Part 105

In reply to Charles Burnham's invitation to attend the Theatrical Managers' dinner, he wrote:

Thank you very much, but my condition is still such that my game leg would require at least four seats, and as we now have at least several managers to every theater, and several theaters in every block, I haven't the heart to accept the needed room, and thus deprive them of any.

Writing to E. H. Sothern and Julia Marlowe, in April, 1915, he said:

I wonder why you don't both sail with me May 1 (Lusitania). As far as I am concerned, when you consider all the stars I have managed, mere submarines make me smile. But most affectionate regards to you both.

Writing to John Drew, who was willing to prolong his touring season in 1915, he says:

All right. Why a young man like you cares to continue on his long tours, I don't know. I hope to get away on May 1st and to return shortly after you reach New York. Am in quest of something for you. Our last talk before you left gave me much happiness.

Refusing to book his attractions in a city for a week where three nights were sufficient, he said:

My stars like week stands, but they don't like weak business.

To Haddon Chambers, in London:

I am hoping to get off on the Lusitania. It seems to be the best ship to sail on. I shall be glad to see you.

Writing to S. F. Nixon, a business colleague, regarding Miss Barrymore in "The Shadow":

You are quite right as to the play being terribly somber. I thought it a good idea to show what a representative American actress of serious parts she was; so that next season we will offer a contrast, and make the audiences laugh so much that they will be compelled to crowd the theater. She will play then as humorous a part ("Our Mrs. McChesney") as she did so earnestly a serious one.

To J. C. O'Laughlin, of the Chicago Herald:

We managers have certain ideas about plays. We produce a play and find our ideas and opinions often wrong. Our opinions are only sound, I think, as far as the question of a play being actable is concerned. My sympathetic feeling for all writers makes it very hard to venture an opinion detrimental to their work, especially as we find we are frequently wrong.

To one of his leading women, April, 1915:

I appreciate the expression of your affection. It almost makes me turn westward instead of eastward. However, we must do our jobs, and so I do mine. I am sailing Saturday (per Lusitania). Heaven only will know where I am in July. I cannot tell this year anything about anything.

To Booth Tarkington:

I don't suppose you have any idea of coming to New York. There are a lot of fine things here worth your while, including myself.

Concerning Hubert Henry Davies, the author of "Outcast," Miss Elsie Ferguson's very successful vehicle:

He is a delightful, charming, simple, splendid fellow. You will be delighted with him, and Miss Ferguson will be more than delighted with him, because he will be so delighted with her. It is a fine thing to have so nice a man as Davies arrive, and entirely misunderstanding the person he is to rehearse because the surprise will be all the greater. It pleases me, knowing what a fine emotional (one of the very best in the world) young actress our star is.

To Harry Powers, manager of Powers Theater, Chicago, where his play "The Beautiful Adventure," with Ann Murdock, was then running:

Regarding "The Beautiful Adventure," if I am doing wrong in making a clean situation out of one that is not clean, I am going to do wrong. The theater-going public in the cities may not always get a good play from me, but they trust me, and I shall try and retain that trust. We may not get the same amount of money, but if we can live through it we will get a lot more satisfaction for those we like and for ourselves.

Some of the last letters written by Frohman were filled with a curious tenderness and affection. In the light of what happened after he sailed they seem to be overcast with a strange foreboding of his doom. The most striking example of this is furnished in a letter he wrote to Henry Miller on April 29th, a few days before he went aboard the Lusitania. He had not written to Miller for a year, yet this is what he said:

Dear Henry: I am going to London Saturday A.M. I want to say good-by to you with this--and tell you how glad I am you've had a good season.

Affectionately, C. F.

Miller was immensely touched by this communication. He wired to his son Gilbert to find out what steamer Frohman was taking, and send him a wireless. This message was probably the last ever received by Frohman, for no other similar telegram was sent him in care of the Lusitania.

The last letter written by Frohman, before leaving the Hotel Knickerbocker on the morning the Lusitania sailed, was to his intimate friend and companion Paul Potter. Potter, who had telephoned that he expected to meet him at the steamer, was much depressed, which explains one of the sentences in Frohman's letter:

Saturday A.M., May 1, 1915.