option on it, which had just expired. Another
manager wanted the play. Frohman heard of it, and asked to be allowed
to read it. Maugham then said:

"It must be decided to-night."

It was then dinner-time.

"Give me three hours," said Frohman.

At one o'clock in the morning he called up Maugham at his house and
accepted the play, which was probably the quickest reading and
acceptance on record in England.

Another experience with Maugham shows how Frohman really inspired plays.

He was riding on the train with the playwright when he suddenly said to
him:

"I want a new play from you."

"All right," said Maugham.

Frohman thought a moment, and suddenly flashed out:

"Why not rewrite 'The Taming of the Shrew' with a new background?"

"All right," said Maugham.

The result was Maugham's play "The Land of Promise," which was really
built around Frohman's idea.

Frohman produced all of Maugham's plays in America, and most of them
were great successes. He also did the great majority of them in England.
Maugham waxed so prosperous that he was able to buy a charming old
residence in Chesterfield Street which he remodeled in elaborate
fashion. On its completion his first dinner guest was Charles Frohman.
When Maugham sent him the invitation it read:

_Will you come and see the house that Frohman built?_

In the same way he developed men like Michael Morton. He would see a
French farce in the Paris theaters, and, although he could not
understand a word of French, he got the spirit and the meaning through
its action. He would buy the play, go to London with the manuscript, and
get Morton or Paul Potter to adapt it for American consumption.

* * *

Life in London to Charles Frohman was one series of adventures. Like
Harun-al-Rashid in the _Arabian Nights_, he delighted to wander about,
often with Barrie, sometimes with Lestocq, seeking out strange and
picturesque places in which to eat.

These adventures began in his earliest days in England. Here is a
characteristic experience:

One day Madeline Lucette Ryley, the playwright, came to see him in his
office in Henrietta Street. A battered old man was hanging around the
door.

"Did you see that man outside?" asked Frohman.

"Yes," said Mrs. Ryley. "Is he the bailiff?"

"Oh no," said Frohman, "he is a Maidenhead cabby." This is the story of
how he came there.

The day before Frohman had been down to Maidenhead alone for luncheon.
At the station he h