Just as he mixed sentiment in business so did Frohman infuse wit into most of his relations. He once instructed W. Lestocq, his London manager, to conduct certain negotiations for a new play with a Scotchwoman whose first play had made an enormous success in America, and whose head had been turned by it. The woman's terms were ten thousand dollars in advance and a fifteen-per-cent. royalty. When Lestocq told Frohman these terms over the telephone, all he said was this: "Did you tell her not to slam the door?" * * * Frohman would always have his joke in London, as this incident shows: He had just arrived in town and went to a bank in Charing Cross with a letter of credit, which he deposited. When he emerged he was smiling all over. "I got one on that young man behind the counter," he said. "How's that?" asked Lestocq, who was waiting for him. "Well," he replied, "the young man bade me good morning and asked me if I have brought over anything good this time. I replied, 'Yes, a letter of credit on your bank, and I am waiting to see if _it_ is any good.'" A manager, who for present purposes must be named Smith, called on Frohman to secure the services of a star at that time under contract to the latter. His plan was to drop in on Frohman at a busy hour, quickly state the case, and, getting an affirmative answer, leave without talking terms at all. Later he knew it would be enough to recall the affirmative answer that had been given without qualification. The transaction took but a moment, just as the manager wished. "Well, then, I may have him?" said Smith. "Er-m-ah-er-yes--I will let you have him," replied Frohman, at the same time running over a paper before him. The visitor was already at the door. "By the way, Smith," called out Frohman, "how much do you want me to pay you for taking him off my hands?" * * * Frohman was as playful as a child. Once he was riding in a _petite voiture_ in Paris. It was a desperately hot night. The old _cocher_ took his hat off, hung it on the lamp, and wiped his forehead. Frohman took the hat and hid it under his seat. When the driver looked for his hat it was gone. He stopped the horse and ran back two or three blocks before he could be stopped. Then he went on without it, muttering and cursing, and turning around every few moments. Watching his opportunity, Frohman slipped the hat back on the lamp, and there was the expected climax that he thoroughly enjoyed. On one of his trips to Paris he was accompanied by Dillingham. Knowing Frohman's fondness for rich food, his friend decided to take him to dine at Durand's famous restaurant opposite the Madeleine. He even went to the cafe in the afternoon and told the proprietor that he was going to bring the great American manager. Great anticipation prevailed in the establishment. That night when they got to the restaurant Frohman gave Dillingham the shock of his life by saying: "I want to be a real American to-night. All I want is an oyster stew."