So Breese sat down and proceeded to concoct a letter which should have recommended him as a novelist, whatever might have been its merits as an application for a theatrical job. For fiction played the biggest part in its composition. He boldly stated (in reply to the ad's request for information as to experience) that he had been with Francis Wilson, with whom he had played important rôles, and he hoped that Miss Graves would consent to give him a trial. Imagine the elation of the youth when back came the answer that he was engaged. He was directed to report in Eureka Springs at once. Arrived there, he discovered that his mention of Francis Wilson had filled his new employers with awe. He had been billed to play the leading rôle in "My Awful Dad" and everything in the outfit was supposed to revolve about him. A reporter from the local paper waited upon him soon after his arrival, eager to interview a man who had consented to appear with so humble an organization as the Wild Rose after having played with Francis Wilson. How He "Left Wilson." "Why, Mr. Breese," asked the young scribe, "did you come to leave Wilson?" This was a poser for the Münchausen who had never even been with the man whom "Erminie" had made famous. "Well, you see it was this way," replied Breese, speaking slowly, so as to gain time to think. "There was a man named Plunkett in the company. He became a good friend of mine. He came to me one day and said, 'Breese, I want to warn you. You know you made a hit with the public and Wilson doesn't like it. In short, he is jealous, and is apt to make things very uncomfortable for you at a time when you are least prepared for it.' So I decided it was better for me to quit when I saw my way clear to make connections elsewhere." The Eureka Springs reporter was duly impressed and went away to write up an article in which merit sidetracked through envy was the keynote. Meantime, Breese, who knew absolutely nothing about makeup, was floundering through his preparations for the evening, in which the learning of his lines was not the least of his troubles. How he finally managed to "fix his face" he has no clear recollection. The one thing that stands out in his memory is a period midway in one of the early acts when he became conscious that he was absolutely ignorant of what he had either to say or do next. In this emergency he suddenly remembered that he had been told that he, as the leading man, was to address the audience during the evening and tell them what the program was to be for the remainder of the week, as was the custom in repertoire companies. So what did he do, but step out of his character then and there, and, walking up to the footlights, start to apprise the spectators of what they would see if they came to the "opera house" during the other nights of the Wild Rose troupe's engagement.