some
money."

Daniel immediately relented. He arranged with the railroad to delay the
train and thus make a connection which would carry his company on
through to the interior. He booked Galveston for the second week
following. This left the week in question free to Charles, who breathed
easier.

Charles now went on and billed Sherman, Houston, and Dallas. At Dallas
the hard luck that had gripped the company the moment it left Memphis
descended more vigorously than before. Dillon not only fell from grace
again, but disappeared. Gustave Frohman had vowed that he would
discharge him if he went on another spree, and he kept his word. They
were in a real predicament, with star gone, business bad, and
practically stranded a thousand miles from home.

Charles, who frequently came back to join the company, was the one
bright spot of those precarious days, for he never lost his optimism or
his smile.

"What we need," he said at a council of war in Dallas, "is a new play. I
have been reading in the _New York Clipper_ about one called 'Pink
Dominoes.' I think it is just the thing for us to do. In fact, I have
already sent for a copy of it."

The play arrived the next day, and when George Stoddart read it to him
the young agent bubbled with laughter and said:

"It's bound to be a big success."

It was decided to put on "Pink Dominoes" at Houston. Charles remained
behind and watched the rehearsals, the first of the kind he had ever
seen. Contrary to all expectations, Houston was shocked by the play. The
audience literally "walked out" and the run of one night ended.

Misfortunes now crowded thick and fast. Salaries had ceased entirely,
and it was with the utmost difficulty that the company proceeded on its
way. As a crowning hardship, Callender repented of his bargain and
withdrew the much-used and treasured hundred-dollar bill.

When Charles met Gustave in Seguin he said: "We're up against a hard
proposition. The people want John Dillon. It's hard to book an
attraction without a star."

In this statement Charles Frohman expressed a truth that he afterward
made one of his theatrical axioms, for he became the leading exponent of
the star system, and developed, in fact, into the king of the
star-makers.

Charles rose supreme over the hardships that filled his colleagues with
gloom. Many a night, in order to save hotel bills, he slept on a train
as it shunted back and forth between small towns. He always turned up in