speculation about his leading woman. A dozen
names were bruited about.

Charles Frohman remained silent. He was keenly sensitive to the
sensation he was creating, and was biding his time to launch another. It
came when he announced Maude Adams as John Drew's leading woman. He had
watched her development with eager and interested eye. She had made good
wherever he had placed her. Now he gave her what was up to this time her
biggest chance. The moment her name became bracketed with Drew's there
was a feeling of satisfaction over the choice. How wise Charles Frohman
was in the whole Drew venture was about to be abundantly proved.

* * *

Charles Frohman not only made John Drew a star, but the nucleus of a
whole system. It was a time of rebirth for the whole American stage.
Nearly all the old stars were gone or were passing from view. Forrest,
McCullough, Cushman, Janauschek were gone; Modjeska's power was waning;
Clara Morris was soon to leave the stage world; Lawrence Barrett and
W.J. Florence were dead; Edwin Booth had retired.

Frohman realized that with the passing of these stars there also passed
the system that had created them. He knew that the public--the new
generation--wanted younger people, popular names--somebody to talk
about. He realized further that the public adored personality and that
the strongest prop that a play could get was a fascinating and magnetic
human being, whether male or female. The old stars had made
themselves--risen from the ranks after years of service. Frohman saw the
opportunity to accelerate this advance by providing swift and
spectacular recognition. The new stars that were now to blossom into
life under him owed their being to the initiative and the vision of some
one else. Thus he became the first of the star-makers.

Charles was now all excitement. He had the making of his first big star,
and he proceeded to launch him in truly magnificent fashion.

A play was needed that would bring out all those qualities that had made
Drew shine in the drawing-room drama. The very play itself was destined
to mark an epoch in the life of a man in the theater. Through Elizabeth
Marbury, who had just launched herself as play-broker in a little office
on Twenty-fourth Street, around the corner from Charles Frohman's, his
attention was called to a French farcical comedy called "The Masked
Ball," by Alexandre Bisson and Albert Carre. Frohman liked the story and
wanted it adapted for American pro