his promise. A week later he stole away after supper
with his little brother. They walked to the Academy, where the old
Italian opera, "The Masked Ball," was being sung. With wondering eyes
and beating heart Charles saw Gustave hawk his books in the lobby, and
actually sell a few. From the inside came the strains of music, and
through the door a glimpse of a fashionable audience. But it was a
forbidden land that he could not enter.

Fearful of the maternal scolding that he knew was in store, Gustave
hurried his brother home, even indulging in the unwonted luxury of
riding on the street-car, where he found a five-dollar bill. The mother
was up and awake, and immediately began to upbraid him for taking out
his baby brother at night, whereupon Gustave quieted the outburst by
permitting Charles to hand over the five-dollar bill as a peace
offering.

From that hour life had a new meaning for Charles Frohman. He had seen
his brother earn money in the theater; he wanted to go and do likewise.
The opportunity was denied, and he chafed under the restraint.

In the afternoon, when he was through with the school that he hated, the
boy went down to his father's store and took his turn behind the
counter. Irksome as was this work, it was not without a thrilling
compensation, because into the shop came many of the theatrical
personages of the time to buy their cigars. They included Tony Pastor,
whose name was then a household word, McKee Rankin, J. K. Mortimer, a
popular Augustin Daly leading man, and the comedians and character
actors of the near-by theaters.

Here the magnetic personality of the boy asserted itself. His ready
smile and his quick tongue made him a favorite with the customers. More
than one actor, on entering the shop, asked the question: "Where is
Charley? I want him to wait on me."

In those days much of the theatrical advertising was done by posters
displayed in shop-windows. To get these posters in the most conspicuous
places passes were given to the shopkeepers, a custom which still holds.
The Frohman store had a large window, and it was constantly plastered
with play-bills, which meant that the family was abundantly supplied
with free admission to most of the theaters in the district. The whole
family shared in this dispensation, none more so than Henry Frohman
himself, who could now gratify his desire for contact with the theater
and its people to an almost unlimited extent. His greatest delight was
to d