Charles immediately bought a pack of the thickest playing-cards he could find and began to practise with them. Soon he became an expert shuffler. Often he used his father's cigar counter for a make-believe box-office sill, and across it he handed out the pasteboards to imaginary patrons. A dozen times he went over to Brooklyn and gazed with eager expectancy at the old theater, destined, by reason of his association with it, to be a historic landmark in the annals of American amusement. He wrote Gustave almost immediately: _I will be ready when the time comes._ That great moment arrived the first Monday in August, 1874. Charles could scarcely contain his impatience. So well had the publicity work for the performance been done by the new advance-agent that when the boy (he was just fourteen) raised the window of the box-office at seven o'clock there was a long line waiting to buy tickets. The final word of injunction from Gustave was: "Remember, Charley, you must be careful, because you will be personally responsible for any shortage in cash when you balance up." The house was sold out. When Gustave asked him, after the count-up, if he was short, the eager-faced lad replied: "I am not short--I am fifty cents over!" "Then you can keep that as a reward for your good work," said Gustave. Callender was on hand the opening night. He watched the boy in the box-office with, an amused and lively interest. When Charles had finished selling tickets, Callender stepped up to him with a smile on his face and said: "Young fellow, I like your looks and your ways. You and I will be doing business some day." During this engagement, and with the customary spirit of family co-operation, Gustave said to Charles: "You can give your sister Rachel all the pennies that come in at the Wednesday matinee." At this engagement very little was expected in the way of receipts at a midweek matinee. But Gustave did not reckon with Charles. With an almost uncanny sense of exploitation which afterward enabled him to attract millions of theater-goers, the boy kept the brass-band playing outside the theater half an hour longer than usual. This drew many children just home from school, and they paid their way in pennies. The receipts, therefore, were unexpectedly large. When sister Rachel came over that day her beaming brother filled her bag with coppers. The summer of 1874 was a strenuous one for Charles Frohman. By day he worked in _The Graphic_ office, only getting off for the matinees; at night he was in the box-office at Hooley's in Brooklyn, his smiling face beaming like a moon through the window. He was in his element at last and supremely happy. When the season ended the Callender Minstrels resumed their tour on the road and Charles went back to the routine of _The Graphic_ undisturbed by the thrill of the theater.