were full of tears as he turned to 
ne and said: "My God, isn't she sweet?" And she was. 

In my first saunter through my recollections, and 
through the contemporary suggestions that were about 
me for the search of a subject for the Drew play, my 
attention not for the first time -went back to the little 
'Constitutional Point" that I had written for Mr. Palmer. 
It was unsuited to my needs, but its ultimate usefulness 
was not to be overlooked. After leaving my engagement 
with Bishop, which had been the inspiration for the little 
piece, I had been more and more intrigued with the sub- 
feet. The basis for my information was in the series of 
books written by Doctor Thomas Hudson, of which his 
"Law of Psychic Phenomena" was the first. I was there- 


\iv iu:\!i- \iim\\t, K 

* i\ [ i t a \, * i 
fnu 1 M!' IU*, 
am! Ja!<rt thr ! 

df'nl vabiri t tt, . 

Iir I! 

l't ! i f i m 5* , . r 

\ . 


t *a 

' " f ^ r v'.u i inn pts and 

I ( * M I { *l 

I * ' * .nA A Km a kin- 
i* ! .?"* i 1 . ta\ in Paiis 
i,:Mi .t fit s.tilioime and 

u ? it 



nil H Inn f btvtf ir r that f p : e . 

au't'^tr*! ! Mr srll'.r *{ !" r It - ' 

plinl, atui nr\ i-j in anv v. ' > f f : * 
rHprtnnml n \\hal nu, '.! i 1 

thria|irutii' Mile- t t i! . 

sprint man*, rxmnu", \'i!H uu- r* 
at llir !i'!r! anil flM-\\ IU-H , r* ' - ' 
nnl vrt th a* n/!i!v I.IUIH }u i * \ 

us. 'I hrtr r. in h lh llu- hi , , < ' ; i 
thin,* ajij^oarhiin* !ii\'4!i 4 ** "I I 
trlrjialhv hail tni llu-m a >! ' 4 ! a 

f.'ai..*nl, sit iMilati'ii a* f*> r.t\ tv * 4 4 ii *r nt i;, 

llsprvt, lull inn riThrlrs 1 . U' ! n * In !l*r *!! ( t}r Buiil<* 

vanl, ca Sr^Hui A\nmr i < u It !< s n t, IP* rr \sas to 
thr rrar i %tH-!i.m of lltr I!IMH r * ! f *! !v s ll i Ii vi I *t sunu* 

a t'ur, hut 
' . T .uit it iia- 
>\ i .ill fni any 

.t f t . -i\ i* or 

.! 'lh't Jack* 
urrj. a with 

l*iiit ^rir cn- 

strps. \\V ttrrr t >n that iilf!f n * // i"j'H . ! * i iflfftiftg 
to %iiiirhutiv*% '.tati-tnrnl and !iini !i *'! >n <4 tlir |>os- 
sihiiilv til making a prj\*ia in hnt i} .i:r in an awlu*nct* 
cuasfimj*. u{ tlir | f a/r if an"t!jrr a! a !i.taru.T hrhinti 
him. 1'hr ht>ys pruposrcl thr r xpriiinrnl, lu make it 


cliilicult the> selected a woman in the fort* part of the 
restaurant paiquet who sat with hack squarely toward 
us. We agreed upon her by hat and furs, and the like, 
and then conforming to instructions instead of merely 
mentally commanding the lady to look around, we in 
our minds definitely dramatized her doin^ so and focused 
thought and attention on her. In the time in which one 
can perhaps count ten, with a gesture of great annoyance 
the lady faced sqnarclv about and glared at us, 

I have referred in earlier chapter to a natron of the 
theatre whose theories were so reassuring Mr. Thomas 
B. Clarke, a connoisseur and art collector. Men who 
know Mr. Clatke, and knu\v Ltm intimately enough to 
call him Tom. will understand my taking any excuse, 
however risky, to have an hour in his emttuany. For 
some reason dm in-; this winter, tgo$, in Nru York he 
wanted me to meet hi-, fiiend, Mr. Frederick (Jebhnrd. 
As I remembei, Mr. (tchhanl liad requested the* meet- 
ing* which was In be at a vrr\ small dinner at his home 
then on tin* ea*.tnn '.idr f Paik Avenue at about Thirty- 
ninth Street. I went with a fairlv keen interest, wonder- 
ing somewhat f.tlttoir.K if Mr, (iehhard knew anything 
of my St. I, out-, new '.paper reports uf his visits there. 
As I recalled them, thrv ueie ratlter cumplimrntarv 
than otherwi'.e, except lor a hideous* woodcut issued as 
a portrait. But a man ab*ut lovui woiil<l hardly invite 
11 person to a MIJ ill dinner pailv in order to assault him 
for that offense attn \n manv \r;ir% had intrrveiied. It 
was a fine little dinni*r, aiian/rd by an r f Client cfief 
and aceompanietl bs ^^oud wine. 

I had last *.een Mr. (e!ihaiI in tSH.^ twenty years 
before, then \\eai in/ Use title- of liie Kin|,t of Dudes, He 
was now a widdie-a^eil, re-,eived and serious gen 

H/I mi: tiu\r OF MY HI MI<,MIWVM:K 

I fir li 

? t !,,,,:*, U;i rtth- 
<", t.^tii V.,K tin* 

"111! ,-Jr, , >0 

j,3 ' 'i>r t- ? 
Ii HMM". 4 

|Mf 4 |ii'\ Jnl 
Ml, I'l^JmuU 
' 1ml li,r Ut 
inr, A ij'nfi 
i;i? \\ t !'* a }i'- 

ot tlir p!;r f ?,-;;!i! ?" ,1 fil-i- 
With thi* M^'-rt '^^Ju.Ui, < H 

4 ^ 

J P*M " I l:>r Oilier 



tr >*. ^r 



n ;U i . 

ua% j|, 


p in j 

| (l || jr 

;i ,a! IUM) . 
I lltf . .; 

,,} ,, , i ]i, 
;ij ., f hi I 

hid DM A 

\\ t f ,. 

,i,t- J * 

i * f ,i i r ht*j suspicions; the matter \vould 
41 4 1 ;,! < f i *at, Awl tlu'n again my reeol- 
* ^*' C it ',!^j!ti *'iuy t e v ted having obstacles 
*;'.' i\ I found those obstacles in a 
., IM a prifunct try suitor Tor the girl, 
; in !j: vft-nt father, who, unlike the girl, 
-if ! thr -hai ,*.rs ami so cm. As one 
) 'i\ !n i!i \\a>% t'nmi the portrait, I 

!',* h ^** tallrd M l)e Laneey," was 
t .t'f a vn. Juim Drew had come 
14 ?i I "fidi iu and tn^rthcr the two 
! ;i*i!i \\iih inr and listen to the 
, '*'.hut 'ti nH Boulevard Mont- 
< ..ilr du DMIIU . Juliu felt that he 
I <*< J'r !tr iliiiila'd the four flights 
, ,t ! li.'hiua't, ho didn't take eoek- 
i. ui in tlu' littlr i-atr ;i|^itnst the bar of 
" ,i !*, i H ia It iiiali>^ar got such pos- 
5"i ? |j rt .5,! tiritn i;t! . ;t the small stock 
, ,1"-* :-d. Ilir ua'llail, made in a 
v /h .i ;* n, ^a- \\aun and long and 
? .iJ^i a h.ud thtv in I mlon, a night 

I. \\Lfit I!M-\ irai-hrl our apartment 
.^ ] * T di n i li.iii bv the hat-rack 

" '*- ^^ ahindunrd lati^Ii because 
L"- <>i^ -i >4iir^ a large eoektail- 
, i ',. ' !a * \Utiliui, cold and pnper, 

- i 1 ' i't Ihi-ninical but not dtscjuali- 

V . I'i.'-tMr, and latrr when I was 
*' : /': i^^ f! ^' lr tta% ttl lhe WllKh ~ 

HI I'KINi' Ul>' \\\ HI Ml MMiA\<,K 


fi* ' v >4 1 I i , '. " 4 
a* rtrl M! n i I s.-'., 
turn -Hi fN' /*' !^ J : 
lr'\.',, *', ?. ti'ia. < 
Tiv r,4" .- -t t? :. i 


\ $ ' a ' 

! t 

n 1 \ r S* 

|r vi a * au 
..-jM'<, f 

\*a? * 

If IV 

Iiii*!% at la.) 
Vhnr llir V- ,t! 

fftr *aJul i!tMi 



sonic other listeners at Knst Hampton of a dinner at- 
tempted some ten \ rars hrfore at our house in New Ro- 
eht'He. At that ratlin 1 dinnrr ten guests were expected, 
making a total juiu of thrive. All hut one were 
coining from Nru Vik (!it\. 'I here was a blizzard on 
the day set, and thr mls j'.w.t to arrive was a laxly living 
in New Koehcllr. Sin- did iu*\ reaeh the house until 
neurlv niiu o\Ink in the r\nttiH;% and was then in the 
arms of fin maihman. l! i r coupe in whieh she had 
passed neail* an hui ti\i f v. t eovrr a tjuarter of a mile 
was stalled in thr HMV, Hihi tn our lawn. 

\\lirit tin' Kui* v. ;i ihi\\iii >ut ami revived, and as 
wr faced thr /MV. n*. ami UT .dtrtl ulmttuls, this solitary 
guest on nu n, ti. a,l ' m\ ^Iti a un my left, **H you 
were* to put thi *'U fhf *4a f /* nh'dy would helieve it/* 

llu*rc ua . a tt\i f uir it 'iii talK- that luvame an e(- 
fective pii'pnts in a II T l .ut, I hi. vsas a hole some 
eitrhtten tia hi-. \*juai , ui*.i iu mnttaiv t> the expostula- 
tions of out IK al i .tipf !it i 1 had t itl in the centre of the 
tiiltlr. In thi -|MP v,a. hitfd a copper pan that 
euuftht thr *!nft }i',ti a iin\ tuut*in that ontfd play 
over '.tur* and trin* \\lird we had xi-.itors or lelt senti- 
mentiil tur,rUr,. If ^.r, a pntri't little fountain, rcgu- 
luird uiiclri thr ublr !\ a k*^ which n> man ought to 
expect n ti ir.n h ;t f ^f it worket! satisfactorily 
nine timr* out f tri\ i until a hit of dirt or sotne aquatic 
iirrrt Kt infn it 1 . pi:'h'!r ni//tr. llini it spurted eecen- 
tticalh and wa 1 * a H% .lai l*iJ liiiii|% 

Onr ni/iiT li.iin'r. \\ J . *n had the attention of the 
euwpaus :uil .*' ^^!- ^ l a . ,d st.iy \vhrn flu* fountain 
touk onr tit Thr .1 til ,. I i,r ,Mr;im -.tnu'k fair and square 
on thr "lift I'*.MW i !i - in > shirt antl made a noise 
like lain **a it i*Mif, t!mjMU> tuhlrclths are long, and 

I'ill' HUM 01*' \1V 


hi-. ..*ou, 11.- lw<\ uj* ),;, 

"' tv * ' " , ', ' f " A ' * , t ! i f if 

\\ ur". ! ^ n * ,' / <*\ i ' ", - . 

Hi i JiJ n 'A ' ,'"* n ./,? ,-;-, i 1 ^ ' ' f 

J! '*..^ .,; ,; ) , ' rj .,-, - .,/ 1 

I ; .^i/ v, 4 , a f I -i t 1! i- :,/ - 
**v, M| ihrtn, I i* :! ih '.; , , 

! * i % 1 " ^ 

jtiUr *-l* i** 13 *t r , i * u#* \ If i4* t '' 

- - J ^ ' " " * j - ' I.U * jl 

' . , 1; "\\. \. ,,;;;,., 

..; ' . D . . I" .i'.| :>..n 

A '. 'i- .' ' .,1 ,).- 

* " W 1 ? 

V " * ' , . ' >, I ' 4 i ^ 

i, i, * ','-" < [ .1 ' , t3l 

^ " ' ' l ,*."; :i 

^ f .i k 

nil . ' ? - "' ', t " ' i j, i u 

i*A li v. 4 . a '--.. ' - 
* r:u,n/ , 4 4 a >" <. 

l?rir! M,, h .,1%'^142!' f f \ 

1 ** 'fe ! -,"* pi ; f "' ; , V : 
lv l!r*f, in,i.'jf II u; L *'j.^ ' 
u.'i|r llir l.t'lv lifv;^ i r, ; 
1>\ llir V"*;M. huuus *fir f iT 


lJ u . inuiHti I. nU v.ttr innernt, but which was sufii- 
ninth * ! " t !! in ir in .1 pie .rotation. Then 1 drove 
l| lr ^ ,,-,;!',, IM rs an au hiu * t , into the house from a near- 
{^ j ?l 5i jo it ! ih'HH\ iin.iA in ut tin* ^tit's presence or of 
ihr piivi*'i *'''<Mi'i until in* annex. With the people 
liviw-' ^ l *hr IiMn-.r and the falhrr auti mother of the 
husii-^s urn! tl;r jr.iiuus liiishaiul of flu* married lady I 
hail j>rtplr rnnn/Ji lir H %!>!. ! cannot repeal a play, 
nut rvr-ii ,H pi'*?, in tln-.e jiar.-^ lui Iirlieve I have here- 
with *iveu t-ntii,/.h t** indicate' the -.pi i-lttliness of the sub- 
ject ami ihr -.uiiu !.-J:rv f thr !i!a!rii:t!. 

\\ltrii tht- i-inr!v wa-. d>nr, uf'fcT stniu* six weeks of 
rather inlnr.ivr v, lit in/, we callinl it 4 *Ntrs. Letlinnwell\s 
B.tuis/ 1 l-' nnmrdialrly accept etl it ami told me 
In- \vnuM win- uu- t" Paii'. whrn time and a place in the 
llit-aiir--. wrir iin- t" if. I camr iiver the 4 next mitlwinter, 
\\iu-n I t'uiid ih- jali.ini C. l ; . with another one of his 

i.Ui:i"i'linaiv * *'! lf m;l% ^ wav wilh NIn i:ruhman 
to %rr uni-i ahilit\ in a \Mtm^ woman and quickly 
F i\r firr upp..ituniur-, ti. {n-ivr lirr woith to the ptlLliC 
Thnu^h liH-M- Mji|i-i!iMntir% omld hr devisrd, it wasn't 
ahva.v^ p^,lr 'tu tuakr ihr pui-iu- ncvept tlie lady at 

} |t , r ,li!li:i!r ,,f hrl. Mv ircnllrcthili is that wllfU ^thc 

puiiliv hail l.tih-d. lio^rvru C F. was more nearly right 

than ihr j/rnn.d jni v. 

Suth a r 'ii! ii.-i'l c-'jur imd.-r his atlrntim at that tune 

in'thr jiri'^n M! Jav Daws a Sft^t intrlt^rilt actress, 
with a mrih...I iM-ii-.ijr. .1 Httir t.*. driicati* if anything, 
h had IU..M- th- .j^.dii', M| !hr iiiuiiaiuir painters atten- 
ii,,n to Mihiinx, -i:.d tM drtail-. than is rfirctive in the 
,,la>!iou-.r. wlmh i.-.p-s^N Hiuir rraclHy to the broader 
t.m'i-hr-, M. linhitMn Ul -^trrra hrr in "I.:uly Rosc f s 
phin /' fraluird lin iu ** Ihr \Vhitrwas!K ui Julm 

41.'. II U<. HUM 01 MY Ht:\S! '\IHUA\CI- 


\1 IK 

Mi,, 'I 

K/, M- It 

\ \ 

. , t 
,C. < :!-. ,. . 1 J', 

.! M,.- I i , . 4 \ 

I'.i--- . .1 ! "i 4 - t - '. . 
i -'is'.*!-: 'i' r , ,-, i i.r j ,' I 

I!!,', !Mi'M( : ! i .- i . i 

in i ". ' f a : ^ . < i - , 

..'::..'.,' I - . ,, 
t ' '. ' ' J i ,', , 

.' M 

, . 1 

. ! \ -, 

Ji" .,-! 


