On one occasion in Cleveland, when he was producing a play by Clyde Fitch for the late Clara Bloodgood, the chief press representative from the New York office was taken along to look after the work. The press agent sent stories to all of the papers for Saturday morning's publication, and to his dismay not a line was used. Feeling that Frohman would be hurt about it (for Charles was hurt and not angered by the failure of any of his men), he wrote a note to his chief, stating that he was sorry nothing had been used in print and did not understand it. At lunch that day Frohman remarked to the agent: "Why did you send me that note about the papers?" "Because," replied the young man, "I feared that you would think I had not attended to my work." "Well," said Frohman, "you sent matter to all the papers, didn't you?" "Yes," said the agent, "all of them, of course." "Then," said the manager, "what else could you do? You are not running the papers." It was not only an evidence of Frohman's fairness, but an instance of his knowledge of newspapers. * * * Frohman had a remarkable memory. One night during Collier's London engagement he asked the actor to meet him at the Savoy the next morning at nine o'clock. Collier, who had been playing bridge until dawn, showed up at the appointed time, whereupon Frohman said: "How did you do it?" "I sat up for it," said Collier. Five years later Frohman asked Collier one night to meet him at nine o'clock the next morning. Then he added, quickly: "You can sit up for it." * * * Frohman got much amusement out of a butler named Max who was employed at his house at White Plains. One of the most original episodes in which this man figured happened on the opening night of "Catherine" at the Garrick Theater. The play was a little thin, and the whole action depended on a love scene in the third act, in which the hero, a young swell played by J. M. Holland, on telling his mother that he loved a humble girl, gets the unexpected admonition to go and be happy with her. Dillingham had two seats well down in the orchestra. Frohman was to sit in the back of a box. Just before the curtain went up Frohman said to Dillingham, who then had a house on Twenty-fourth Street, "Let us have some of those nice little lamb chops and peas down at your house after the play." "All right," said Dillingham, and he telephoned the instructions to Max, who had been drafted for town service. The curtain went up, the first two acts went off all right, and the house was dark for the third act. The seat alongside Dillingham was vacated, so Frohman came down and occupied it. The curtain went up and the action of the play progressed. The great scene which was to carry it was about to begin when Dillingham heard a loud thump, thump, thump down the aisle. Frohman turned to Dillingham and said: "What in the name of Heaven is that? The play is ruined!"