Will had many a good laugh over my credulity. I had come all the way from an Indiana town to see Mr. Frohman, and there was about as much chance of being admitted to his presence as the proverbial camel has of slipping through the needle's eye. Needless to say, I never mustered sufficient courage to call on Mr. Frohman again. To-day, however, I was forearmed. The manager to whom I had been recommended by the agent sent out word that I was to wait. A half hour later I was conducted to his presence. As I entered, he was seated in a revolving chair, one foot resting on a small sliding shelf on his desk, and a large black cigar in the corner of his mouth. He did not rise, but nodded to me and motioned me to the seat opposite. While he read the agent's letter he removed his leg from the table and crossed it over the other. He was a short, heavy man, with a preponderance of abdomen. He had thick, loose lips, and his head was as round and as smooth as a billiard ball; his eyes were black and snappy, and threw out as much fire as the huge diamond he wore on his little finger. "Well," he finally said, looking at me and shifting the big cigar to the other corner of his mouth, "that reads all right. So you're an _ingénue_" (he pronounced it as if it were spelled _on-je-new_), "are you?" "Yes, sir." "Well, you look the part all right.... How much experience have you had?" "One season on the road with Mr. O'Brien's Company, but of course I've played in amateur theatricals for...." "Voice strong?" he bellowed, tilting himself back in his chair. "Oh, yes, sir," I responded, using the loud pedal to prove my assertion. "Don't sound like it." "Perhaps not now, but--" I hesitated. "But what?" he queried, smiling indulgently at me. His smile gave me courage, and I answered truthfully: "Well, I think I'm a little scared just now." "Scared? What of?" He removed his cigar while he spat out an end he had been chewing. Then he lighted a match and continued talking. "You don't want to be scared of _me_--I'm the easiest thing you ever saw...." Here he winked at me. Then for the next minute he puffed at his cigar and looked at me. "Stand up," was his next injunction.... "You're not very big ... you'll look the part all right." "What kind of a part is it?" I ventured. "Didn't Tom tell you about it?... It's a pretty part--one of them innocent country maidens that never saw the streets of Cairo--that kind. She falls in love with a villain who takes her to the great city, and then throws her down--hard. The poor girl's afraid to go back to home and mother, and just as she's about to commit suicide a good-natured sucker comes along and marries her. It's sympathetic and appealin'--goes right to the heart. Can't help but make a hit. Dressin' ain't much, and we expect to run all season in New York." "What's the salary?" meaning to appear business-like. "Twenty-five in New York, and thirty on the road."