1 '' '"-"' '..:' 

lit I'!? '. Jj ? r , , 

' Ihr Olhrj (,!il." 

! , r , ., tt ,. iif , 


C. K said tn him, ** \Vhut arc you doing there?" 
** 1 want in luuk at the scene, Mr. I'Yohman." 
"\\V1I tr!l \tu about that/* and the functionary dis- 

lippraf ed, 

Out dtrv, rehearsal for "Mrs. I,efiing\vell*s Boots 1 ' 
\\as at fhr Sa\\. (,*. F. ami I were alone. The presen- 
tation piticredrd exactly as a first ni^ht, with every for- 
maht \ < >bst r\ rd. 

\\hrii the first act \vas over he said to me, "These 
pe >ple ai eu*t ael ni;\.** 

It wa*. a pietts eiui]>iiment ti> tlu* eompany, and I 
tiied Ti> steal '.nine u}' it fur the author; hut that was 
enlneU a mrutal pnii'rss. \\Iien our last etulain iell t 
(", I 1 ', had if tjp a^ain; the* empany was called 
on the .!.!, e and in a few heaileninf..; and sineere phrases 
he t'Id them how hi f dilv hr < 4 st iinated their work. There 
\\a* it* * iH'fd at our iirst pcrformanet* to reverse his opin- 
ion. I like io irt'tir in my llioiifdtts to that engagement 
and in that happ\ family of playrrs, and 1 like to write 
a!imil it, Thr,r idral eonditii^ns are what every player 
drram*. of whm he onurs into the theatre and what, every 
p!a\-Aii.'ht ha-, in mind when lie sets down a line. Noth- 
ing is \o liralih-^.ivinj', and beneficial as this full, uniin- 
prdrti r\pir,-^*n and interpretation. 

In * f I hr I 1 , ui of 1 R-uUfii'let/ of wliieli I have written 
a'"U\ D'U, ,!/ Mu-ir-A was marked. When lie had 
pl.i'.rd it wrll into thr thiid \rar and there was only what 
was callrd thr small time open to him he grew anxious 
for aiioilirr vrhu-lc. ami felt that !u* could make better 
monrtarv anan^rinrnts elsewhere than he then had 
with i,a Shrlle. Mr. I'iohmun had revised hi.s measure 


of D'Orsuy and now regarded him as nf stellar ma;>nitn 
I was commissioned to wiite him a siuvev^n' in sl p; 
tucket/' D'Orsay's ambition made him ask al*-o fn; 
mure substantial purpose in the plav. The insi \e?'s 
of ** The Kmbassy Ball*' \\as, in t'iiMu|nrfHi\ a four-, 
play, mainly attempting eoinedv, but \\ith a quite seiii 
nutt* at the end of its ihild avt. Our tu-.t ni,-ht \vas 
New Haven. Mr, Fiohman ciuld imt attend. lies, 
he \\cnild base his upinin ot tin* ]->Ias u:tin-Iy upn i 
tel<*;.*t'ap!ue r<'ptrt <*t its nvrpt i n k a.nd iiil upiu ! 
nttu*es r opinion-, he wunld -ft inm nthi'is. 

I wned him, M A di/jnftrd in '..!/' 

1 here is hltle value m y^in,.\ mt* flu- rea'-^ns for f 
result, One ol thrill, h*Vkevet, h.,s. ! iv.trjr'.t. lln* eiui 
the ihird aet \\as a \\ell~driinrd I'Mnlih ! bft \\ren a *.inis 
interest in the play and IVOr.av, vJi had t!ie IUT 
elenu'tit. The ehmas, o{ thr. i^nflii! ua-* 
I)*t.)rsay's teaiin/, tiMin some di; !>;:;at ii' ler.-id the 1 
that was the vital issue. Tfii% he <lid undn thr iliet*ii 
eneotira^.ement. nt the t^haiavter pla\-il bv that r\rr!L 
cumedian, 1 1 any 1 Jarwond. I )*( )i -,a\ eunplai!ir(! f 1 
his snppiut at tin* seiiuns m*nrnt vas nt -/aiiu'ie 
I iiere \\as vmr ju*.tu'e in hi-, i laim. Har'Ai^d enteju 
that there wasn't matt^iial in hi-. line-. l r\kr the ; 
plause that we* expeeted. In n\\ <v s jj npirii*ii the f, 
i*t l!u % pieee was s> \\ell settled that v, hrl!i-r Haiwt 
\\as ii|!,ht or vu* \\ere n/!ii i-rtiKl not aliei t the ultim, 
Irsull. Am! Ml. Haiv.nud's t-fieelivrne-.s ajoii-; t!u* lis 
o! his own \\oik as a i'ome*lian is t"* v*ell kn^n if* 
cjuiie an\bo<!\ v s ieinfijeeurnt. 

At Haitfoid on' I liiid <a I f.nv.ood's \\v t ^ :t 
he firniTousIy eonsrnted to m\ ;ina on fi hi, th.uae 
in that perfonniiiHT. \\lih the <!iiim-i;t tieatnu-nt 


the stump-speech material the act got the calls that it 
potentially held. The value of this was only my own 
assay of the stuff, because HarwoocTs association with 
the enterprise was worth much more than the material 
in question. 

Frohman saw the piece in Philadelphia and was de- 
pressed. The lay reader should understand the interests 
at stake. To fail then was to throw an entire company 
out of employment in November; to give in a measure 
a black eye to the reputation of the star and to leave on 
the hands of the management an expensive production, 
including scenery and costumes and a fair stock of print- 
ing. Despite its feebleness as theatrical text the play 
had shown us that D'Orsay was more acceptable in his 
proper comedy work than he was as a pseudo-leading 

As C. F. and I leaned over the bulkhead of the Chest- 
nut Street Theatre I recalled my experiences in rewriting 
the Crane plays "For Money" and "The Governor of 
Kentucky/' and lesser work on the unsigned scripts that 
C. F. himself had called me in to patch or carpenter. 
I thought I saw my way to make a three-act comedy of 
what we had. I told him so. My family was in Paris. 
I was a bit uneasy about them. I said if he would lay 
off the company for four weeks that I would jump over 
to Paris and back, and I thought we could salvage all 
the investment enumerated, with the exception of the 
four weeks' time held in the theatres. C. F. was delighted 
with the proposal. D'Orsay and I took the same steamer 
for the other side, he going ostensibly to see some member 
of his family supposed to be ill. I wrote on the boat and 
worked rapidly in Paris. 

In three weeks after leaving New York, D'Orsay and 


I again took a satin: steamer t*n' Amrnca, where we 
were two in a total of five tnst-cab;" } >;i'.M-n,,ep,. On the 
boat I finished the revision. l\\o du\% alter \\e bndrd 
we haci script ant! parts typed aud uheaisak \\h\i 
that delightful actor, IWrest KoblnsMii. added to the 
cast and associated with Hai\Mod. I hi* thire-aet ver- 
sion of **T!u* Embassy Ball/* a puu-K tatcical attempt, 
was successful. We played il tuo veap. 

Paris hicks the ocean, but vuth this ruvption it has 
as many suburban enticement 1 * as \r\\ Vak, and the 
Parisian is as accustomed to umnin., av. . \ h^in thr city 
for a little one or t\\o i!av \^uatin a-. an\ inrtMpoIitan 
that we know. To ehaiu-e the H!M S . t'-v;?;.^/ lc\ it/fc-.v, 
as they say is with iheirt a t'irjr,-:a art nt ir-ntal ^.ani- 
tation. \\V made a paitv t"'an.r t\*.c-K* "i !itt*-i-ti Anu-r- 
icans, clnidren included, \*. h weie at the- pirtiv hamlet 
of Montinny-sur- 1 .oiuj*. in th<* midi!!*- *t Aptil in i<>of 
on one of tJH-se adnpud ninp; \. I !< !c-n;trr <*l the 
Motel Vannr Rouj'r IKIS its u-taiiisi!; \\ ill i Mmr. \\ashetl 
by the slow waters of the KUn i oir. fl tltat mraiidns 1\, 
held alnust in lakrlikr u-tanlatinn bv ihr ninnc-, .t witter- 
gati% that, aeeuinulalrs thrm t'r tin* nt-ar-bv mill. I Sti% 
little terrace, some fifty b\ iitlv trc-l of ^i.ivrlird lr\rl, 
with its circular tablrs uf ,hc"ftiin atul \\c-athrtprnof 
chairs, sets like a stajjr to tin* low ainf thratiical {ayade 
of the toy hotel, \vhrrr bv a fair jump timn thr f.zotuul 
one can almost catch the sill of tlir sre'*nd-sinrv uiiu!i\v. 

On Wednesday the trippers had ^m* home aiul our 
American colony had thr phuv t MH .!*, f-s. A vnv 
obvious bridal couplr came that exrnn:/; liu- \ounj-*; man 
with the French whiskers of the priiod, thr biide in the 
attractive and now antiquated custumr of iiu* date, both 
oblivious to the strangers who were speaking Kn^iish. 


After a little rowboat trip in the twilight the'couple dis- 
appeared. We were at caf6 au lait on the terrace on 
Thursday morning. The children at the balustrade were 
feeding the swans when the small diamond-paned comic- 
opera windows of the upper room opened and there 
appeared the bridegroom in a suit of lavender pajamas 
whose newly laundered and utterly unruffled condition 
invited attention. 

Doctor Tom Robbins at our table said: "See those 
immaculate pajamas on the new groom!" 

All looked and some one remarked, "Yes, a new groom 
sleeps clean"; an amusing line, but not so tenacious as 
alone to fix the Thursday morning of that nineteenth 
day of April. The event that did that was the arrival 
of the morning paper relating the catastrophe in San 
Francisco, then called an earthquake, but by common 
consent since referred to as the fire. 
, One of our laughing party was Mrs. Chase, who had 
been a Miss Mizner, sister of Wilson and Addison Miz- 
ner, Californians. Mr. Chase was still in the States, and 
the reports of the devastation included territory in which 
the family had important financial and sentimental in- 
terests. Other Californians were in our party, with par- 
ents, brothers, and sisters in the stricken city. The blow 
made everything else forgotten; not only those directly 
and personally affected but all the Americans knew their 
vacation was over and their stations were at the lines of 
quickest communication. 

It is rather fine to remember the promptness with 
which the Americans in Paris acted at that time. The 
American Chamber of Commerce assembled the next 
morning upon a call from its president printed in the 
Paris New York Herald. It was a crowded meeting, at- 


tended not on!\ b\ tin* members hut hy many sojouriUTS 
ami transients. I here was some little personal infnrnui- 
tion f not much; theeahKs were blocked. Men ot promi- 
nence ami power addressed the company, and running 
true to form after the American manner tin* lirst definite 
action by tin* chamber was an appnpriation and a vol- 
unteer subscription. Thousands of dollars \vere im- 
mediately plcd-ed. The wa\or *f San I ; raneiseo \vas 
telegraphed. \\'lu-u, after a peiiud nf two eir three da\ s, 
the rather proud but i'airK s*lJ'-rrIiant reply was received 
that, outsiiie sulr-,eriptins wert* not needed, tin.* American 
chamiu i met a,' a in ath! the mone\ wa** tli\ ei ted In a loan 
fund a\ailibv to such ( !alitnnuai; > as iotnul theuivKes 
in Paris with their communication'* cut u tiuir 'ouices 
of StlppU th-.tioved. The-,e \\eli pliih i,ia!l\ students in 
tin* art selut>ls tlii* SoT unne, the Bt au\ \i ts, and the 
musical institutions. Bui lio\\ tuu- the 'piiit, how ail- 
niiralJe that hi. hK cuhi\ateti (tl'ical capaeit\ to le- 
spond ! I Io\\ thrillin* it. dennnsti;niw ! It was, of 
course*, a eoiupaiati\cU small leavlt^n, but it was very 
like tin* stir that went over all America that sixth day 
in April, f<)t*"\ when the resolution uf Confess decided 
that \ve were in the war. 


One of the delightful conditions in the home life in 
Paris, at least from the view-point of an American, is 
the attitude of the domestic servants to the enterprise. 
Paris is divided into arrondissements, or, as we would 
call them, wards, each with its own mayor and police 
and domestic courts and administration. In somewhat 
similar division, each neighborhood has its little four 
corners of shops that supply the neighborhood. There 
are the cafe, the baker, the grocer, and the butcher. To 
these shops each morning the cook, after the breakfast 
hour, goes for her purchases of the day. The shopkeepers 
very frankly allow her 10 per cent on the clay's order and 
pay it to her then in cash. There is no attempt to con- 
ceal this and there is no way to get around it. If the 
mistress of the house thinks to get the supplies at a lower 
price or get them at the same price and to receive the 
commission that is paid to the cook she finds herself go- 
ing contrary to established custom and badly mistaken. 
The cook's commissions run on all supplies bought that 
pass through her department and arc in any way affected 
by her art. All other supplies, such as wines, candies, 
cakes, and candles, bought outside, pay a percentage to 
the waitress. 

The receipt of this commission of 10 per cent to each 
of these functionaries results in the production of a per- 
ennial amiability. In America, in a modest family, the 



announcement of a projected dinner-party is apt to create 
some resentment. It is never the basis of increased hap- 
piness, and too frequently repeated is likely to call forth 
a demand for an increase in wages or a maid's notice of 
intention to quit. Either of these reactions is more apt 
to be brought about in Paris by a failure to have parties 
or a practice of having even too few of them. 

Another feature of this buying by the domestics is its 
real economy. The French cutVmuVr who needs a bit of 
onion to flavor a soup will buy one spring onion, and the 
greengrocer makes no objection to selling it. Or she may 
buy one button from a bulb of garlic, or get a sprig of 
parsley the size of a teaspoon. These intimate ingredients 
in America are bought by the bunch, or ten cents' worth 
in the minimum, a small portion of them used and the 
remainder permitted to get stale and be thrown out. 

Perhaps it was an appreciation of these economies 
that induced us to bring with us from I'Yanee, when we 
finally came back, our waitress, Ceeile. Perhaps it was 
because the children had taken a liking to her matronly 
attentions. At any rate, we found ourselves installed 
with Ceeile in the middle distance of our domestic field 
at East Hampton in our first summer after our return. 
The cook was an Irishwoman, between whose tempera- 
ment and Cecile's there scorned to be no friction what- 
ever. The up-stairs maid was a German girl whom we 
had brought down from New Roehelle. She spoke no 
French and her English was fragmentary, Ceeile spoke 
and understood only French. 

The collision between these representatives from the 
opposite sides of the distant Rhine occurred in our pan- 
try on a busy day when there was a house-party and 
some additional guests from the East Hampton colony. 


got all the merits of the discussion, but I remem- 
idly it ended by Lizzie hitting Cecile on the forc- 
Imost between the eyes with a raw egg. Cecile 
;ood the raw egg and declined to remove any of 
dence until she had showed herself In her con- 
; plight to my wife and me. 

previous experience with the two girls was suf- 
to tell us that this was the culmination, and after 
but earnest talk on the back porch Lizzie got her 
nd the chauffeur took her to the 2.13 train. When 
[earned that Lizzie had gone she came into the 
room and demanded to know if madame had per- 
l 9 allemande to depart "sans que je sois soulag6e" 
ut me being soothed." 

end of the hostilities, with no treaty as to repara- 
'ore on Cccile's mind and she soon left for France. 
;ed her from East Hampton one hundred and one 
o New York, and then through the city to the 
* Savoie. On the way I interpreted for her at 

five shoe-stores, in each of which she indulged 
>e to find a pair of shoes for herself with la nuance 
mpe de ceux de madame the shade of the cut of 
>f madame. We might ultimately have found 
ut that the French steamship line had a way of 
; to hold a departing boat for anybody. 
^pointed but gaie, Cecile went up the gangplank, 
trembled like the drawbridge under the famed 
f Marmion, and into an agitated group of sailors 
voluble though informal but competing welcome 
id spirited and articulate entertainment for the 
ird trip. Perhaps that East Hampton egg started 
apon discoveries relatively as important as those 
ig the one Columbus discussed with Isabella. 


