er similar gifts, was put away among his treasures.

One day, accompanied by Robert Filkins, the advance-agent, Charles had
occasion to see Col. M. B. Leavitt, who was a notable theatrical figure
of the time, with extensive interests in this country and abroad. After
Leavitt had regaled the younger men with an account of his varied
activities, Charles suddenly exclaimed to him:

"Gee! But you've got London by the neck, haven't you?"

Many years later Leavitt again met Charles Frohman in London. The
encounter this time took place on the Strand, in front of the Savoy,
where Frohman was installed in his usual luxurious suite. He now
controlled half a dozen theaters in the British metropolis and he was a
world theatrical figure. Leavitt, whose memory is one of the wonders of
the amusement business, clapped the magnate on the shoulder and repeated
the words spoken to him so long ago:

"Gee! Frohman, _you'_ve got London by the neck, haven't you?"

After a tour of the provinces the company returned home and opened in
Brooklyn.

* * *

With the return to America came the first realization of one of Charles
Frohman's earlier dreams. "Big Bill" Foote, fascinated by the lure of
English life, bought a small hotel near London and settled down. This
left the managership of the company vacant. Although Charles had
practically done all the work for nearly a year, he was, so far as title
was concerned, treasurer.

Immediately there was a scramble for the position of manager. Among
those who sought it were Robert Filkins, William S. Strickland, and a
number of other mature and experienced men.

But when the company heard that an outsider sought the position to which
Charles was entitled there was great indignation. A meeting of protest,
instigated by the Gorman brothers and Eddie Quinn, was held on the stage
in Brooklyn, and a round-robin, signed by every member of the company,
was despatched to Jack Haverly, insisting that Charles Frohman be made
the manager.

A little later Charles walked back on the stage after the night's
performance and quietly remarked:

"Boys, I am your new manager."

A great shout of delight went up. The rosy, boyish youth (for he had
scarcely entered his twenties) was lifted to the shoulders of half a
dozen men and to the words of a favorite minstrel song, "Hear Those
Bells," a triumphant march was made around the stage. None of the many
honors that came to him in his later years touched him quite