Part 63

"Yes, there is one in Neuilly."

"All right," said Barrie, "let's go there."

"We'll drive out in a victoria," meekly suggested Frohman.

"No," said Barrie, "I think it would be more fun to go on a 'bus."

With the unused tickets for the Théâtre Français in his waistcoat, and the smart little victoria still waiting in front of the Meurice (for Frohman forgot to order the man home), the two friends started for the country fair, where they spent the whole evening throwing balls at what the French call "Aunt Sally." It is much like the old-fashioned side-show at an American county fair. A negro pokes his head through a hole in the canvas, and every time the thrower hits the head he gets a knife. When Frohman and Barrie returned to the Meurice that night they had fifty knives between them. The next night they repeated this performance until they had knives enough to start a hardware-store. This was the simple and childlike way that these two men, each a genius in his own way, disported themselves on a holiday.

One more incident will show the amazing accord between Frohman and Barrie. They were constantly playing jokes on each other, like two youngsters. One day they were talking in Frohman's rooms at the Savoy when a certain actress was announced.

"I would like to know what this woman really thinks of me," said Barrie. "I have never met her."

"All right," said Frohman, "you pretend to be my secretary."

The woman came up and had a long talk with Frohman, during which she gave her impressions, not very flattering, of British playwrights in general and Barrie in particular. All the while the little Scot sat solemnly at a near-by desk, sorting papers and occasionally handing one to Frohman to sign. When the woman left they nearly exploded with laughter.

One of Frohman's delights when in England was to go to Barrie's flat in London, overlooking the Victoria Embankment. He liked this place, first of all, because it was Barrie's. Then, too, he could sit curled up in the corner on a settee, smoking a fat, black cigar, and look out on the historic Thames. Here he knew he would not have to talk. It was the place of Silence and Understanding. He was in an atmosphere he loved. In the flat above lives John Galsworthy; down-stairs dwells Granville Barker; while just across the street is the domicile of Bernard Shaw, whose windows face Barrie's.

When Barrie wanted to notify Shaw that Frohman was with him, he would throw bread-crusts against Shaw's window-panes. In a few moments the sash would fly up and the familiar, grinning, bearded face would pop out. On one of the occasions Shaw yelled across:

"Are you inviting me to a feast, Barrie--are you casting bread upon the troubled waters or is it just Frohman?"

In view of Frohman's perfect adoration of Barrie--and it amounted to nothing else--it is interesting, as a final glimpse of the relation between these men, to see what the American thought of his friend's work. In analyzing Barrie's work once, Frohman said:

"Barrie's distinctive note is humanity. There is rich human blood in everything he writes. He is a satirist whose arrows are never barbed with vitriol, but with the milk of human kindness; a humanist who never surfeits our senses, but leaves much for our willing imagination; an optimist whose message is as compelling for its reasonableness as it is welcome for its gentleness."

* * *

Through Barrie and "Peter Pan" came another close and devoted friendship in Charles Frohman's life--the one with Pauline Chase. This American girl had been engaged by one of Frohman's stage-managers for a small part with Edna May in "The Girl from Up There." Frohman did not even know her in those days. After she made her great success as the Pink Pajama girl in "Liberty Belles," at the Madison Square Theater, Frohman engaged her and sent her to England, where, with the exception of one visit to the United States in "Our Mrs. Gibbs," she has remained ever since.

It was not until she played "Peter Pan" that the Frohman-Chase friendship really began. The way in which Miss Chase came to play the part is interesting. Cissie Loftus, who had been playing Peter, became ill, and Miss Chase, who had been playing one of the twins, and was her understudy, went on to do the more important part at a matinée in Liverpool. Frohman said to her:

"Barrie and I are coming down to see you act. If we like you well enough to play Peter, I will send you back a sheet of paper with a cross mark on it after the play."

At the end of the first act an usher rapped on Miss Chase's dressing-room door and handed her the much-desired slip with the cross. Frohman sent word that he could not wait until the end of the play, because he and Barrie were taking a train back to London. In this unusual way Pauline Chase secured the part which helped to endear her to the man who was her friend and sponsor.

Frohman, Barrie, and Miss Chase formed a trio who went about together a great deal and had much in common, aside from the kinship of the theater. It was for Miss Chase that Barrie wrote "Pantaloon," in which she appeared in conjunction with "Peter Pan," and which gave her a considerable reputation in England.

When Pauline Chase was confirmed in the little church in Marlow-on-the-Thames, Barrie was her godfather and Miss Ellen Terry was her godmother. Frohman attended this ceremony, and it made a tremendous impression on him. He saw the spectacular side of the ceremony, and the spiritual meaning was not lost on him.

The personal comradeship with Pauline Chase was one of the really beautiful episodes in Frohman's life. He was genuinely interested in this girl's career, and in tribute to her confidence in him she made him, in conjunction with Barrie, her father confessor. Here is an episode that is tenderly appealing, and which shows another of the many sides of his character:

Frohman and Barrie were both afraid that Miss Chase would marry without telling them about it, so a compact was made by the three that the two men should be her mentors. There were many applicants for the hand of this lovely American girl. The successful suitor eventually was Alec Drummond, member of a distinguished English family, who went to the front when the war began.

One reason for Miss Chase's devotion to Charles lay in the fact that the American manager had the body of her mother removed from its resting-place in Washington to the dreamy little churchyard at Marlow-on-the-Thames. It is near Marlow that Miss Chase lived through all the years of the Frohman-Barrie comradeship. Her little cottage at Tree Tops, Farnham Common, five miles from Marlow, was one of the places he loved to visit. On the vine-embowered porch he liked to sit and smoke. On the lawn he indulged in his only exercise, croquet, frequently with Barrie or Captain Scott, who died in the Antarctic, and Haddon Chambers, who lived near by. Often he went with his hostess to feed the chickens.

But wherever he went he carried plays. No matter how late he retired to his room, he read a manuscript before he went to bed. He probably read more plays than any other manager in the world.

Frohman went to Marlow nearly every Saturday in summer. His custom was to alight from the train at Slough, where Miss Chase would meet him in her car and drive him over to Marlow, where they lunched at The Compleat Angler, a charming inn on the river.

Miss Chase sometimes playfully performed the office of manicure for Frohman. Once when she was in Paris he sent her this telegram:

Nails.