Down at East Hampton for tiu- summer, <ne of our 
first callers in the woods was Mr. John I )rew, who 
motored over from his summer Imme iu-ar the dunes 
The talk of the San earthquake reminded him 
of a letter he had recent 1\ ncrKcd born his nephew 
Jack Barrymore. Jack had btrn in San lYanciscu the 
night of those shocks and that lite, lie mote of his ex- 
periences briefly but drama! icalk . t ncle John had the 
letter. At the first shock Jav k had ri-u'ii from his bt'd 
at the Palace Hotel. Another \Mcnt lurch had thrown 
him against a door, which had -i\-n wav and let him 
fall upon the rim of the bathtub, huttin;', hi. -.ide. Jh- 
soon found himself in the wiih an ill .a-. ,,,j ted col- 
lection of apparel. The nevt dav he met the other mem- 
bers of the Willie Collier, with \\Im-h at that 
time he was playing. He and the othrr men ,,f thr cum- 
pany were taken in ehan.e bs the military and forced 
to help clear the streets b\ pilin - I,,i, ;,-.. 

I was entirely taken up uith the .hamatic -.if. of t|,,. 
description; but l.'ucle John, wit,, | ia , aUavs persisted 
in a comic view of his avuncular p.. v.rv. i,,n ,, '-mih-d 
what sardonically as he said: " Y-,, it t.,k a c.uvulsi,m 
of Nature to get him into a bathtub and the failed 
States Army to make him \v.rL" 

The thought of John IJarmu,,iv -. a -,upp, 1{ fin.- metn- 
ber of the company of Willie G.JIirr. f | u . n ;uu | j,j.. ,,,., 
stellar position in the public -..,,.,. |, indicative of the 
rapid changes always at w.ui. ,,d ,.,!,;,,,, ,,,. ,. vi ,j rnt 
m the theatre than <-lsewhere. A !n ,,H.. the , , ,-,.,.. of 
that year was lYif/.i Scheif in "MH... Modi,!,-/' the ],,,,fc 
by Henry Blossom and music bv \ ictur Hr,ia,t. l-'ni/t 
Seheff had just married my ,,,! ;U1( | } ,,, l!lt . lrn . m!> Juhn 
-, Jr., the author of "A Mountain Kmopa," "The 


:uekians," "The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come," 
other books. At the Lyceum Theatre "The Lion 
the Mouse" was in its second year. "The Music 
;cr," with David Warfield, was playing at the Bijou, 
of these plays were written by Charles Klein, who 
with Charles Frohman on the Lusitania. Klein 
notably a dramatizer of popular themes. His art 
largely the newspaper transferred to the stage. 
3 Lion and the Mouse" and "The Gamblers" were 
a theatrical view of big business, and "The Third 
ee" was a presentation of the police methods of the 
A young writer claiming attention with his second 
"The Chorus Lady," in which Rose Stahl was 
aring at the Garriek Theatre, was James Forbes, now 
le front rank of his profession and having to his 
t "The Famous Mrs. Fair," in many respects the 
of all the post-war plays. Henry Miller and Mar- 
; Anglin were having a gratifying success in William 
;ha.n Moody 's play, "The Great Divide/' at the Prin- 
Theat re. 1 1 enry Arthur Jones' " I lypocrites " was at 
ludson. Fleanor Robson was at the Liberty Theatre 
Sfurse Marjorie" by Israel Zangwill, who had had a 
rctful hearing with his "Children of the Ghetto," 
id a year or two earlier. John Drew was playing 
ro's sombre, rectangular, but well-made "His House 
hrder." Marie Cahill was starring in "Marrying 
f" at Daly's, with the tuneful score by Silvio Hem. 
Hegan Rice's "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage 
ft/ 1 later to be accepted in London as the typical 
rican picture, was at the New York Theatre, 
ng the lighter pieces were Hattic Williams' produo 
of "The Little Cherub," with Ivan Caryll's music, 
in Russell at the Savoy in "Barbara's Millions," and 


the theatrical Dentations of that vet "^ WCfe 
Until* of Klein and Bios.som anil I van CVvIF ir r 
whom artr o,. takc-s my mind to one t) f u , Z "' *" f 


'- I,, I,i m , ; ; i V s S - V '"P""'.V for Pctor 

''"'"' Iu "' ! fr " m '''"* 


r 1 


k " ; > 




genial publicity man and fixture about the place, one 
of Peter's patrons and sympathizers, is dead; Frohman 
went down with the Lusitania; none of the old force 
survives. But the colored boy, Peter Mason, with his 
one lung, is still, in 1922, the factotum of the theatre. 

Soon after our return from France I had an experi- 
ence which was important to me and which may have 
significance for people engaged in writing for the theatre. 
At least it will have if I can tell it in a way that will con- 
vey my own attitude toward the question it contains. 
Mr. Belasco had, at the theatre that then bore his name 
and is now the Republic, a drama of the California min- 
ing days called "The Girl of the Golden West," in which 
Miss Blanche Bates was featured. The story of this 
play, if I may indicate it by simply touching its struc- 
tural features, is of a Western sheriff somewhat older 
than a girl with whom he is in love. The girl is his su- 
perior in social quality. Her fancy is taken by a more 
modern and modish man, a newcomer in the locality, 
who turns out to be a criminal. It is the sheriff's duty 
to arrest him. The man takes refuge in the house of the 
girl. She hides him and when the sheriff comes denies 
any knowledge of him. The sheriff is about to leave 
when a bit of evidence attracts his attention to the hid- 
ing-place; the man is forced to come forth; the sheriff, 
out of consideration for the girl and contrary to his duty, 
permits him to escape. 

This is an excellent play, full of color of the epoch that 
it presents. Some of my friends on the press had written 
to me that it was manifestly a reproduction of my play 
of "In Mizzoura," written some thirteen years before. 
The story of "In Mizzoura," again telling by high lights 
in its construction, is of a Western sheriff somewhat older 


than a girl with whom lie is in love. The girl is his su- 
perior in social quality. Her fancy is taken by a more 
modern and modish man, a newcomer in the locality, who 
turns out to be a criminal. It is the shenifs duty to 
arrest him. The man takes refuge in the house of the 
girl. She hides him and when the sheriff comes denies 
any knowledge of him. The sheriff is about to leave 
when a bit of evidence attracts his attention to the hid- 
ing-place; the man is forced to come forth. The sheriff, 
out of consideration for the girl and contrary to his duty, 
permits him to escape. 

These identical situations in that perfect sequence 
could easily have been cited and in a reasonable court 
made to have in my own ease a proprietary claim. But 
there had been a similar experience, somewhat earlier 
and with an equal resemblance, which had taught me 
consideration. My play of " Ari/.ona" dealt with a. young 
army officer who, trying to shield a woman, placed him- 
self liable to a charge of theft. He resigned from the 
army, went West, became a cowboy, later met his old 
enemy of the earlier days, and in a quarrel with him the 
enemy was shot. That the hero had not killed him was 
proved by the fatal bullet being of another caliber than 
that of the hero's gun, and he was acquitted. Mr. Edwin 
Milton Royle some time later wrote a play with those 
relationships and that sequence of events which he called 
"The Squaw Man/* One agent and one manager told 
me that upon the reading of it. they had declined to con- 
sider it, feeling that it too closely resembled "Ari/.ona." 
Now I happened to have seen Mr. Royle's play when, 
so to speak, it was in the cradle. lit* produced, at the 
Lambs Club a little piece in which an Englishman living 
with a squaw wife in the West was called upon by a so- 


licitor from London who came for the purpose of telling 
him that he had inherited a title, and, although he cared 
nothing for it himself, it properly belonged to his little 
half-breed son, whose mother was the squaw wife. The 
squaw wife, overhearing and understanding enough of 
this to know that she was standing in the way of both 
the husband and the little half-breed boy for whom title 
and fortune were waiting in England, killed herself. It 
was a tragic one-act play, and Mr. Royle was advised 
by everybody to elaborate it into a four-act drama. He 
was obliged thereupon to think of his hero leaving Eng- 
land for sufficient reason, which, nevertheless, should be 
nothing against his character; and by the dramatist's 
formula he had him leaving for the sake of a woman, 
and had him leaving under a cloud. The simplest cloud 
for an army officer to quit under was a charge of mis- 
appropriation of funds, and in the Wild West relations 
that followed for the purpose of the play he had the fight 
and the exculpation of the hero by the swift and simple 
evidence of a bullet not fitting his gun. 

I had used that device some years before in " Arizona." 
But I didn't invent it. It was a bit of material evidence 
in more than one Western inquest, and the fact of fitting 
the bullet to the gun of a man accused of killing was one 
of the first steps in legal identification familiar to every 
reporter. And Mr. Royle was forced into the construc- 
tion of his drama by most natural and logical sequences. 

When Mr. Belasco wanted to write Blanche Bates 
into a mining-camp a sheriff was the most likely lover; 
and the most logical rival, in order to establish conflict, 
would be a man who was rival not only in the affections 
of the girl but an opponent in the line of the sheriff's 
duty; that would make him a criminal. And if the sheriff 


once got after that criminal any dramatist, in ore 
hold his people of interest together, would probably 
of the criminal taking refuge in the home of the gi: 
somebody had come along and pointed out the I 
blance of these situations to those in "In Mizzotxi 
would, nevertheless, have been Mr. Belasco's d\j 
go ahead with his play in its new color and in the c 
of its epoch and write his story. I thought he had 
this in such fine fashion that I regarded his plsuy 
valuable exhibit of how the mind of a trained dra,i 
works when once given a strong and stimulating si 
tion to start back from and build a sequence of & 
I speak of these two examples because the thea 
filled with their like. So are the other arts. The: 
five notable pictures of the "Last Supper" by pa 
of the Renaissance, each valuable principally bee a 
shows the temperament of the artist working WJT 

The courts are sometimes burdened with questi* 
this kind, and it takes a wise judge to see where t: 
dividual right ceases and the common right in a,i 
begins. I remember reading that some Chicago 
had decided upon apparently sufficient evidence 
Francis Bacon had written the plays of William 5 
speare. A Chicago judge decided that a citizen o 
place had given Edmond Rostand the idea for t 
mantic poetical play, "Cyrano de Bergerac," appa 
oblivious of the fact that Savinien Cyrano de Bex 
born in 1620 at the chateau of that name in Pei 
was a French writer and duellist, had the persoaa 
syncrasies that were the identifying marks of org; 
in the work of the Chicago author; had himself ^ 
plays and poems and had already suggested by I 


and writings "Micromegas," a philosophic romance by 
Voltaire, and "Gulliver's Travels" by Dean Swift. 

A year or two later than the time of which I am writing 
I was called as an expert witness in a suit at Washington, 
where a newspaper man somewhat new to the theatre 
was suing a dramatist who had never seen the newspaper 
man's libretto, charging that the second libretto was 
taken from it. One resemblance was that both books 
had two elderly couples and two juvenile couples in love. 
The judge thought this not so important when it was 
pointed out to him that a majority of operas, especially 
comic operas, were made up of double quartets. It was 
a musical rather than a literary requirement. 

At a risk of being tiresome on the subject, let me 
relate an instance of this year 1922. A few weeks ago 
at the request of their author I wrote an introduction 
to four little plays by Mr. Percy Knight that are to be 
printed in a single volume. One of those plays has for 
its subject the burial of the unknown soldier in London, 
and deals in poetic fashion with the meeting of a girl 
and an English veteran who come to the palings of the 
graveyard, both believing that they knew the man. 
The girl has brought some flowers for a dead sweetheart; 
the soldier is morally certain that the unknown was his 

This little scene had been played in one of the Lambs' 
gambols. At a more recent gambol Mr. Emmett Corrigan 
had a sketch which I did not see, but which was reported 
in committee as being a dialogue between a man and 
wife in America who have lost a son. The topic is the 
burial of the unknown soldier at Washington. For some 
reason the father feels that the unknown boy is theirs, 
and upon the breast of the mother whom he has en- 


deavored to console ho pins a star. A very experienced 
and indignant dramatist was proposing that Mr, Corrigan 
should he disciplined for tins appropriation of an idea. 
When asked to give an opinion upon the propriety of 
such a procedure my answer was that the unknown sol- 
dier's official burial in France and in England and in 
America was for the very purpose of honoring all un- 
identified and giving to everybody who had a loved one 
among the missing tin* faint, comfort that might lie in 
the slight belief that the unknown was his or her missing 
boy. Poems had been written about it, and thousands 
of editorials and thousands of patriotic and memorial 
speeches had been made on the theme. The wonder 
was not that an English playwright am! another Ameri- 
can playwright, should have chosen the subject but that 
hundreds had not done so. 

'I here are so many starting-points for writing plays 
that if one were to name all of them if would be a. real 
draft on attention, A good play is a completed thing, 
with a beginning, a middle, and an end, and should make 
some disposition of the considerations it raises and pre- 
sents. Along this trajectory, this line of travel which 
would IK* rather improperly but most effectively dia- 
gramed by a circle, one can take almost any of its throe 
hundred and sixty degrees as a starting-point. 

I have \vrittcn: ; in these chapters of beginning a play 
with only the actor, Mr. Nat Gooduin, in mind; getting 
a character that would lit him, a set of circumstances in 
which the character would be put, and a series of situa- 
tions through which ho would pass in that environment. 
1 have suggested somewhat of the same process in speak- 
ing of "Puwtuekot" for D'Orsay. Earlier I \\rote of 
"The Burglar/' made from Mrs. Burnett's story, in 


which the burglar is confronted by the ingenuousness 
of a child. By making that child his own daughter the 
meeting itself became a situation, which is another way 
of starting a play. 

Sometimes one takes a theme, a question acceptable 
in the public mind, and by making it articulate, and 
selecting characters expressive of it and affected by it, 
uses the theme as his starting-point. Often the dram- 
atist takes a story ready-made but in narrative form, 
as was "The Soldiers of Fortune," by Richard Harding 
Davis, eliminates the descriptions, arranges its dramatic 
situations in proper sequence and crescendo, supplies 
what other situations are needed, puts the whole expres- 
sion into dialogue, and thereby achieves his play. 

There have been many pictures that have inspired 
plays. In one of the Paris salons of the early jo's there 
was a canvas showing a wrecked boudoir in a chateau 
in which a band of vandal German officers were carous- 
ing. Paul Potter took that as the inspiration for one of 
his acts in "The Conquerors." When Maurice Barry- 
more dramatized somebody's novel of "Roaring Dick" 
he made a stage setting and a situation from another 
salon picture called "The Wolf in the Sheep fold," which 
showed a bland and unsuspecting husband introducing 
to his wife a lady-killing officer in uniform. The group 
was on a portico shaded by a large Japanese umbrella. 

I have an impression that some of Hogarth's " Rake's 
Progress" got into plays. But I don't recall any com- 
plete series of pictures used as the skeleton for a full 
evening's play with the exception of Charles Dana Gib- 
son's "Education of Mr. Pipp." That was a set of two- 
page cartoons satirizing the little accidental, limited, un- 
assertive American nouveau millionaire and his large, 


aggressive, dominant, and overriding wife and the oil- 
spring of this counterbalancing mixture, two lovely 
daughters. The daughters were the first of the famous 
Gibson girls of the middle <>o's t with the crowning puifed- 
and-pompadourcd hair, Ion*.; necks, the .stately hearing, 
and the royally draped, costumes. When Gibson had 
made one or two of these pictures their reception created 
a demand, and he was obliged to show his family of Pipps 
in various situations and with occasional new acquaint- 
ances. When he had exhausted the round of fashionable 
entertainments in America and the stories had still to go 
on he carried the Pipp family to Midland, where their 
money got them into the fringe of the nobilitv, and later 
took them to Paris, where they vu*re most unmercifully 
fleeced and imposed upon. 

Without setting up to be the supreme court on mat- 
ters artistic in America, I will venture the opinion that 
Charles Dana Gibson is our must gifted and accomplished 
illustrator. There is a generation of young men that 
have followed and learned from him. and many of these* 
have each an individual touch quite as agreeable in its 
way as the technic of Gibson. Some of them have his 
vigor of line and precision of execution; some have his 
understanding of character and his capacity to interpret 
it. But I know of none who has all these qualities.* nor 
in Gibson's degree. Nor do 1 think of one that lias his 
wide and deep understanding of the human family. 

In the old New Hoehelle days then- used to hang over 
Fred Remington's buffet, in the dining-room of his home 
on Webster Avenue an original drawing of Gibson's on 
a eard eighteen by twenty-four inches. This had served 
as the original for a reduction in an early number of Life. 
In it two men stand at a sideboard. The host is a white- 


haired, white-mustached, amiable, high-bred, cultured, 
ssthetical-appearing person, slightly less than at his best 
at his apparent age of sixty because of his concession to 
a convivial temperament. He is well nourished but not 
averfed, twinkling, tolerant, human. He still holds a 
decanter from which he has just filled his own glass, and 
ts directing his attention to his guest, who holds a glass 
Df port. The guest is a Protestant bishop in the black 
:Ioth and neckerchief of his kind, rotund, sleek, artificial, 
uncertain, dissembling, sanctimonious, gluttonous, ap- 
prehensive. One man is so manifestly the host radiating 
sheer and the other the occasional guest surreptitiously 
accepting a prohibited but habitual ration that it is a 
delight to look at the drawing and see these character- 
istics which the master draftsman has understood, de- 
duced, set down, and communicated with the magic of 
a few strokes of the pen. 

To Remington himself, endeavoring character por- 
trayal with no such subtlety, and to a man writing for 
the theatre who would have needed a scene of fifteen 
minutes, to communicate all that Gibson put into his 
single sketch, the drawing was a never-diminishing de- 
light. In Gibson's character sketches of the Pipp family, 
and the friends and satellites that they attracted, there 
tvere exponents of every fine and nearly every despicable 
emotion; not only the broader Hogarthian elemental 
passions but the very shades and nuances into which 
my psychological spectrum could dissolve them. 

It seemed to me that to translate these visible expres- 
sions into words, not the descriptive and narrative array 
Jiat would make a novel but the etched and vital kind 
:hat would put them into a play, would be agreeable 
employment. Nothing that I remember writing was 

4M "Uil, PU!\F OF MY Kl Ml MWUM.h 

f f "It ! <!* *. I 1 t * ' 

iaitt ful ;u 4 un:v l '., , 
ihr ulhrl * " LI a- * i . ^!f i t 

ihr nun ;i: ! .\ ,u \ l!i4l ^ 

M a. S.i* I r r' t 

.i* 1* - t i * . (| ,?, 


M tk h 

Ml, > t ii\ 

i;, that 


ir.i in iLf I, 1 i / 
t r f r f i i! - i .^, ., 
li r a, i - , Vt 

i j *.t *i^j^ a 
Mi I ,,*'< J*"" n, 

\\ *hiai;i t * r !< ra , - 

1 !ir ir ! f! f!;r i .*-.t, 

|iiiiii;ifu hi tti 1*4 t* ^ 
Mi. Nal ItM^ij^r 

l!;ill{ ttlfr \LiiU.r } ' 

at I'M! I,: r 

* J 4 I ! a L * r 
l a r; 4 M- * 4 

\Jutli hu'!rl u. i, .ill- , i!*., - , 4 . h. i ihr Lall- 



i: / f ' , I * ! ; t i- hi.,]), to the next story, 
" 1 * !'.* undei this descending 
.1 ' a H ,! : ' i ;i >turt. This, adopted for 

* - r -J- ' . ' ^*' - '" k| t the tnlv one of its kind 
^ r; ! i, ,:..-. 

t : * i r.'i<- t > it 11 .i Uttlr comicality of Nat's. 
r a!" r ^ t! ( c" i^' ! ";. I wan admiring a pretty 
if . . I'T '..i! 1 , .i i in\,i. Mime fifteen by eighteen 
. l " ?l /*^ f '.t\ i*t ilu- ihird Mrs, (Joodwin, 

* ? ' 1 ^ j'H;uit s of the second Mrs. 

i-\ *? * i i i .tdn 11 : 'ii Nat said with the little 
1 . * i * '< *it:M-L .t amed wlien he wanted 


.Huc : "\e*' t that p-p-pieturc 
ii 0"llii%. 
.'-!, hut not \\orth all that. 

l r - ih thiit \-fi\e hundred clol- 
1 lou;Jit it and fifteen 


:u \ 



!*:*}> Hfll, uiih Iiis excellent sup- 
HI- jil;i\ri the piece that season 
t!a- ! I A* \<\'ti% that followed. 
i wiiltrn in fair!) close succession 
'.nl nl I*a\\tuckct/ <4 Thc Eduea- 
Lr (!,rr diil/' "Mrs. Leflingweirs 
'. IUI/' and f 'I)e Lancey." i felt 
s 'i wrthin}', mote serious. Among 
mil ..n t plas, i4 A (Constitutional 
m Mr. Palmer. Shortly after 
'>.* oi V H my nei};hbor at New 
:u% IUMIUIS Nelson, showed me a 
.iin iriu in;', to \\rite a short story 
Maik i^aiu hud found "that a 


short story was a novel in the cradle, which, if taken out 
and occasionally fondled, would grow into a full-sized 
book." Partly on that hint, my one-act play was occa- 
sionally taken from its cradle and caressed. Mr. Palmer 
had refused the play because there is a maxim in the 
theatre that no material is useful there until it has served 
as subject-matter for all other literary forms and been 
made familiar to the public through poetry, fiction, lec- 
tures, and reportorial and editorial comment. 



During the years since 1890 there had been an increas- 
ing public interest in telepathy, and the public's informa- 
tion had grown. In my own mind my playlet had also 
grown and was now a four-act play. Before wasting 
time on its actual writing, however, I accepted a chance 
to have the one-act piece played to a private audience 
of some two hundred men in the Lambs Club; and as 
the little play contained what was most diaphanous and 
attenuated in the whole story, if such an audience, en- 
tirely lacking the feminine element, would accept the 
fable, the remainder of the venture would be up to the 
skill of the dramatist. In the club, with the late Edward 
Abeles playing the woman's part and Forrest Robinson 
playing the part of the old judge, the little piece made 
a decided impression. 

I have said earlier, I think when talking of Mr. Paul 
Potter, that plays are constructed backward. Paul 
Potter was the first person to bring that to my attention. 
The playwright doesn't take his pen in hand and begin 
placidly to write dialogue which develops without his 
intention into something dramatic. He starts with a 
dramatic situation which has a possibility in the theatre 
of some strong effect and tries to find for that the imme- 
diate cause, and for that cause one still further back in 
origin, and it is in that fashion that his construction 
grows. Very often this effect, which is the starting-point 



in the development of a story, can be expressed in one 
act, and it is not uncommon for a playwright to try out 
his idea in tabloid shape. If it has sufficient fibre and 
power to make a big scene of the play he may then de- 
velop it. Denman Thompson's "Old Homestead'* be- 
gan in that shape. "Muldoon's Picnic" was once a one- 
act vaudeville skit. Mr. Royle's "The Squaw Man," 
as told earlier, was done at the Lambs as a sketch. So 
was John Willard's "The Cat and the Canary/ 5 one of 
the reigning successes of 1922. My own plays, "The 
Burglar/' "Alabama/' "The Harvest Moon," "As a 
Man Thinks," "Rio Grande," and "The Copperhead" 
were each at first one act. 

The one-act play, "A Constitutional Point," had grown 
out of my experiences with Bishop, the thought-reader, 
of whom I have written in an earlier chapter. Bishop 
was so constituted that by throwing himself into a re- 
ceptive condition, which he called autohypnotic, he was 
impressed by thoughts of other people. He didn't see 
these thoughts as words, but as pictures, unless the 
thought was about a word in a book, when his percept 
would, of course, be that particular typed word and the 
surrounding print on its page. This power had come 
to be called telepathy. Oliver Wendell Holmes had writ- 
ten concerning it in his "Autocrat of the Breakfast 
Table," except that he called it cerebricity. Somewhat 
later Mark Twain, writing of his personal experiences 
in association with its phenomena, had referred to it as 
mental telegraphy. Doctor Thomas Hudson, in 1893, 
published his "The Law of Psychic Phenomena," the 
first of a series of five books on telepathy and related 
subjects. In one of these, in making an argument for 
immortality, he raises the question whether telepathy 


ht not be a means of communication between a dis- 
>odicd entity, or spirit, as commonly called, and a 
jon still living. I think it was this hint that brought 
ny mind "A Newport Legend," the poem by Bret 
te, about an old house at Newport, haunted. A 
ng girl in the colonial days died of a broken heart 
his house. It seems that her sweetheart sailed away 
left her. Bret Harte tells of her coming back: 

"And ever since then when the clock strikes two, 

She walks unbidden from room to room, 
And the air is filled, that she passes through, 
With a subtle, sad perfume. 

The delicate odor of mignonette, 

The ghost of a dead-and-gone bouquet, 

Is all that tells of her story; yet 
Could she think of a sweeter way?" 

'he poet's way of suggesting the idea is so much more 
jptablc than a scientific one that I used those two 
;cs, which an old judge reads to another, as my way 
ntroduce the subject, and just after the reading had 
say : 

Beautiful to have a perfume suggest her. I suppose 
ppeals to me especially because I used to know a girl 
was foolishly fond of mignonette." 
o that when the daughter of the judge's old sweet- 
rt comes to talk about her mother and brings a for- 
:en letter of the judge's from among the time-stained 
crs that the mother left it seems to him somewhat 
e than coincidence; and when the daughter has gone, 
;r a pathetic appeal for her son, who is under sentence 
leath, and the old judge, alone, gets from the old let- 
the remembered odor of mignonette, the Bret Harte 


lines come back to him, and he fancies there has been 
an influence upon him from the other side of the grave. 
This little act I decided to make the second and not 
the third act of a four-act play, because, moving as it 
had been to the audience when it was tried in its detached 
presentation, I felt there should be something more posi- 
tively dramatic as a climax for a play. Casting about 
for that, I encountered the subject of hypnotism. Telep- 
athy and hypnotism are not especially related, except 
that telepathic communication is clearer under hypnosis. 
While Hudson and others had been writing of telepathy 
and of the therapeutic value of suggestion to hypnotized 
patients, a religious and ethical opposition to the prac- 
tice had found expression in some notable protests. One 
of these, written in a tone of warning and with a claim 
to esoteric knowledge, called an act of hypnotism a great 
psychological crime. It implied that the hypnotist, once 
in control of the thought of his subject, was never freed 
of that connecting bond and that both individuals passed 
into eternity held together by it. This was a little deep 
and somewhat terrorizing for my use in the play, but I 
thought I'd be on safe ground in suggesting that the force 
was not a very good one for the layman to play with. 
In thinking also of telepathic influence, the control of 
the thought as well as the will of another presented an 
equal responsibility. I therefore made these two ethical 
considerations the theme and overtone of what I was 
projecting. The result of that, not to bore a lay reader 
with technical considerations of a playwright, was to 
give me a rather fine old character in sympathy with 
my contentions and a vigorous and indifferent one op- 
posed to him and to convince whom would be the busi- 
ness of the play. I therefore had theme, definite direc- 


tion and some situations. Despite the fact that I had 
been thinking and reading and having experiences in 
these subjects for something like eighteen years since 
my trip with Bishop, I spent another year getting help- 
ful information from professional hypnotists and clair- 
voyants. I speak of the time thus spent on this play in 
contrast to some of the hasty efforts like "Mrs. Leffing- 
welFs Boots." -Perhaps there is a commensurate differ- 
ence in the calibers. 

When the play was done I read it to Charles Frohman. 
Nobody could have less scientific information on the 
subjects than he had, and his reception of it would be a 
fair indication of what an average audience might do. 
The reading was under rather test conditions too. The 
night was oppressively warm. C. F. was in his apart- 
ment, then on the top floor of Sherry's old building, 
Forty-fourth Street and Fifth Avenue, now remodelled 
into business offices. He had on a cotton shirt and a pair 
of trousers. He sat cross-legged in a big leather chair. 
As I finished each act his only comment was, "Go on." 
At the conclusion of the play there was a wait that filled 
me with apprehension. 

At length he said: ."That's almost too beautiful to 

The language was so unlike C. F. in fact, the idea was 
so unlike him that I thought for a moment there was 
mockery about it. But he was in earnest. 

He added: "When shall we do it?" 

We discussed and decided upon the men and women 
we would like for the company, and I left in an elated 
mood. I saw him again the next day to talk production. 
His enthusiasm for the play had not subsided. A week 
later he sent for me. We met in his office in the Empire 

author of the play was evidently crazy. It was as im- 
possible for me to argue the point with C. F. as it would 
have been for one to lift himself by his boot-straps. A 
crazy man can't act as both his own alienist and attorney 
without being an unattractive client. I met Daniel Froh- 
man a day later. In the friendliest way he answered: 

"Yes, I did say that. But I meant, of course, only 
in the treatment of that subject. Forget it, Gus; go out 
West and give us one of your wholesome 'Arizonas.'" 

I never blamed Daniel Frohman for this opinion or 
thought less of his general judgment. Except to one 
who has made a study of the subjects of telepathy or 
hypnotism, all that can be said about them sounds in- 
vented and unreal. That Charles Frohman accepted 
them I think grew out of hearing the play, and his judg- 
ment would have been the same as Daniel's if he had 
only read the text and not seen it partly dramatized, 
as every author unconsciously does dramatize his own 
work when reading it. 

Frohman was a most delightful manager to talk terms 
to. His method was simply to ask, "What do you 
want?' 5 In my own experience I never heard him say, 
"We can't give it." It was after many years that I sug- 
gested terms which included an interest in the profits, 
and as he conceded these he smilingly added, "I have 
been wondering why you didn't ask for a share a long 
time ago." Somebody had told him something of space 
rates and the money that prominent authors had got 
per word for their product from publishers. With his 


keen, sense of values, he was, of course, amused by the 
story that at one time Tennyson had received a pound 
a word on his poems. This may or may not be a fact, 
but Frohman took it seriously. 

"And what do you think/' he asked, "was the first 
poem he wrote after he touched the five-dollar rate? 
Think of it, five dollars a word ! Well, here it is: 

"'What does little birdie say, 
Singing, singing all the day? 
Singing, singing all the day, 
What does little birdie say?*" 

Charley thought it was pretty shrewd of the laureate 
to go down the line with these little words one way; but 
to make a round trip, collecting five dollars every jump, 
was just too hilarious. This may not be an accurate 
quotation of the verse, but it was the C. F. version. 

My experience with Charles Frohman as an auditor 
made me believe that Mr. Lee Shubert, who perhaps 
had no more book knowledge of the subject or actual 
experience with it than C- F., might find in it a layman's 
equal interest. This proved to be the case. Before I 
read him the play I was careful to tell him its history 
Mr. Palmer's uneasiness about the subject, Mr. Froh- 
man's enthusiasm for it, and then the change of mind. 
To tell all about a play when one takes it to a manager 
is a good practice. It may be a little hard on a rejected 
manuscript at first, but when the managers come to 
understand that you are withholding nothing from them 
your statements acquire a value that outweighs the slight 
disadvantage in the history of any manuscript. If I 
were presuming to advise younger dramatists about the 
conduct of their business I think this is one of the points 

tiictt IAC jULij.gj.jLi/ J.J.CLVC 

had it. Any attempt at secrecy gains for the author only 
the unenviable record of disingenuousness. Mr. Shubert 
had the same sympathetic reception for the play that 
C. F. had had, and acting upon his decision immediately 
turned over its production to me. I don't think he heard 
any of it again until it was up to its dress rehearsals. 

