n twenty dollars."

Charles's eye twinkled. He said, quickly:

"You are mistaken. My tailor will make you a coat for twenty dollars. Go
down and get one."

Father went down to the fashionable Fifth Avenue tailor. Meanwhile
Frohman called him up and gave instructions to make a coat for his
father at a very low price and have the difference charged to him.

In an hour Henry Frohman came back all excitement. "I am a real business
man," he said. "I persuaded that tailor of yours to make me an overcoat
for twenty dollars."

Charles immediately gave him the twenty dollars and sent the tailor a
check for the difference between that and the real price, which was
ninety-five dollars. He dismissed the matter from his mind.

A few days later Charles had another visit from his father. This time he
was in high glee. He could hardly wait to tell the great news.

"You've often said I wasn't a good business man," he told his son.
"Well, I can prove to you that I am. The other night one of my friends
admired my new overcoat so much that I sold it to him for thirty-five
dollars."

Charles said nothing, but had to pay for another
one-hundred-and-fifteen-dollar overcoat because he did not want to
shatter his father's illusion.

* * *

Here is still another. When Frohman got back to New York from a trip few
things interested him so much as a good dinner. It always wiped out the
memory of hard times or unpleasant experiences. Once he returned from a
costly visit to the West. On Broadway he met an old-time comedian who
had been in one of his companies. His greeting was cordial.

"And now, 'C. F.,'" said the comedian, "you've got to come to dinner
with me. We have a new club, for actors only, and we have the best roast
beef in town. We make a specialty of a substantial, homelike dinner.
Come right along."

The club rooms were over a saloon on the west side of Broadway, between
Thirty-first and Thirty-second streets. The two went up to the room and
sat down. The actor ordered dinner for two. The waiter went away and
Frohman's spirits began to rise.

"It's the best roast beef in New York, I tell you," said the host, by
way of an appetizer.

Then the waiter reappeared, but not with the food. He was visibly
embarrassed.

"Sorry, sir," he said to the comedian, "but the steward tells me that
you can't have dinner to-night. He says you were posted to-day, and that
you can't be served again until everything is settled."

Charles