intrusion. With her especially he exhausted every resource to
keep her aloof and secluded. He preferred that she be known through her
work and not through her personal self. It was so with himself.

Frohman was one of the most generous-minded of men in his feeling about
his co-workers. On one occasion when he was rehearsing "The Dictator,"
William Collier suggested a whole new scene. The next night Frohman took
a friend to see it. Afterward, accompanied by his guest, he went back on
the stage to congratulate his star. He slapped Collier on the back and,
turning to his companion, said:

"Wasn't that a bully scene that Willie put into the play?"

He was always willing to admit that his success came from those who
worked for him. Once he was asked the question:

"If you had your life to live over again would you be a theatrical
manager?"

Quick as a flash Frohman replied:

"If I could be surrounded by the same actors and writers who have made
_me_--yes. Otherwise, no."

This feeling led him to say once:

"I believe a manager's success does not come so much from the public as
from his players. When they are ready to march with him without regard
to results, then he has indeed succeeded. This is my success. My
ambition frankly centers in the welfare of the actor. The day's work
holds out to me no finer gratification than to see intelligent, earnest,
deserving actors go into the fame and fortune of being stars."

Nothing could down his immense pride in his stars. Once he was making
his annual visit to England with Dillingham. At that time Olga
Nethersole, who had been playing "Carmen," was under his management.
She was also on the boat. The passenger-list included many other
celebrities, among them Madame Emma Calve, the opera-singer, who had
just made her great success in the opera "Carmen" at the Metropolitan
Opera House. Naturally there was some rivalry between the two _Carmens_.

At the usual ship's concert both Nethersole and Calve inscribed their
names on programs which were auctioned off for the benefit of the
disabled sailors' fund. Competition was brisk. The card that Calve
signed fetched nine hundred dollars. When Nethersole's program was put
up Frohman led the bidding and drove it up to a thousand dollars, which
he paid himself. It was all the money he had with him. Dillingham
remonstrated for what seemed a foolish extravagance.

"I wanted my star to get the best of it, and she did," was the reply.

F