In discussing the cast, Charles Frohman and I had 
agreed upon John Mason as the central character for 
"The Witching Hour/* and it was not difficult to per- 
suade Mr. Shubert to this when the play was carried to 
him. Mason at that time was under contract with Mr. 
Harrison Grey Fiske, who generously released him to us. 
To those who knew John Mason's work nothing need 
be said in description of his art. To those who know only 
his reputation and have never seen him play, one may 
say that he was one of the best actors that America ever 
produced. To begin with, he was a man of great intel- 
ligence, and in the field of mathematics he had a talent 
that amounted to genius. I never saw any work to justify 
that statement, but several men have told me of his 
ability mentally to calculate sums and fractions and 
other problems in arithmetic that the ordinary man could 
do only laboriously with pencil. 

As an actor his power lay in his great self-possession 
and a wonderful sense of time, which showed in his read- 
ing. He had the ability to put into a pause all the mean- 
ing that was carried in its context and somewhat more. 
His voice was deep and resonant, modulated and trained. 
He had that other great-actor quality of being able to 
listen on the stage and give his attention to another 


speaker; and In his dramatic work I speak of that in 
contradistinction to his performances in opera, for which 
he was well known he never showed a consciousness of 
his audience. Add to these qualities a fine sense of value 
of gesture, a wise restraint and very sparing use of which 
made every motion significant, then a physical relaxa- 
tion that robbed everything he did of any seeming pose, 
although to a person trained in the theatre it was evi- 
dent he knew the value of every position, and you have 
some considerations on which to base an understanding 
of his equipment as actor, and perhaps of some of his 
effects. The part of Jack Brookfield in the play was that 
of a gambler whose education was above the stratum 
into which his business threw him socially. Mason's 
speech and carriage secured that impression. To seem 
less than socially superior would have been an assump- 
tion. The gambler was supposed to be a dominant figure 
in personal affairs, will-power. Mason conveyed that 
idea also. 

I don't remember any consultation with Mr. Shubert 
about any players. They must have been sent to him 
on the question of their salaries, but otherwise the wishes 
of the author were unopposed. I think it was John Mason 
who suggested the engagement of Russ Whytal for the 
old justice in the play. I have an idea that Whytal is 
not so well known throughout the country as some other 
men of less ability and less real prominence. Mr. Whytal 
is himself a dramatic author. Some years ago his play, 
"For Fair Virginia," was a reigning success. I can't 
think of a man on either side of the Atlantic who would 
have filled more completely the part of Justice Prentiss 
than Mr. Whytal did with his fine, sympathetic under- 
standing of what the character stood for. 

For the heavy man, a district attorney, we were able 

about as sure a knowledge of effect as any man on the 

William Sampson, who played the comedy part, an 
almost dissolute and altogether unmoral old professional 
gambler, gray-haired and white-mustached, comes very 
near being our best American character comedian. He 
Is as much like the late James Lewis, of Daly's, in method 
as one man can be like another. With him, Whytal, and 
Nash supporting Mason, we had a quartet that would 
have carried any reasonable material to success. 

I have written before once or twice in these pages of 
coincidences occurring during their writing. These have 
not been remarkable, but they have been arresting, and 
their accent has perhaps for a moment interrupted the 
monotony of our march. 

This above paragraph about William Sampson I dic- 
tated at the end of a session in the afternoon of April 5, 
1922, and then, as I try to do after a day's work, went 
for a walk. On the wall just inside the door of the Lambs 
Club, in the usual place for such communications, was 
pinned a usual subscription paper, with some fifty or 
sixty signatures to it under the caption, "Flowers for 
William Sampson. 55 It was a shock to learn that he had 
passed away suddenly the night before. I can add to 
the paragraph only the record of my deep affection for 
him and my esteem as man and artist. 

In our first cast of "The Witching .Hour " we were 
assisted also by the sterling actress, Jennie Eustace, and 
a very magnetic young woman no longer in the theatre, 


named Adelaide Nowak. I think it rather incumbent 
upon me,^ after having so frankly recorded Daniel Froh- 
man's opinion, to say that the play was the biggest dra- 
matic success of that year. It went through the season 
in New York, while a second company was playing it 
in Chicago, and John Mason continued to play in it until 
nearly three years later, when he went into another play 
in which I had written him an equally prominent but 
altogether different character. 

I have said earlier in these chapters that I hope at 
some other time to write an article on psychic phenomena 
as I have found them. In my wish to be thoroughly in- 
formed concerning the background against which in "The 
Witching Hour" I was outlining comparatively so little 
I got a fund of information that would have served for 
fifty plays. It is not strange then that the two next plays 
after "The Witching Hour" should have been on some- 
what related subjects. The older readers will remember 
that in the earlier stages of the cult of Christian Science 
there was a considerable public interest in the subject 
of mental science, so called, and therapeutical and meta- 
physical values of suggestion. 

My next play, "The Harvest Moon," was upon this 
theme. There is not enough novelty in the story or in- 
cident in the history of the play to make it worth a 
reader's attention. One item, however, has, I think, 
significance. That was the performance of Mr. George 
Nash, of whom I have already written as an excellent 
actor. There are a few men who take acting as an art, 
and when we find one of these we usually find a char- 
acter actor. I have written of Lionel Barrymore's quali- 
ties in this department, his willingness to put in study 
on the type he is to portray. George Nash, somewhat 

YYC11 1, UVC1 L<J JTcULlb, WJLU1 YVlllUil 11C Weld ctll CctU.^ JLcUlllllcU, 

to get an intimate contact with the type; to study de- 
portment, carriage, gesture, expression, and accent. He 
came back with all that and a complete wardrobe for the 
play made by a French tailor; his shirts and collars, 
linen and neckties and footwear were authentic. One 
might think that this attention would hardly be repaid; 
that only the most external showing would affect an audi- 
ence; and it may be the case. But there was another 
effect upon the man himself which bred an authority 
that mere assumption could not have secured. The play 
was only moderately successful, but that element of the 
public that approved it remained very loyal to Mr. Nash; 
and although twelve years have gone by, I get an occa- 
sional letter inquiring about him and the possible repro- 
duction of the play. It is the enthusiasm of such men as 
this in the theatre that keeps alive the interest of men 
writing for it. 

About this time there came over the taste of the public 
one of those changes imperceptible in its progress but 
definite in its results, concerning the form of the musical 
play. People began to lose interest to some extent in 
the formal, well-made comic opera and turned to what 
came to be known as the musical comedy. With this 
in mind, a manager came to me to help him get a story 
suitable to the personality and talents of De Wolf Hopper. 
He had a facile and rapid-working musician with most 
melodic faculty, Mr. Silvio Hein, who stood ready to 
furnish the music, and also one or two young men who 
wanted to write verses for such a piece. All that he 


needed was a comic story with some vivacity, and a cen- 
tral character that would carry Mr. Hopper; or, to put 
it more complimcntarily and more truthfully to that 
artist, a character which Mr. Hopper could properly 

If the call had not been a hurry one I probably should 
have started to build something from the ground up; 
but with the feeling of haste in the enterprise my mind 
by association drifted to other occasions of theatrical 
need. I remembered the times we had put up "His Last 
Legs" as an emergency bill One important fact in its 
favor as the groundwork for a musical play was that it 
was short; it required no trimming; it was almost in 
shape ready for added lyrics and music. It needed a 
little change that would allow for the introduction of a 
female chorus, but this was easily fixed by making its 
scenes those of a female seminary instead of a private 
house. To emphasize Mr. Hopper's importance to the 
eye we gave him a little horse-racing kind of a valet of 
devoted attachment. This wasn't particularly new. 
Mr. Hopper had in two or three of his earlier successes 
been so seconded by Alfred Klein, a talented brother 
of the dramatist, Charles Klein. I gave the manager a 
synopsis of the story; his verse- writer and his musician 
went to work; chorus was assembled for rehearsal; I 
took the book of "His Last Legs," and dictating from it 
made a free transcription with such changes as would 
accommodate the differences I have described. The com- 
pany was ready to play in four weeks, which is somewhat 
less than the time usually taken by musical rehearsals 
for a book that has already been completed. 

Feeling that the public would be slow to accept a 
musical play from me, the manager announced the au- 

cares. jDernara was tne nngiisn autnor 01 nis 
Legs/ 5 Mr. Hem's name went on the programme prop- 
erly as the composer. The play, called "The Matinee 
Idol/ 5 was, as I have implied in earlier chapters, an im- 
mediate success. Critics were a little at sea over the 
English and French collaborateurs on the book, but they 
were agreed upon its value to Mr. Hopper and were glad 
to see him once more on Broadway with something suited 
to his talents. 

When John Mason had about finished playing "The 
Witching Hour, 55 I was trying to get for him a story of 
equal seriousness and value, and a character necessarily 
mature, that he could play, and follow his performance 
of Jack Brookfield. The doctor in "As a Man Thinks 55 
was to my mind such a part, and his relationship to his 
patient in the last act I regarded as a key-note for his 
character, although the least dramatic of the things he 
might do. I therefore tried it out, as I have said one 
sometimes does, in a little one-act play. We gave this 
at the Lambs. Mr. Eugene Presbrey played the sick 
man, and I played the doctor myself. I felt that we had 
a character that would stand development and that would 
be acceptable. I knew a Jewish doctor who was giving 
a great deal of his time to the care of crippled children, 
and doing it with an unselfishness and a lack of adver- 
tising that made it admirable. I thought it would be 
acceptable to the public to see a Jew put in that position 
' prominently instead of having him ridiculed as he gen- 
erally was in the theatre. I share none of the hostility 
that many do to the dominant management in the Ameri- 



can theatre because it is Jewish. I felt then, and have 
said more than once in public since, that the Jews were 
in control of the American theatre because they deserved 
to be. The theatre as a business is one that does not 
lend itself readily to union hours for the persons in con- 
trol. Its problems are constant from the moment one 
comes on duty to the time that the curtain drops and 
often later. There is something in the Anglo-Saxon tem- 
perament disposed to neglect these duties. The Jew 
will stick as close to the work as the work requires, just 
as he sticks to his work in the sweatshop, at the sewing- 
machine, or long hours in the second-hand clothing busi- 
ness. Starting out to do something, he persists. For 
that reason among others the theatre falls readily into 
his control. 

Having made my doctor a Hebrew, I began to think 
in terms of Hebrew philosophy. I moved naturally to 
the double standard of morality discussed in the play; 
the fact that in modern society for a breach of the con- 
jugal contract woman is more severely punished than is 
man. While with us the punishment is in the pillory 
of public opinion, in the old Jewish law the woman was 
stoned to death. The play tries to show that such 
punishment must persist so long as the family is the unit 
of our social structure. A woman knows or may know 
the father of her children. A father can be sure of his 
paternal relationship only in the degree of his faith in 
his wife. We can maintain a social structure, no matter 
how unworthy husbands and fathers may be; but as 
soon as mothers fail chaos has arrived. If womanhood 
becomes corrupt the only life-preserver that can keep 
even the heads of humanity above the waters is a paternal 
state, a strong socialistic government, in which the in- 

this dictated paragraph made a second theme in the 
play. These two ideas, one associated with mental science 
and the other associated with the Jewish idea of woman's 
greater responsibility, led to the construction of the story 
which is now in the book "As a Man Thinks/ 5 

In this play Mason made an impression as profound 
as the one he had made in "The Witching Hour/' and 
in a character almost diametrically opposed. This is 
not my own partial estimate alone. There was hardly a 
principal city in the United States in which some Jewish 
rabbi did not speak upon his performance in the part. 
Few authors are so fortunate in their supporting casts 
as I was in this company that was associated with Mr. 
Mason in that play. Walter Hale and Vincent Serrano, 
about both of whom I have written fairly intimately in 
earlier chapters, had parts that suited them. William 
Sampson, referred to only a few paragraphs above, played 
the comedy old man with fine discretion and excellent 
effect; and that convincing player of American business 
men, Mr. John Flood, had such a role. 

Some writer for the papers spoke of the flowerlike 
Chrystal Herne. I have no quarrel with that descrip- 
tion of the lady, but what impressed me about her work 
as Mrs. Clayton was the expression of mental alertness, 
the constantly emotional and thinking personality. The 
play was printed as a book. When an author inscribes 
a book it isn't always easy to find the most proper phrase, 
but in the copy that was given to this actress I had no 
difficulty in writing, "To Chrystal Herne, who was Mrs. 


Clayton/' If in writing the part I had a conception that 
differed from her performance it was not sufficiently 
definite to hold its place against her lifelike and convinc- 
ing assumption of the role. In the more mature part it 
would be impossible to get a better actress than Amelia 
Gardner. So, as I have said, taking the cast altogether, 
it was such another organization as I had had only three 
or four times in some thirty years. The other casts asso- 
ciated in my mind were the ones that played "Alabama" 
and "Arizona"; "Mrs. Leffingwell's Boots" and "The 
Other Girl" 


This report carries me to March 13, 1911. I am 
tempted to write of subsequent events, but will wait. 
Early in these chapters I referred to the remarks of the 
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, as he decided to offer 
the brown seed capsules, as he called them, the early 
simple memories from which sprouted such "flowers as 
his garden grew/* In rather haphazard manner I have 
tumbled my planting and some of its resultant vegeta- 
tion into the notice of patient and hopeful readers, and 
now as I near the end of the hearing I fancy them saying, 
"Well?" and "What of it?" In one of Wilde's plays he 
has a speaker respond to the cue experience. "Ex- 
perience is the name Tuppy gives to his mistakes." As 
I remember, it was one of the best laughs in the scene. 
But experience is the name we all give to our mistakes. 

What, as a matter of fact, is so significant as our mis- 
takes? Certainly our successes are not so instructive. 
As I quickly review my own experience, more largely 
mistakes th&n I have felt at liberty to burden others 
with, and attempt the difficult feat of a summary, I find 
myself fronting the task with attention directed in such 
home-made method as mere habit has formed. 

What is it that a patient friend would like me to re- 
port a friend, let us say, like the poet stranger who has 
read some early chapters of this stuff and is moved to 
write to me this month of April, 1922, from beside his 




kerosene lamp in the town of Lost Cabin, Wyoming? 
Perhaps he would ask: "What have been the most po- 
tent influences you have known? Or to what opinions 
and beliefs have these influences and their consequent 
effects led you or inclined you?" That's what I'd like 
to ask any man whose book Fve read. Perhaps that is 
what we all are practically asking every book. 

Among the influences important to me have been a 
few men, more fine reputations, and still more fine books, 
some fine women, some music, both rather simple and 
both quite old-fashioned. The books, after the nursery 
jumble was past, were, in order of discovery, the Bible, 
Shakespeare, some other poets already named, Wash- 
ington Irving, Holmes, Hawthorne, IngersoII, Plutarch, 
Emerson, Doctor Thomas Jay Hudson, William James, 
Thomas Jefferson, Hugo, Voltaire, Montaigne. I think 
the Bible, Shakespeare, Holmes, and Emerson influenced 
my vocabulary as far as it was permeable under the cal- 
lous of the railroad yard. 

I didn't select the reading by any superior resolve or 
instinct. The New Testament I learned by rote to re- 
cite in Sunday-school for tickets exchangeable for prizes. 
I have a recollection of reciting on one Sunday one hun- 
dred and forty-four verses, beginning with, "In those 
days came John the Baptist," and so on. This was not 
a religious exercise with us boys. It was a business prop- 
osition, I have since gone to the New Testament with 
various motives; once to study out and as far as pos- 
sible deduce from the speech and story the personal ap- 
pearance of the Man of Nazareth when there was a proj- 
ect to produce a passion play. The Old Testament I 
read for its entertaining stories, skipping, boy-fashion, 
the begats. 

him. Plutarch was an assignment on the Missouri Re* 
publican. One day in 1887 I brought in the "Life of 
Lycurgus," revamped and adapted to the space of two 
columns and a half of dialogue between two boys, one 
of whom had read the story and was telling it to the 
other. This voluntary selection so pleased Frank O'Neill* 
the editor, that I was assigned to do one or two of the 
lives every week. I think there are fifty altogether. I 
rewrote and illustrated forty of them. One may learn 
much in reading a history such as Plutarch's "Life of 
Caesar/' but he learns it much more thoroughly when 
he is required to condense and rewrite it. 

Emerson's essays were first called vividly to my at- 
tention by a little actress named Dudley who was in our 
Dickson's Sketch Club. She seemed to get a good deal 
of poise and self-possession from them. The essays fasci- 
nated me, and my first purchase of books, when I had 
a house of my own, was the Concord edition of Emer- 
son's complete works in twelve volumes. In the year 
1909 the same publishers issued a ten-volume edition of 
Emerson's "Journals." These were edited from his 
entries in his private journals from the year 1820, when 
he was seventeen years of age, until 1881, when he was 
in his seventy-eighth year. No writing could be more 
revealing than these almost daily notes and comments 
upon his observations, and his thoughts about the things 
he saw and the books he read. They let a reader into the 
very springs or fountainheads of Emerson's utterances 
throughout his life, and permit a study of the form and 

drilled, into tne consciousness ot nearly all children raised 
under a church influence. Much as I admired IngersoII, 
his unstinted eulogy of Voltaire did not remove this prej- 
udice. In France I was astonished to see the life-sized 
seated figure of Voltaire by Houdon in the foyer of the 
Theatre Franfais, and was again impressed by the stand- 
ing statue by Caille on the Quai Malaquais in front of 
the building of Ulnstitut de France. I began to believe 
there must be something admirable in the man, when 
at the most prominent points on both sides of the Seine 
a nation so honored him in its capital. Under the arcade 
of the Theatre Odeon, in one of the rows of bookstalls 
there, I saw a large octavo edition of Voltaire, bound in 
leather, printed in 1829, on fine linen paper, no longer 
employed, so far as I know, in the manufacture of books. 
The edition consisted of fifty-four uniform volumes. The 
price was one franc each a total of ten dollars and 
eighty cents in American money. I bought them as a 
possibly foolish adventure in property book backs. The 
dramas, being principally in verse, had little interest for 
me; but the numerous essays and letters were the most 
delightful reading. 

To my astonishment, I found that the religious views 
of these great men, from Plutarch to Emerson, were not 
far enough apart to have the difference a matter of dis- 
cussion. They all thought alike and expressed themselves 
in similar terms. Then one day I read in Emerson's 
latest notes, written in his sixty-sixth year, this single 
detached line: "When I find in people narrow religion 1 
I find narrow reading." My own reading is regrettably. 

its possessor tnrougn nis me n ne win permit it to guide 
him In his own conduct. But there is enough tyranny 
in any one of them to make its possessor intolerable when 
he attempts by force to impose his belief upon another. 

In 1890 Funk and Wagnalls, encouraged by eighteen 
hundred gentlemen connected with the enterprise under 
the designation of patrons, printed what was called the 
"Jeffersonian Cyclopedia/' This volume, as large as a 
law-book, contains over a thousand pages, with alpha- 
betically arranged utterances of Mr. Jefferson, ranging 
from a line or two to paragraphs of half a column, and 
numerically listed to the number of nine thousand two 
hundred and twenty-eight quotations. In an appendix 
to these there is a document drawn by Mr. Jefferson in 
the year 1786 for the Assembly of Virginia, entitled, "A 
Bill for Establishing Religious Freedom/* In the body 
of this bill, which is before me, is this sentence: "Our 
civil rights have no dependence on our religious opinions 
any more than our opinions of physics and chemistry/* 

This valuable book was a gift to me. The distinguished 
donor was Mr. William Jennings Bryan, and I am having 
a little difficulty in reconciling my idea of Mr. Bryan's 
admiration for the book and his recent earnest endeavor 
which failed only by a vote of forty-two to forty-one 
to persuade the Kentucky Legislature to forbid the 
discussion of the theory of evolution in the public schools 
because it didn't square with his deductions upon geology 
as set forth in the Book of Genesis. One glides so easily 
in these days from a discussion of religious beliefs into 
the consideration of questions political that I am impelled 


to take in lazy fashion this chance for digression and 
move on to a statement of my political views. 

As a page-boy in Congress I was made aware of the 
two theories of government in America: the one advanced 
and advocated by Alexander Hamilton, whose genius 
nobody seems to dispute, and which as a matter of simple 
reference may be called the system of centralization; 
the other the Jefferson idea or the system of local 
self-government. All through my life, between those 
page-boy days and now, I have heard discussions of these 
two theories and occasionally had glimpses of the ap- 
plication of one or the other theory in practice. In my 
own mind I have finally come to something like an ad- 
justment between them for America. I am not sure that 
my conclusions are right, but they have that consoling 
quality that sometimes comes with a decision namely, 
peace. There has also been economy of time and atten- 
tion through having some beliefs that were not dissolving 
views. One important contribution to this state of mind 
was made late in the year 1891, when I found at a book- 
stall a small octavo volume by John Fiske entitled "Civil 
Government in the United States." I read it carefully, 
and at times I studied it. In a bibliographical note on 
page 274, in a list of books valuable to the student of 
government, Mr. Fiske wrote the following: 

A book of great merit, which ought to be reprinted as it is now 
not easy to obtain, is Toulmin Smith's " Local Self-Government and 
Centralization," London, 1851. Its point of view is sufficiently in- 
dicated by the following admirable pair of maxims (p. 12): 

"Local self-government is that system of government under which 
the greatest number of minds, knowing the most, and having the 
fullest opportunities of knowing it, about the special matter in hand, 
and having the greatest interest in its well-working, have the man- 
agement of it, or control over it. 

management of it, or control over it." 

An immense amount of wretched misgovernment would be avoided 
if all legislators and all voters would engrave these wholesome defini- 
tions upon their minds. 

Later in a campaign, I quoted these two maxims at 
a meeting at which Mr. William Jennings Bryan was 
and I was "also." Mr. Bryan asked where I said I had 
got them, and then asked to have them typewritten for 
him. He subsequently used them, giving proper credit 
to their author. He told me they were the best defini- 
tions that he had ever heard for the purpose of showing 
the difference in the two systems of government. Cer- 
tain benevolent considerations have recently made Mr. 
Bryan swerve a little from his complete reliance on local 
self-government, but I am going to hang onto my ad- 
miration for the system. I have thought there might be 
found a workable interplay of the two systems in our 
government in all internal affairs; that is to say, in 
everything that affects our own well-being as a great 
commonwealth, the system of local self-government 
adopted and adhered to; in all questions that deal with 
our relations as a government to the governments of 
other countries, the system of centralization. 

Something of the kind seems to have been in the minds 
of the founders when they wrote in Section II, Article II, 
of the Constitution: "The President shall be commander 
in chief of the Army and Navy of the United States and 
of the militia of the several States when called into the 
actual service of the United States." 


This seems to apprehend national emergencies and 
something like centralization in meeting them. Also, 
all of those powers granted to Congress in Section VIII, 
Article I, under the heads of taxes, duties, imposts, coin- 
age of money, weights and measures, punishment of coun- 
terfeiting, piracies and felonies on the high seas, and 
offenses against the laws of nations are on the centraliza- 
tion system. In the field of local self-government seem 
to lie those rights listed in the first ten amendments which 
Mr. Jefferson advised adopting before all the States rati- 
fied the Constitution, so that there should be no doubt 
about what powers were surrendered by the local govern- 
ments to the central one, and what powers were by the 
central one definitely acquired. This may be saying 
"an undisputed thing in such a solemn way," but it has 
been a comforting possession. It has made me a Jeffer- 
sonian American. It has even enabled me to keep from 
meddling in family matters that seem to fall into similar 
but self-governing departments, such as those assumed 
by married children. And finally it has helped me to 
preserve a schoolboy respect for both those eminent and 
admirable characters, Alexander Hamilton and Thomas 
Jefferson, who were looking at the same shield from dif- 
ferent sides. 

Another department of life that I have thought a good 
deal about has been that of labor. As a lad I was with 
the working people; people with callous not only on their 
hands but well up the forearm where a brake-wheel 
caught it. I think every man should be capable of sus- 
taining himself by the labor of his hands. I was quite 
a middle-aged person, much pampered and self-indulged, 
when I saw James M. Barrie's play, "The Admirable 
Crichton," in which a submerged butler of the English 

tnan our own, as tar as i coma judge wrtnout oemg a 
part of it; a finer intercourse between the different social 
stations; the politeness of a stone-mason on the top of 
a bus asking a duke for a match with which to light a 
cigarette, and the fraternal compliance without mockery 
or condescension. And after a while I came to learn that 
that relationship had been acquired by men of those 
classes working in fine equality in their military training. 

When the war was on and our American young men 
were enlisted and drafted I saw so many clerks and pro- 
fessional youngsters improved by the rough manual work 
that the army made them do that I became an advocate 
of universal military training, for the sole reason that it 
would give the government the power to call young men 
out of the mines, let us say, and send them elsewhere on 
other duties and to replace them by a lot of young fel- 
lows that are now selling neckties and watching stock 
tickers, who could be sent down into the mines as part 
of their training. One or two months of this transposing 
in their formative years, nineteen to twenty-one, would 
give them sympathetic understanding of the men who 
are performing the basic material and manual tasks. It 
might answer some other problems. Eight or ten years 
of such successive assignments would see the country 
equipped with a body of citizens not in those industries 
but yet partially educated in mining, railroading, and 
the like, which would be a great stabilizer. 

A few lines above I said that I was with the working 
people. Maybe it will be well to confess that I am a 
little partisan about it. I know that is so because I sel- 


V -4* 

dom read of a strike anywhere without the perhaps un- 
fair hope that the strikers will be successful; this quite 
outside of the merits of the dispute. When this partisan- 
ship appears I trace it as confirming a remembered prov- 
erb about training a child in the way he should go. In 
a rather poverty-stricken boyhood I grew committed to 
the side of the workers. I favor organized labor; but 
recently in our Society of American Dramatists, which 
after all is a kind of labor-union itself or at least a guild, 
when the proposition came up to join the American Fed- 
eration of Labor, I was opposed to it; and because of 
my opposition I felt hopeful. I remember reading some- 
where that an expert hatter had said there were only 
two professional classes whose heads didn't change in 
size between the years of adolescence and old age. These 
two professions were clergymen and actors. Having 
been an actor for a while, and having felt a good deal 
like a clergyman in other whiles, I thought maybe I fell 
within these restrictions; but if, despite my sympathy 
for organized labor, I was opposed to going into its fed- 
eration the chances were that I somehow had escaped 
the hatter's arrested development. 

I was aware of a new idea, although I found that it 
leaned upon my old preconceptions concerning machinery. 
Only to feed a machine seems to me a dreary thing; for 
example, to do what I am told men in certain automobile 
manufactories do put apparently the same nut upon 
apparently the same bolt hour after hour and day after 
day as the piecework on an endless belt passes for a mo- 
ment in front of them. That in its monotony must be 
as near hell as any work can be. I think all men so work- 
ing or similarly engaged, men whose work is not measured 
in man-power, should be not only in unions but in a fed- 

JUU.JLlia.JUL U.1111,, CL11U. CL1 UCI 

There is a kind of artisanship in laying Bis courses to 
plumb line and in finishing the surface seams. Ther< 
a measurable degree of self-expression in bricklayi 
also, in other handicrafts. 

I $,m not persuaded that everybody who gets any w. 
for anything should be in a federation against everybc 
who pays any wage. It seems to me, in my untraii 
approach of the question, that such a division cor 
pretty near to being class warfare. And if this repul 
is what Mr. Jefferson and I hoped it would be it should 
harbor or inspire or cultivate class warfare. And whet] 
I am right about the bricklayers or not, I thought tl 
the dramatists and perhaps college professors and arti 
of all kinds, and any other men who deal more or less 
ideas, and are not simply feeding raw material to n 
chines, and who because they deal in ideas may so: 
day be called upon to arbitrate, or at least mediate 
these industrial collisions, should stay outside of the f< 
eration. In the long run it might be better for the fc 
eration to have them do so. I feel that these are prel 
big-league questions, and maybe far beyond my stati 
in life; but they are products of experiences that ha 
made me feel and perhaps made me think. 

Aside from these gems on religion and politics and . 
bor, I have some impressions about art and literature, a: 
especially about standards in each of those departmen 
which people must be anxious to learn; but as they a 
good subjects for special essays, I will reserve them. M 
and women who now begin to feel deserted and alone 


they draw to the end of these chapters should read over 
again the last four or five pages containing my opinions 
and beliefs. Men who write their recollections often 
forget to include these; and really a principal object of 
life is to furnish a person with opinions and beliefs I 



The following is a list of Thomas's plays, all with the 
dates of their production. Those marked with a single 
asterisk (*) are one-act plays. Those with dagger (f) 
were collaborations or dramatizations of books. 

. Moberly, Mo. 
. St. Louis, Mo. 
. . St. Louis, Mo. 
. . St. Louis, Mo. 
. St. Louis, Mo. 
. St. Louis, Mo. 
. . St. Louis, Mo. 
. . St. Louis, Mo. 
Boston, Mass. 
. New York City. 
. . New York City. 
. . New York City. 
New York City. 
. New York City. 
. New York City. 
. Boston, Mass. 

New York City. 
. . Chicago, III 

. New York City. 
[ . New York City. 
. New York City. 
. Chicago, III. 

New York City. 
. New York City. 
'. . . New York City. 
' * . New York City. 


The Big Rise l882 - 

*t Editha's Burglar l88 3 

* A New Year's Call * 88 3 

* A Man of the World i 88 3 - 

* Leaf from the Woods * 88 3 - 

* A Studio Picture l88 3 - 

Combustion l88 4 

The Burglar l88 9 

A Night's Frolic l8 9 

* A Woman of the World ..... * 8 9 - 

* After Thoughts l8 9 - 

Reckless Temple l8 9<> - 

Alabama l8 9 I 

t For Money *9 2 

Surrender l8 93 

f Colonel Carter of Cartersviile . . 1893 

InMizzoura x p 3 

* A Proper Impropriety *93 

* The Music Box l8 94 

The Capitol 


* The Man Upstairs l 9* 

Colonel George of Mt. Vernon . . 1895 

* That Overcoat ^ 

t The Jucklins ; - Ib9 

1 467 


t Chimmie Fadden 1897 . . NewYc 

The Meddler 1898 . . NewYc 

*t Holly Tree Inn . 1898 . . NewYc 

The Hoosier Doctor 1898 . . Washin, 

f The Bonnie Briar Bush 1898 . . New Yc 

Arizona 1898 . . Chicago 

On the Quiet 1900 . . NewYc 

Oliver Goldsmith 1900 . . NewYo 

Champagne Charley 1901 . . NewYo 

Colorado 1901 .. NewYo 

t Soldiers of Fortune 1902 . . New Yo 

The Earl of Pawtucket . . . 1903 . . New Yo 

The Other Girl 1903 . . New Yo 

t The Education of Mr. Pipp . . . 1905 . . New Yo 

Mrs. LeffingwelPs Boots 1905 . . New Yo 

De Lancey 1905 New Yo 

The Embassy Ball 1905 . . New Yo 

The Ranger 1907 . . New Yo 

The Member from Ozark .... 1907 . . Detroit, 

The Witching Hour 1907 . . New Yo 

The Harvest Moon 1909 . . New Yo 

The Matinee Idol 1909 . . New Yo 

As a Man Thinks 1911 . . NewYo 

The Model 1912 . . New Yo 

Mere Man 1912 . . NewYo 

t At Bay 1913 . . NewYo 

t Three of Hearts 1913 .. NewYo 

Indian Summer 1913 . . New Yo: 

t The Battle Cry 1914 . . NewYo: 

The Nightingale 1914 . . NewYo: 

Rio Grande 1916 . . Chicago, 

The Copperhead 1917. - NewYo: 

Palmy Days 1920 . . New YOJ 

* Tent of Pompey 1920 . . New Yo: 

Nemesis 1921 . . NewYoj 


Abeles, Edward, 437 

Adams, Annie, 412 

Adams, Edwin, I39/. 

