Thus the day was occupied from ten until three when all work was suspended. Then, though a bit fatigued, we would make a hasty recapitulation of what had been accomplished, select our own particular coterie of friends and adjourn to Charlie Collins' (known as "Dollar Five" Charlie) _café_ where the balance of the day was devoted to food, drink, anecdote and song. Managers, agents, printers, railroad agents, actors, singers (of obscurity and fame)--all were as one when the bell struck three. Perfect equality, unanimity, brotherly love and comradeship were the qualities in vogue on the Rialto in dear old New York during the early eighties. At that time I made the remark, "When you leave New York you're camping out." I have been camping out since 1900. _Chapter XVIII_ THE BIRTH OF THE SYNDICATE Those were halcyon days on Union Square. The booking of tours was as attractive as it was uncertain, attractive because it was uncertain! Who does not find a hazardous game attractive? One man I've not mentioned was in daily evidence on the Square. He was fair, always faultlessly dressed, in frock coat, soft black felt hat, low cut waistcoat (showing an abundance of pleated shirt front, ornamented in the center with a single, glittering, pure white diamond), peg top trousers tapering down to a pair of dainty feet encased in the latest Parisian patent leather boots. He was straight of figure and easy of carriage and affected a drooping mustache. Also he bowed pleasantly to everyone he met! In make up he suggested the type of man drawn by Bret Harte in the "Outcasts of Poker Flat"--John Oakhurst, gambler. Such was Jack Haverly, the originator of the scheme of forming a theatrical trust or, as it is now called, a syndicate. The idea must have worked its way into the brain of a little, rotund, breezy chap who always accompanied the genial Haverly. He was ever at his side, taking notes, penciled and mental, running to the telegraph offices with instructions from his master, always returning for more, his little furtive eyes constantly wandering from one point to another, calling his master's attention to matters of detail too complicated for the busy Haverly sometimes to consider. The little lieutenant never overlooked anything. Like a trusty sentinel was this little aide upon whom the mantle of the master was soon to fall. Haverly neglected the business which formed the nucleus of his success and sought bigger and more alluring schemes only to encounter failure. He speculated in mines which soon brought about his ruin and he died, penniless and neglected, leaving only the legacy of an idea. But the little corporal who took advantage of the suggestions absorbed from Haverly soon arose from an obscurity as dense as that of his Corsican predecessor and Charles Frohman jumped over the horizon and in a short period amazed the theatrical world.