Broadway, and commencing at Thirteenth Street with Wallack's Theater, was a succession of more or less historic playhouses. At Eighth Street was the Old New York Theater; a few doors away was Lina Edwins's; almost flanking the cigar-store and ranging toward the south were the Olympic, Niblo's Garden, and the San Francisco Minstrel Hall. Farther down was the Broadway Theater, while over on the Bowery Tony Pastor held forth.

Thus the little store stood in an atmosphere that thought, breathed, and talked of the theater. It became the rendezvous of the well-known theatrical figures of the period. The influence of the playhouses extended even to the shop next door, which happened to be the original book-store founded by August Brentano. It was the only clearing-house in New York for foreign theatrical papers, and to it came Augustin Daly, William Winter, Nym Crinkle, and all the other important managers and critics to get the news of the foreign stage.

It was amid an environment touching the theater at every point that Charles Frohman's boyhood was spent. He was an impulsive, erratic, restless child. His mother had great difficulty in keeping him at school. His whole instinct was for action.

Gustave, who had dabbled in the theatrical business almost before he was in his teens, naturally became his mentor. To Charles, Gustave was invested with a rare fascination because he had begun to sell books of the opera in the old Academy of Music on Fourteenth Street, the forerunner of the gilded Metropolitan Opera House. Every night the chubby Charles saw him forge forth with a mysterious bundle, and return with money jingling in his pocket. One night, just before Gustave started out, the lad said to him:

"Gus, how can I make money like you?"

"I'll show you some night if you can slip away from mother," was the brother's reply.

Unrest immediately filled the heart of Charles. Gustave had no peace until he made good his promise. A week later he stole away after supper with his little brother. They walked to the Academy, where the old Italian opera, "The Masked Ball," was being sung. With wondering eyes and beating heart Charles saw Gustave hawk his books in the lobby, and actually sell a few. From the inside came the strains of music, and through the door a glimpse of a fashionable audience. But it was a forbidden land that he could not enter.

Fearful of the maternal scolding that he knew was in store, Gustave hurried his brother home, even indulging in the unwonted luxury of riding on the street-car, where he found a five-dollar bill. The mother was up and awake, and immediately began to upbraid him for taking out his baby brother at night, whereupon Gustave quieted the outburst by permitting Charles to hand over the five-dollar bill as a peace offering.

From that hour life had a new meaning for Charles Frohman. He had seen his brother earn money in the theater; he wanted to go and do likewise. The opportunity was denied, and he chafed under the restraint.

In the afternoon, when he was through with the school that he hated, the boy went down to his father's store and took his turn behind the counter. Irksome as was this work, it was not without a thrilling compensation, because into the shop came many of the theatrical personages of the time to buy their cigars. They included Tony Pastor, whose name was then a household word, McKee Rankin, J. K. Mortimer, a popular Augustin Daly leading man, and the comedians and character actors of the near-by theaters.

Here the magnetic personality of the boy asserted itself. His ready smile and his quick tongue made him a favorite with the customers. More than one actor, on entering the shop, asked the question: "Where is Charley? I want him to wait on me."

In those days much of the theatrical advertising was done by posters displayed in shop-windows. To get these posters in the most conspicuous places passes were given to the shopkeepers, a custom which still holds. The Frohman store had a large window, and it was constantly plastered with play-bills, which meant that the family was abundantly supplied with free admission to most of the theaters in the district. The whole family shared in this dispensation, none more so than Henry Frohman himself, who could now gratify his desire for contact with the theater and its people to an almost unlimited extent. His greatest delight was to distribute these passes among his boys. They were offered as rewards for good conduct. Charles frequently accompanied his father to matinées at Tony Pastor's and the other theaters. Pastor and the elder Frohman were great pals. They called each other by their first names, and the famous old music-hall proprietor was a frequent visitor at the shop.

But Charles became quite discriminating. Every Saturday night he went down to the old Théâtre Comique, where Harrigan and Hart were serving their apprenticeship for the career which made them the most famous Irish team of their time. The next morning at breakfast he kept the family roaring with laughter with his imitations of what he had seen and heard. Curiously enough, Tony Hart later became the first star to be presented by Charles Frohman.

All the while the boy's burning desire was to earn money in the theater. He nagged at Gustave to give him a chance. One day Gustave saw some handsome souvenir books of "The Black Crook," which was then having its sensational run at Niblo's Garden. He found that he could buy them for thirty-three cents by the half-dozen, so he made a small investment, hoping to sell them for fifty cents in the lobby of the theater. That evening he showed his new purchases to Charles.

Immediately the boy's eyes sparkled. "Let me see if I can sell one of them!"

"All right," replied Gustave; "I will take you down to Niblo's to-night and give you a chance."

The boy could scarcely eat his supper, so eager was he to be off. Promptly at seven o'clock the two lads (Charles was only eight) took their stand in the lobby, but despite their eager cries each was able to sell only a single copy. Gustave consoled himself with the fact that the price was too high, while Charles, with an optimism that never forsook him, answered, "Well, we have each sold one, anyhow, and that is something."

Charles's profit on this venture was precisely seventeen cents, which may be regarded as the first money he ever earned out of the theater.

But this night promised a sensation even greater. As the crowd in the lobby thinned, the strains of the overture crashed out. Through the open door the little boy saw the curtain rise on a scene that to him represented the glitter and the glory of fairyland. Beautiful ladies danced and sang and the light flashed on brilliant costumes. With their unsold books in their hands, the two boys gazed wistfully inside. Charles, always the aggressor, fixed the doorkeeper with one of his winning smiles, and the doorkeeper succumbed. "You boys can slip in," he said, "but you've got to go up in the balcony." Up they rushed, and there Charles stood delighted, his eyes sparkling and his whole face transfigured.

During the middle of the second act Gustave tugged at his sleeve, saying: "We'll have to go now. You follow me down."

With this he disappeared and hurried home. When he arrived he found the home in an uproar because Charles had not come back. Gustave ran to the theater, but the play was over, the crowd had dispersed, and the building was deserted. With beating heart and fearful of disaster to his charge, he rushed back to see Charles, all animation and excitement, in the midst of the family group, regaling them with the story of his first play. He had remained to the end.

That thrilling night at "The Black Crook," his daily contact with the actors who came into the store, his frequent visits to the adjoining playhouses, fed the fire of his theatrical interest. The theater got into his very blood.

A great event was impending. Almost within stone's-throw of the little cigar-store where he sold stogies to Tony Pastor was the