Adams, Maude, 270, 303 ff. 

''Admirable Crichton, The/' 461 ff. 

"After Thoughts," 88 

"Alabama," 187, 204, 262, 291 ff., 296 

ff-, 300, 305 
Albert, Ernest, 130 ff. 
Aldrich, Louis, 321 

Alfriend, Colonel Edward, 283, 303, 323 
Allen, Senator William V., 338 
"Alone," 70 
"Ambition," 211, 314 
Anderson, Mary, 207 ff. 
Anglin, Margaret, 423 
"Arizona," 342, 344, 367 Jf M 37 ff., 426 
Arthur, President, 24 
"As a Man Thinks," 45Ojf. 
"Auctioneer, The," 91 
"Aunt Jack," 200 ff. 
Aveling, Henry, 70, 134 

Babcock, General Orville E., 127 
Bainbridge, Frances, no 
Bair, 20 /. 
Baird, Doctor, 404 
Baker, Senator Lucian, 221 
Balfe, Louise, 169 
Banks, General, 37, 62 
Banks, Maude, 321 
Barnabee, Henry, 152 
Barnes, Jack, 412 
Barney, Ariel, 240, 244 jf. f 253^. 
Barrett boys, 256 ff. 
Barrett, Lawrence, 213, 230^. 
Barrie, James M., 461 
Barren, Charles, 249 ff. 
Barron, Elwyn, 162 
Barry, Helen, 270, 285 
Barrymore, Ethel, 304 
Barrymore, John, 201, 262, 404 /., 422 
Barrymore, Lionel, 201, 236, 395 ff; 
400 /., 403 ff. 

Barrymore, Maurice, 75, 88, 200 ff. t 
248, 250, 260, Chas.'^XV, passim, 284 
ff. t 340, 392, 431 

Bates, Blanche, 425, 427 

Beamer, Charles A., 76, 92 

Becket, Harry, 92 

Beecher, Alex, 104 

Belasco, David, 425, '427 ff. 

Bell, 6 

Bell, Alexander Graham, 94 

Bell, Digby, 270, 434 

Benjamin, John F., 25, 29 

Bergholz, Leo, 322 ff. 

Bernard, Barney, 91 

Bernhardt, Sarah, 102 Jf. f 212 

Bible, 455 

Bingham, 46 

Bingham, John A., 58 

Bishop, Washington Irving, 254 jf., 438 

Bismarck, 308 

Blaine, Speaker James G., 46, 56, 61, 
223, 225 /. 

Blair, General Frank P., 4, 17, 20 ff. 

Blair, General Thomas, 33 

Bland, Richard, 151 

Booth, Agnes, 88, 200, 288, 291 

Booth, Edwin, 213, 230 /. 

Booth, John Wiikes, 13 ff. 

Booth, Junius Brutus, 88 

Booth, Sydney, 88 

Bordley, Dan, 205 

Boucicault, Dion, 40, 84, 86, 90, 287 ff. 

Bowie, Colonel Jim, 33 

Bradford, Joseph, 115 /. 

"Brigands, The," 270 

Brooke, Charles W., 278 

Brooks, Joseph, 192, 316, 319 ff., 33*/- 

337 / 340 J., 363 
Brown, John, I ff. 
Bruce, Robert, 349 /- 
Bruning, Albert, 247 /. 
Bryan, William Jennings, 458, 460 
Buchanan, President James, I ff., 1 6 
Buckstone, Rowland, 365 




Burchard, Reverend Doctor, 225 
"Burglar, The," 189, 192, 211, 238, 260, 

Chap. XV, passim, 287, 290, 430^*. 
Burnett, Frances H., 116, 118 
Burroughs, Marie, 296 
Bush, Frank, 90 
Busley, Jessie, 413 
Butler, General Benjamin F., 37, 46, 

48 ff; 54 ff; 151, 179 ff. 

Butler, Edward, 125 
Buxton, 36 

Cable, Senator, 125 

Cahill, Marie, 334, 423 

"Caprice, ".2 1 2 

"Captain Swift," 260 ff. 

Carleton, Henry Guy, 2 1 1, 314, 424 

Carlisle, John G., 98 

Carlyle, Frank, 315 

Carnegie, Andrew, 132, 308 

Carr, Alexander, 91 

Carrington, Edward, 198 

Carroll, Lewis, 5 

"Cat and the Canary, The," 438 

Cavanaugh, 17 ff; 33 

Cecile, 420^. 

"Celebrated Case, A," 134 

Chambers, Haddon, 424 

Chapman, George, 12 

Charcot, 404 

Chase, Arthur B., 213, 230 

Chase, Mrs. Mizner, 417 

"Chorus Lady, The," 423 

Clapp, 268 

Clarke, Thomas B., 405^. 

Cle"menceau, 308 

Clemens, Samuel. See Twain, Mark 

Cleveland, President Grover, 139, 225, 

230, 308, 339 
Clopton, W. H., 136 
Cochise, 351 

Cockerill, Colonel John, 135^"., 213 
Cody, Colonel William F. (Buffalo Bill), 

33, 144 ff. 

Coghlan, Charles, 250 
Cohan, George, 3, 33 
Colby, Bainbridge, ill ff. t 236 ff. 
Colby, John Peck, 103, iioff., 113 ff. 
Colby, Luke, no 
Cole, Timothy, 124 
Collier, William, 333 ff., 422 

"Colonel Carter," 262, 306 ff. 

"Colorado," 379 

"Combustion," 156 ff., 162 ff. 

Comiskey, Charles A., 241 

Connor, Billy, 278 

Connoyer, Paul, 240 

"Constitutional .Point, A," 288, 304, 

435, 438 

Cook, Madge Carr, 371 
Cooper, Jimmy, 252 
Cooper, Matt, 85 ff. 
Corbett, Jim, 77 
Cornell, Robert H., 25 /., 70 ff. 
"Correspondent, The," 288 
Corrigan, Emmett, 429^. 
Cottrell, H9/. 
Couldock, C. W., 140 
Courtenay, Frederick, 434 
Courtenay, William, 412, 434 
Couzins, Major, 24 
Couzins, Phoebe, 24 
Cox, Samuel S. (Sunset), 46, 51 ff. 
Crane, William, H5ff. t 212, 316 ff. t 332 
Crawford, L. M., 231 
Crockett, Ollie, 76 ff. 
Cummings, Jim, 213, 295, 311 ff. 
Cunningham, 123 
Currier, Frank, 244, 249 j[f. 
Curtis, M. B., 91, 299 
Cushman, Charlotte, n, 39 

"Dagmar,"i6 9 ^. 

Dailey, Peter, 374 

Daly, Augustin, 88, 307 

Dana, Charles, 201 

Darwin, Charles, 84 

Davenport, E. L. (senior), 40 ff. 

Davenport, Harry, 41 

Davey, Tom, n 

David, Mrs., 323 

David, Frank, 133, 155 ff. y 161, 165, 

176, 178, 190 
Davies, Phcebe, 267 
Davis, Fay, 41 1 ff. 

Davis, Richard Harding, 357, 378, 431 
Davis, Robert H., 47 
Davy, Tom, 212 
De Bar, Ben, n, 139 v 

Debs, Eugene V., 339 
de Lesseps, Ferdinand, 308 
De Mille, Henry C., 329 



Depew, Senator Chauncey M., 47 Jf- 

D6roulede, 308 

De Wolfe, Drina, 40 Jf 

De Wolfe, Elsie, 400 Jf. 

Dickson, i 5 6/., 169 

Dickson Sketch Club, Chap. IX, Chap. 

X, 456 

Dillon, John, 70 Jf. 
Dillon, Louise, 7 
Dingeon, Helen, 149 
Disston, William, 375 ff- 
"Don't Tell Her Husband," 37O, 37^ 
Dore, Gustave, 124 
D'Orsay, Lawrence, 389 jf. 393 JT-i 4*3 

Douglas, Byron, 149 

Dow, Ada, 244 Jf., 251 

Drake, Senator CD., 24 ff. 

Drew, John, 50, *53, 2 53, 395 Jf-> 4<> o 

406 Jf. f 422 Jf. 
Drew, Sydney, 263 Jf., 266 
Dryden, Nat, 205 jf., 3*3 
Dudley, actress, 456 
Dumay, Henri, 408 Jf. 
Dunn, " Eddie," 140 Jf. 
Dunn, Jerry, 279 
Dyer, David P., 25, 29 

Eads, James Buchanan, 73 

Eames, William S., 3 2 3 

"Earl of Pawtucket," 214, 393 # 4*3 

Eastman, Monk, 17 

Edgar, W. C, 161 

"Editha's Burglar," 68, 118, 154. 

"Education of Mr. PipP," 43* Jf- 
Edwards, Billy, 77, 281 
Edwards, Major John, 126 jf. 
Ellert, L. S., 309 
Elliott, Maxine, 307, 333, 434 IT- 
Elton, Ernest, 393 Jf 
"Embassy Ball, The," 414 ff- 
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, I, 238, 455 J 
Emerson's Journal, 47 Jf. 
Emmett, Eliza, 10, 35 
Emmett, Jo. K., 10, 35, 9O 
Erlanger, A. L., 169 Jf., 299 / 3<>7 

"Erminie," 211 

"Esmeralda," 116 

Eustace, Jennie, 446 

Eustace, Mayor William Henry, 309 

Evans, Charley, 366 
Bvans, Lizzie, 145 
Bverett, 6 

Fairbanks, Douglas, 352 

"Famous Mrs. Fair, The," 423 

Fanning, Mike A., 191, 259 

Farnsworth, John F., 59 

Farragut, II 

Farrell, Bob, 77 

Faversham, William, 75 

Fay, Frank, 46 

Fay, Hugh, 90 

Fenlon, Thomas P., 220 fit., 347 

"Ferncliffe," 270 

Fetter, Selina, 401 

Field, Roswell M., 230 

Fielding, Maggie, 401 

Fisk, Colonel Jim, 279 

Fiske, Harrison Grey, 444 

Fiske, Mrs. Harrison Grey. See Macl- 

dern, Minnie 
Fiske, John, 459 
Fitch, Clyde, 330, 379, 3^9, 424 
Flanigan, Captain P., 85 Jf. 
Flint, Charles R., 47 
Flood, John, 452 
Florence, W. J. (Billy), 13? / 
"Florence's Mighty Dollar, 90 
Flower, Roswell P., 3 8 
Flynn, Phil, 380 Jf. 
Fogel, Clark (Bert Clark), 90 
4 'For Money," 3 1 ** 
Forbes, James, 423 
Forbes-Robertson, Sir Johnston, 207 
Forrest, Edwin, II, 264 
Foster, Major Emery S., 125 Jf. 
Fox, Delia, 134, i54Jf- l62 ^ *7 6 ' l84 

Jf., 190 

Fox, John, Jr., 422 
Fox, Lily, 134 
Foy, Eddie, 75 

Francis, Honorable David R., 259 
Frawley, T. D., 37<>Jf. 
Frick, Henry, 3 8 

Friedlander, 371 ort - 

Frohman, Charles, 153, 188 J-, 236^., 
264, 300 Jf., 316, 320 Jf., 341, 362, 365, 
378, 393 /- 407 /. 4ii /. 414 Jf-. 

424, 441 Jf- 
Frohman, Daniel, 270, 370, 44 2 



Fuller, Chief Justice, 98 
Fyles, Franklin, "The Governor of 
Kentucky," 332 

Gale, Minna, 233 

"Gamblers, The," 423 

Gardner, Amelia, 453 

Garfield, President, 37, 58, 151 

Garland, Hamlin, "The Tyranny of the 
Dark," 96 

Garrettson, Daniel, 7 

Garrettson, Sarah Wilson (grandmother 
of Augustus Thomas), 7jf., 16, 18, 38, 
96 Jf. 

Garvey, Eddie, 374 ff. . 
Gates, Frank E., 131 
Gates, Si, 131 

Gebhard, Frederick, 122 Jf., 405 ff. 
Geistinger, Marie, 152 
Gibson, Charles Dana, 431 jf. 
Gillette, William, 116, 126, 137 Jf., 212, 

358 Jf., 389 

Gillig, Harry M., 316 Jf. 
Gilmore, E. G., 277 
Gilmour, Jack, 331 
Gilroy, Thomas F., 309 
"Girl I Left Behind Me, The," 301 
"Girl of the Golden West, The," 425 
Gladstone, 308 
Golden, John L., 285 
Goodwin, Nat, 46, 211, 213, 295, 310 jf., 

333, 430, 434 ff. 
Gottlob, 371 

Gouger, Helen M., 218, 221 Jf., 347 
Gould, Jay, 85 
Grant, Nellie, 4 
Grant, General Ulysses S., I, 3 Jf., n, 

20, 127, 151 

"Great Divide, The," 423 
Greene, Clay M., 302, 316 Jf. 
Grey, Katherine, 340 
Grismer, Joseph, 266 Jf. 
Guiteau, Charles Jules, 151 
Gutherz, Carl, loojf. 

Hagen, Claude, 231 jf. 
Hagerman, James, 205 jf. 
Hale, Louise Closser, 373 

Hale,Walter, 365, 37ijf.,452 
Hall, Owen, 424 
Hall, Pauline, 149, 211 

Hamilton, Alexander, 459, 461 

Hamilton, Frank, 167, 228 ff. 

Hamlin, Harry, 369 jf. 

Hammond, Dorothy, 412 

Hampden, Walter, 248 

Hancock, General, 50, 132 

Handy, Moses P., 278 

Hardens Military Tactics, 19 

Harlow, Will, 67 Jf. 

Harney, Paul, 100 

Harris, Charles L., 290 

Harris, William, 169 

Harrison, Mayor, 309 

Harte, Bret, 439 ff. 

"Harvest Moon, The," 447 

Harwood, Harry, 414 j^". 

Hatton, Joseph, "John Needham's 
Double," 296 

Haworth, Joe, 201 

Hayes, President, 151 

Hayman, Alf., 12, 424 

Hein, Silvio, 448, 450 

"Held by the Enemy," 126, 212 

Henderson, Senator John B., 127 

"Henrietta, The," 212 

Herford, Oliver, 27 

Herne, Chrystal, 452 ff. 

Heron, Bijou, 12 

Heron, Matilda, 12 

Hicks, "Bicycle," 197 ff. 

Higgins, Mrs., 272 

Hill, J. M., 274, 277, 288, 299 

Hinckley, Emma, 250 

"His House in Order," 423 

"His Last Legs," 71, 163 Jf., 176 Jf., 

449 f- 

Hoey, Bill, 366 

Holland, E. M., 289, 291, 307, 33L 

Holland, Joseph, 264^., 331 

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 30, 438, 454 Jf. 

Hooker, E. R., 350 ff. 

Hooker, Forrestine, 350 

Hooker, Henry C., 350 Jf. 

Hopper, De Wolf, 71, 448 Jf. 

Howard, Bronson, 212, 269, 323 ff., 
328 Jf., 389 

Howard, Joseph, Jr., 211, 216 

Howe, Will H., 103 

Howells, William Dean, "The Ele- 
vator," etc., 178, 329 



Hoyt, Charles, 298 

Hudson, Doctor Thomas, 403, 438 

Hugo, Victor, I ff. 

Hutchens, Stilson, 127 

Hyde, Colonel William, 126 

Hyslop, Doctor, 96 

Illington, Margaret, 412 

"In Camp," 148 

"In Mizzoura," 213, 425 ff. 

Ingersoll, Ebon Clark, 56 ff. 

