After a bit, I fell in with a fellow who was a regular "theatrical agency." He had just about as much money as I had, and as we were doubtful pay in the boarding-house where we were stopping, we were relegated to the attic, where we roomed together, at five per week, which was charged against us on Saturday night. He took me over and introduced me to Colonel T. Allston Brown, who had an office on Union Square, and from his office I received my first postal-card telling me "to call." Of course, I applied for nothing but the "leading part." Knowing nothing of the business I, naturally, was a "leading man." I called promptly. I think I was there a little early. The card said ten o'clock, but I think I got there at nine. I was engaged by a man by the name of Davidson to play in a Western drama the leading part, at a salary of twenty-five dollars per week. I packed a shirt and a pair of shoes in a trunk, which I managed to get hold of somehow, but just how I don't remember. I had come down to New York with only a satchel, and later had to leave my satchel for unpaid board. When I arrived at rehearsal the next morning, I found it was a "ten-twent-thirt" repertory company, and that the Western drama had not yet been written. I was cast for _Ingomar_, _Pygmalion_, in "Pygmalion and Galatea"; _Hardness Craig_, in "The Colleen Bawn"; _Hawkshaw_, the detective, in "The Ticket-of-Leave-Man"; and _George Markston_, in "The Pink Domino." I could see at a glance I was not suited for _Ingomar_, as I only weighed about one hundred and fourteen pounds, with the sun shining on me. In spite of all my confidence as to my ability as an actor, I could not see myself as _Ingomar_, and I don't think the management could either. I only rehearsed three days, when I found out that we were not suited to each other. Then, I was all alone in Philadelphia without a nickel. I went to work in Wanamaker's store, stayed there a year, and then found myself once again on the street without a cent. I made some acquaintances in the musical line while in Wanamaker's, and one of these chaps, knowing my desire to go on the stage, took me over to William T. Carleton, who was then rehearsing the opera "The Brigand." I applied as a chorus tenor, and was asked to sing the scales. I got half-way up the ladder and went all to pieces, but informed Mr. Carleton that I had been ill, and after he had looked me all over he engaged me "on general appearances," so he told me, at sixteen dollars per week. We went on the road doing one-night stands, and during such journeys on the train I used to play on the banjo and sing little songs which amused Mr. Carleton very much. He would frequently call me and ask me to get out the banjo and sing to him. Takes Bigelow's Place.