so deeply
as that affectionate demonstration.

It was now 1881, and once more the "Forty--Count 'Em--Forty" set forth
to rediscover America, with Charles Frohman as manager. His name now
appeared at the head of the bill, and to celebrate the great event Eddy
Brooke wrote a "Frohman March," which had a conspicuous place on the
program.

Strangely prophetic of the circumstances which brought about his
untimely death was an incident which occurred while the company was
going by boat from New York to New London. It was a bitter cold night
when the aggregation boarded the old _John B. Starin_. The decks were
piled with waste, cord, and jute for the New England mills.

"What a fine night for a fire on board!" remarked Frohman as he led his
"soldiers," as he always called the Mastodons, aboard. Everybody retired
early. At two o'clock in the morning there was great excitement. Men
rushed frantically about; there were calls for hose, and the Mastodons,
most of them clad in their night-clothes and trousers, rushed,
frightened, on deck. They found a fire raging aft.

Immediately panic reigned. The coolest man aboard was the smallest.
Here, there, and everywhere went Charles, urging everybody to be quiet.

"There is no danger," he said. "Let us all go in the cabin and wait."

Under his direction the passengers assembled in the water-soaked saloon
and there waited until the flames were subdued. Here was evidence of the
equanimity with which he faced disaster and which marked him on that
ill-starred day when he was plunged to his death in the Irish Sea.

On through the summer of 1881 the Mastodons went their way. Charles was
now able to watch the minstrel parade from the sidewalk, but he was
still the friend, philosopher, and guide of the company to which he was
now bound by nearly three years of constant association.

They played Washington during the Garfield inaugural week. Charles
realized that here was a great opportunity for spectacular publicity.
First of all he took his now famous band down to the Willard Hotel and
serenaded the new executive. A vast crowd gathered; the President-elect
appeared at the window, smiled and bowed, and then sent for the little
manager, to whom he expressed his personal thanks. Then a heaven-born
opportunity literally fell into his hands.

To the same hotel came the Massachusetts Phalanx, of Lowell, which had
secured a conspicuous place in the inaugural parade. Their arrangement
committe