ing
that, I still have faith, and dearly love to be fooled, but not
to have the fraud exposed.

Wyndham, the celebrated English actor, was playing one night in
New York. He saw me in the audience and sent a messenger inviting
me to meet him at supper at the Hoffman House. After the theatre
I went to the hotel, asked at the desk in what room the theatrical
supper was, and found there Bronson Howard, the playwright, and
some others. I told them the object of my search, and Mr. Howard
said: "You are just in the right place."

The English actor came later, and also a large number of other
guests. I was very much surprised and flattered at being made
practically the guest of honor. In the usual and inevitable
after-dinner speeches I joined enthusiastically in the prospects
of American contributions to drama and especially the genius of
Bronson Howard.

It developed afterwards that the actors' dinner was set for several
nights later, and that I was not invited or expected to this
entertainment, which was given by Mr. Howard to my actor friend,
but by concert of action between the playwright and the actor,
the whole affair was turned into a dinner to me. Broadway was
delighted at the joke, but did not have a better time over it than I did.

The supper parties after the play which Wyndham gave were among
the most enjoyable entertainments in London. His guests represented
the best in society, government, art, literature, and drama. His
dining-room was built and furnished like the cabin of a yacht and
the illusion was so complete that sensitive guests said they felt
the rolling of the sea.

One evening he said to me: "I expect a countryman of yours,
a charming fellow, but, poor devil, he has only one hundred and
fifty thousand pounds a year. He is still young, and all the
managing mothers are after him for their daughters."

When the prosperous American with an income of three-quarters
of a million arrived, I needed no introduction. I knew him very
well and about his affairs. He had culture, was widely travelled,
was both musical and artistic, and his fad was intimacy with
prominent people. His dinners were perfection and invitations
were eagerly sought. On the plea of delicate health he remained
a brief period in the height of the season in London and Paris.
But during those few weeks he gave all that could be done by lavish
wealth and perfect taste, and did it on an income of twenty
thousand dollars