Ingersoll, Colonel Robert G., 56 ff., 95, 

152, 224 

Insley, M. H., 223 
Irving, Washington, 40 
Irwin, Doctor J. A., 259 
Ives, Professor Halsey C., 100 

Jackson, Andrew, II 

Jackson, Governor Claiborne, 28 

James, William, Mystical Faculty, 


Janet, 404 
Janis, Elsie, 146 
Jaur&s, Jean, 366 
Jefferson, Charles, 299 
Jefferson, Joseph, 40, 98 ff., 138 
Jefferson, Thomas, 198 ff., 458 ff. 
Jeffersonian Cyclopedia, 458 
Jeffries, Jim, 385 
Jennings, Johnny, 199, 205 
Jerrold, Blanchard, 124 
Jepson, Mrs. Eugene, 434 
Jessop, George, 310 
Johns, George Sibley, 200, 213 
Johnson, Vice-President, 14 
Johnson, Tom, 191 
Jones, Charles H., 239^. 
Jones, Henry Arthur, 296, 389, 423 
Jones, Walter, 150 

Kansas City Mirror, 228 ff. 
Karl, Tom, 152 
Kearney, Dennis, 151 
Kelly, 137 

Kelly, Mamie, 196 ff. 
Kemble, E. W., 324 ff. 
Kent, Doctor, 147 
"King John," 87 ff. 
Klaw, 299 
Klein, Alfred, 449 

Klein, Charles, 91, 145, 423 
Knapp, Charles, 239 
Knight, Percy, 429 
Knights of Labor, 105 ff. 
Knott, Proctor, 59 ff. 
Kretchmar, Howard, 101 

Lackaye, Wilton, 155 Jf., 263, 286, 338, 


"Lady of the Lake/' 40 
La Farge, Miss, 16 
Lambs Club, 275 ff., 286 /., 342 /., 362 

ff., 426, 429, 437 ff., 446, 450 
Lancaster, 125 
Lane, Mike, 203 
La Shelle, Kirke, 295, 363, 367 /., 393 

ff-> 434 

Latham, Arlie, 241 ff. 
Lawford, Ernest, 412 
Lee, Harry, 379 ff., 387 ff. 
Levy, J., 259 
"Lightnin'," 71 
Lincoln, Abraham, iff., 5ff.,n, 13 Jf., 

41 ff., 44, 46 /. 
Lincoln, Luther J. B., 341 ff. 
Lindsley, Guy, 115 
"Lion and the Mouse, The," 423 
Littleton, Honorable Martin, 47 
Lockwood, Belva A., 179 
Lodge, Henry Cabot, 308, 338 
Logan, General John A., 37, 61 ff. 
"London Assurance," 139 
"Lord Chumley," 270 
Lothian, Napier, 208 
"Love and Liberty," 270 
Luther, Martin, 289 

Macauley, Barney, 119, 145 

Macauley, Daniel, 119 

Macauley, John, 189 

Macauley, Margaret, 119 

"Macbeth," 40, 139 

Mackaye, Percy, 152 

Mackaye, Steele, 152 

Maddern, Dick, 133 

Maddern, Minnie, 12, 133, 145, 212 

Magner, John, 195, 197, 200, 202 ff., 

209, 216 
"Man of the World, A," 200, 262, 274, 

Mansfield, Josie, 279 



Mantell, Robert, 211 

Markham, Pauline, 92 

Marlowe, Julia, 240, Chap. XIV, passim 

Marple, W. S., 100 

Mason, John, 324, 373, 444 ff., 450, 


Mason, Peter, 424 ff. 
"Matin6e Idol, The," 449 /. 
Matthews, Brander, 292, 310, 330 
Matthews, Charles, 261, 267 
Matthews, Nathan, 309 
Mawson, Harry P., 424 
Maxwell, 214 
McClellan, n 

McClure, Colonel S. S., 254 
McCormack, Jack, 369 
McCormick, 6 ff. 
McCoy, Kid, 369, 396, 401 
McCready, Wayman, 117 
McCullough, John, 70 
McCullough Club, 114 ff. 
McDonald, Will, 152 
McDowell, Henry B., 328 ff. 
McFeelam, Teddy, 162 
Mclntosh, Burr, 297 
McKee, Frank, 374 
McKinley, President William, 308, 

376 ff. 

McKissock, Colonel Tom, 16 
McManus, George, 141 ff., 158 
McWade, Edward, 247 
Meade, General George, 41 ff. 
Meade, Margaret, 41 ff. 
Meeker, J. R., 100, 102 
Megargee, Louis N., 278 
"Men and Women," 301 
Menken, Adah Isaacs, 12 
"Merchant, The," 300 ff. 
Merrick, Leonard, 402 
"Messenger from Jarvis Station, The," 


Metcalf, 139 
Meyers, Sam, 424^. 
Michler, Captain Francis, 336 
Mickle, William Julius, 83 
"Middleman, The," 296 
"Midnight Bell, A," 270 
"Mighty Dollar, The," 137 
Miles, Bob, 144 
Miles, General Nelson A., 336 
Miley, John B., 286 ff. 

Miller, of the St. Louis Browns, 78 

Miller, Agnes, 290 

Miller, Gilbert, 12 

Miller, Henry, 318, 423 

Miller, Mrs. Henry, 12 

Mitchell, Dodson, 247 

"Mile. Modiste," 422 

Modjeska, Mme. Helena, 244, 250, 274 

Moliere, 84 

"Monte Cristo," 212 

Montgomery, 208 ff. 

Moody, William Vaughan, 423 

Moore, managing editor, 216^. 

Moore, Henry, 191 

Morrison, Lewis, 152 

Morrissey, John, 58 

Morton, Martha, "The Merchant," 

300 ff. 

"Mrs. Leffingwell's Boots," 411 ff., 441 
"Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch," 

"Muldoon's Picnic," 90, 176 ff., 212, 


Munson, George, 240 
Murphy, Patrick Francis, 47 
Murray, Hallett, see Palmoni 
"My Milliner's Bill," 270 
Myer, Captain, 353 ff. 

"Nadjesda," 274 

Nash, George, 446 

Nast, Tom, 95, 132 

Naylor, Fred, 85 

Neely, Mayor S. F., 217 ff. 

Nelson, Henry Loomis, 435 

"Never Again," 306 

"New Blood," 262, 337 

New York Press Club, 137 

New York World, 125, Chap. XII, 


Nicholson, Captain, 347 
"Night's Frolic, A," 285 
Norton, John W., 89, 144, 207, 254 
Nowak, Adelaide, 447 
Nye, Bill, 82 

Olcott, Chauncey, 365 

"Old Homestead, The," 270, 299, 438 

Olympic Theatre, Chicago, 70 

"On the Quiet," 333 

O'Neil, James, 212 



O'Neill, Eugene, 134 

O'Neill, Frank, 239 

O'Neill, James, 134 

"Oolah, The," 270 

Orrick, John D., 24 

"Other Girl, The," 236, 304, 400 

Otis, Elita Proctor, 340 ff. 

"Our American Cousin," 138 

Owen, Billy, 249 

Owens, John E., n6ff., 186 jf. 

Page, Nellie, 165, 185 
Palmer, A. M., 86, 88, 200 jf., 283, 287 
ff., 291 ff., 295 jf., 300, 306 /., 340 

Jf., 435 Jf. 

Palmer, Charles, 161 
Palmoni, 39 ff., 43, 134 /. 
Pastor, Tony, 88, 277 
Payne, Louis, 412 
Pierce, President Franklin, I ff. 
Pingree, Mayor, 309 
Pitou, Augustus, 283 
"Pittsburgh," 192 
Pius IX, Pope, 9 
Plato, Republic, 335 
Plutarch, 455 ff. 

Pope, of Pope's Theatre, St. Louis, 231 
Pope, Charles R., 118 jf., 139, 192 
Pope's Theatre, i$off. 
"Potash and Perlmutter," 91 
Potter, Clarkson N., 45 
Potter, Paul, 281 /., 424, 431, 437 
Powderly, Terence V., 105, 109 
Preller, 214 
Presbrey, Eugene, 204, 290, 294, 316 

Jf., 321, 330, 332, 450 
Prescott, Marie, 152 
"Professor, The," 137, 212 
Pulitzer, Joseph, 125 ff., 408 
Pullman, George M., 339 
Purcell, Archbishop, 9, n, 96 
Putnam, William F., 68 
"Pyramids, The," 133 

Quantrell's Guerillas, 126 

Rankin, Gladys, 264 
Rankin, McKee, 315 
Rawling, Sylvester, 101, 103 
Raymond, John, 134 

Reardon, Steve, 33 

"Reckless Temple," 262, 274, 288^". 

Red Cloud, 53 

Redding, Joseph D., 358 ff. 

Reedy, William Marion, 135, 191 

Remington, Frederic, 70, 324 ff., 329, 

335 /., 344, 357, 3?8, 432 jf. 
Revel family, 12 
Rice, Alice H., 423 
Riley (entomologist), 27 
Riley, James Whitcomb, 82 
"Rip Van Winkle," 40 
Ritchie, John, 254 /., 258 jf. 
Robbins, Doctor Tom, 417 
Robertson, 117 
"Robinson Crusoe," 92 Jf. 
Robinson, Forrest, 416, 437 
Robson, Eleanor, 371 jf., 423 
Robson, Stuart, 115 jf., 212, 316, 372 
Robyn, A. G., 115 
Roosevelt, Theodore, 113, 292, 358 
Root, Elihu, 58 
Rosenfeld, Sydney, 322 Jf. 
Rosenquest, Wesley, 269 
Rostand, Edmond, 428 
Roth, Nat, 134 
"Rough Diamond, The," 270 
Royle, Edwin Milton, 230, 401, 426, 438 
Ruckstull, Frederick W., 69, 79, 103, 

326 ff., 365, 397 
Russell, Annie, 316 
Russell, Lillian, 270 
Ryder, Billy, 17 

Si. Louis Post-Dispatch, 135 jf., Chap. 

XI, passim 

St. Louis Sketch Club, 101 ff., 131 
Salisbury, Charles, 144 
Salisbury, Nate, I44jf. 
Salisbury's Troubadours, 144 
Salvini, 152 

Sampson, William, 446, 452 
"Samuel of Posen," 91 
Sargent, Franklin Haven, 75 
Saville, John G., 412 
Scharit, Honorable Augustus Wallace, 

38/., 42, 62, 97, 134 Jf- 
Scheff, Fritzi, 422 

Schenck, General Robert C., 37, 52 
"School Mistress, The," 212 
Schultz, Minnie, 149 



Schurz, Carl, 24 Jf., 39 

Schwab, Charles, 47, 109 

Scott, Dred, 2, 6 

Scott, John, Earl of Eldon, 107 

Scott, Sir Walter, 40, 83 

Scratches and Sketches, 67 

Serrano, Vincent, 365, 371 /., 412, 452 

Sexton, H. Clay, 64 jf. 

Seymour, Governor Horatio, 20 

Seymour, Willie, 264 

Shakespeare, 456 

Shaler, General Alexander, 210 ff. 

Shaw, Doctor Albert, 339 

Shaw, Mary, 247 ff., 250, 268, 330 

Shea, Tommy, 424 

Sheedy, Pat, 279 

"Shenandoah," 269 

Sheridan, Emma V., 263 ff. 

Sheridan, General George, 266, 279, 284 

Sheridan, General Phil, 65 ff., 107 

Sherman, General William Tecumseh, 

208 Jf. 
Shook, 88 

Shubert, Lee, 324, 443 ff. 
Siddons, Mrs. Scott, 152 
"Sir Giles Overreach," 40 
Skinner, Otis, 77, 275 
Slayback, Alonzo W., 135 ff., 213 
Slocum, General, 37 
Smith, General A. J. 
Smith, Ballard, 217 
Smith, Edgar, 115, 155 ff., 161, 174, 

176, 179, 185 jf., 190 
Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 47, 306 
Smith, William Beaumont, 115 
Smythe, Doctor, 22 ff. 
Smythe, William G., 115, 161, 164 Jf., 

174, 176, 183, 190, 192, 211, 240, 

260 ff., 267, 270 ff., 335 
Snell, Edward, 101 
Snell, George, 101, 103, 112 
Snell, Henry Bayley, 103 
Sothern (the elder), 137 ff. 
Sothern, Edward H., 189, 192, 238, 


Spaulding, Charles, n8jf. 
Spink, Al, 240 ff. 
"Squaw Man, The," 426 Jf., 438 
Stahl, Rose, 423 
Steitz,i94, 209 jf. 

Stevenson, Charles, 153 

Stinson, Fred, 244 Jf,, 247, 253 

Stockton, Frank, "Squirrel Inn/' 330 

Stoddart, James H., 140, 200, 210 

Stokes, Ned, 279 

Stone, Mrs. Alice Buck, 35 ff. 

Stone, Blair, 35 

Stone, Major (Fighting Harry), 35 ff. 

Stone, Patti, 35 

Strahan, "The New Hyperion," 194 

Sullivan, John L., 279 

Sullivan, John T., 264, 266 

Sullivan, William, 156 /., 162 ff., 170, 

172, 176 ff., iSiff. 
Summerhayes, Captain Jack, 345 Jf. 
Sumner, Nan, 360 
Sumner, Colonel Sam, 350 
Sumner, Colonel Win, 345 ff., 348 Jf., 


Surratt, Mrs. 14 
"Surrender," 320 
Sutro, Alfred, 402 
"Sweethearts," 163 

Taber, Robert, 250 

Taussig, 34 

Taylor, General, II 

Taylor, Howard P., 212, 270 

Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 443 

"Third Degree, The," 423 

Thomas, Mrs. Augustus, 312 ff., 364 

Thomas, Governor Charles, 379, 388 

Thomas, Captain Elihu (father of 
Augustus Thomas), 3, II ff., 16, 18, 
28, 33, 38 ff., 66 ff., 69 Jf., 75 ff., 95 
ff., 146 jf., 150, 180 

Thomas, General George H., 5, 61 

Thompson, Denman, 270, 299, 438 

Thompson, Lydia, 92 

"Three Days Out," 365 

Tilden, 151 

Tracy, James M., 100 

"Treadway of Yale," 333 

"Trilby," 307 

Turner, Frank, 125 

Tweed, Bill, 95 

Twain, Mark, 32, 299, 435 Jf., 438 

Tyree, Elizabeth, 393 

linger, Frank, 


Van Dyke, Doctor Henry, 310 
Victoria, Queen of England, I 
Vokes family, 148^. 
Vokes, Rosina, 148, 212, 270 
Voltaire, 457 

Walker, State Senator J. J., 51 

Walker, William, 7 

Warfield, David, 91, 423 

Waterbury, James, 357 

Watterson, Colonel Henry, 98 Jf., 139, 

i89/., 239, 298 
Weathersby, Eliza, 92 
Webster, Daniel, n, 48 
Well, Honorable Erastus, zSff. t 33, 49, 


Wells, Rolla, 28 
Wells, W. N., 5 
Westford, Owen, 149 
Wheatcroft, Nelson, 330 ff. 
Wheelock, Joseph, 88, 330 
Wheelock, Joseph, Jr., 88, 365, 401 ff. 
White, Horatio S., 78 
White, Le Grand, 133 

Whytal, Russ, 445 ff. 

Wilde, Oscar, 220, 454 

Willard, E. S., 292, 296 

Willard, John, 438 

Willet, Mittens, 7 /., 134 

Williams, Gus, 90 

Williams, Jesse, 117 

Wilson, Francis, 211, 270, 409 / 

Winter, William, The Wallet of 

306 /. 

"Winter's Tale," 208 
"Witching Hour, The," 288 

Chap. XXIV, passim 
Witham, Alice, 10 
Witthers, William, 133 
Wood, Fernando, 58 
Wood, Colonel Leonard, 358 
Woodruff, Harry, 290 jf., 332 ff. 
Worthing, Frank, 400 
Wycoff, Eliza Emmett, 10 

Young, Thomas, 323 
Zangwill, Israel, 423