and unfolded weird and wonderful tales of travel and adventure. Like a
child, too, Frohman kept on saying, "More, more," and often Potter went
on talking into the dawn.

Potter, like all his comrades in that small and devoted group of Frohman
intimates, did his utmost to shield his friend from hurt. When Frohman
launched a new play during those bedridden days Potter would wait until
the so-called "bull-dog" editions of the morning papers (the very
earliest ones) were out. Then he would go down to the street and get
them. If the notice was favorable he would read it to Frohman. If it was
unfriendly Potter would say that the paper was not yet out, preferring
that the manager read the bad news when it was broad daylight and it
could not interfere with his sleep.

The humor and comradeship which always marked Frohman's close personal
relations were not lacking in those nights when the life of the valiant
little man hung by a thread. When all other means of inducing sleep
failed, Potter found a sure cure for insomnia.

"Just as soon as I talked to Frohman about my own dramatic projects," he
says, "he would fall asleep. So, when the night grew long and the travel
stories failed, and even 'Alexander's Rag-Time Band' grew stale, I would
start off by saying: 'I have a new play in mind. This is the way the
plot goes.' Then Frohman's eyes would close; before long he would be
asleep, and I crept noiselessly out."

Occasionally during those long conflicts with pain Frohman saw through
the glass darkly. His intense and constant suffering, for the time, put
iron into his well-nigh indomitable soul.

"I'm all in," he would say to Potter. "The luck is against me. The star
system has killed my judgment. I no longer know a good play from a bad.
The sooner they 'scrap' me the better."

His thin fingers tapped on the bedspread, and, like Colonel Newcome, he
awaited the Schoolmaster's final call.

"You and I," he would continue, "have seen our period out. What comes
next on the American stage? Cheap prices, I suppose. Best seats
everywhere for a dollar, or even fifty cents; with musical shows alone
excepted. Authors' royalties cut to ribbons; actors' salaries pared to
nothing. Popular drama, bloody, murderous, ousting drawing-room comedy.
Crook plays, shop-girl plays, slangy American farces, nude women
invading the auditorium as in Paris."

"And then?" asked Potter.

"Chaos," said he. "Fortunately you and I won't live to see it. Tu