Texas was still a rough country, and Charles's reckless display of the hundred-dollar bill once gave him a narrow escape from possible death. He had made the usual careless display of wealth at a small hotel in Calvert. The bad man of the town witnessed the performance and immediately began to shadow the young advance-agent. When Charles retired to his room he found, to his dismay, that there was no lock on the door. He had a distinct feeling that a robbery would be attempted, so he quietly left the hotel and spent the night riding back and forth on the train between Calvert and Dallas. This cost him nothing, for he had a pass. At Galveston occurred an unexpected meeting. Daniel Frohman, who was ahead of Callender's Minstrels, had arrived in town by boat from New Orleans (there being no railway connection then) to book his show for the next week. On arriving at the Tremont Opera House he was surprised to see Charles writing press notices in the box-office. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you were in Tennessee." Charles walked to the window and said, with great pride, "We play here all next week." "Have you got the whole week?" asked Daniel. "Yes," was the reply. "But can't you give me Monday or Tuesday night?" asked Daniel. "Impossible," replied Charles, haughtily. "All right," said Daniel, in friendly rivalry, "then I will have to hire Turner Hall and knock you out for two nights with our brass-band parade." Charles then came out into the lobby and confessed that his company was up against it, and that it meant bread and butter and possibly the whole future of the company if he could only play Galveston. "We are coming here on our trunks," he said, "and we've got to get some money." Daniel immediately relented. He arranged with the railroad to delay the train and thus make a connection which would carry his company on through to the interior. He booked Galveston for the second week following. This left the week in question free to Charles, who breathed easier. Charles now went on and billed Sherman, Houston, and Dallas. At Dallas the hard luck that had gripped the company the moment it left Memphis descended more vigorously than before. Dillon not only fell from grace again, but disappeared. Gustave Frohman had vowed that he would discharge him if he went on another spree, and he kept his word. They were in a real predicament, with star gone, business bad, and practically stranded a thousand miles from home. Charles, who frequently came back to join the company, was the one bright spot of those precarious days, for he never lost his optimism or his smile. "What we need," he said at a council of war in Dallas, "is a new play. I have been reading in the _New York Clipper_ about one called 'Pink Dominoes.' I think it is just the thing for us to do. In fact, I have already sent for a copy of it." The play arrived the next day, and when George Stoddart read it to him the young agent bubbled with laughter and said: