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"I am a leper!" he cried. "I may not "Go forth," she said softly. "Go forth touch Him! Unclean! Unclean!" and give praise."

"Draw nigh," the woman said, "and let He turned and went into the dawning His hand rest upon thee!"

day. He stood swaying, and heard himZia crouched upon his knees. The

self sob forth a rapturous cry

of

prayer. new-born hand fell softly upon his shoul- His Alesh was fresh and pure; he stood der and rested there. Through his body, erect and tall. He was as others whom through his blood, through every limb and God had not cursed. The light! the fleshly atom of him, he felt it steal-new light! He stretched forth his arms to life, warming, thrilling, wakening in his the morning sky. veins new life! As he felt it, he knelt quaking with rapture even as he had stood Some shepherds roughly clothed in the the night before gazing at the light. The skins of lambs and kids were climbing new-born hand lay still.

the hill toward the cave.

They carried He did not know how long he knelt. their crooks, and they talked eagerly as He did not know that the woman leaned though in wonderment at some strange toward him, scarce drawing breath, her thing which had befallen them, looking wondrous eyes resting upon him as if she up at the heavens, and one pointed with waited for a sign. Even as she so gazed his crook. she beheld it, and spoke, whispering as in "Surely it draws nearer, the star!” he awed prayer:

said. "Look!" “Go forth and cleanse thy flesh in run- As they passed a thicket where a brook ning water," she said. "Go forth." flowed through the trees a fair boy came

He moved, he rose, he stood upright- forth, cleansed, fresh, and radiant as if the hunchback Zia who had never stood he had but just bathed in its clear waupright before! His body was straight, ters. It was the boy Zia. his limbs were strong.

He looked upon

“Who is this one?” said the oldest his hands, and there was no blemish or shepherd. spot to be seen!

"How beautiful he is! How the light “I am made whole !” he cried in ecstasy shines on him! He looks like a king's so wild that his boy's voice rang and

son." echoed in the cave's hollowed roof. “I And as they passed, they made obeisance am made whole!”

to him.

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"C. F."

By JOHN D. WILLIAMS

A

a

QUAINTLY romantic personality, of San Francisco, their play a failure and

possessed of almost hypnotic power their next meal a dream. “You will be my in influencing and often in entirely reshap- star, Henry, and our names will be over ing the lives of countless others, quietly a Broadway theater," he said, and Miller went down with the Lusitania when imitates well the glow with which the Charles Frohman muttered, "Well, they empty-pocketed Frohman instantly suited 've got us," and, disdaining the physical the action of a Broadway manager to his aid he would never accept in life, let the prophecy. waters of the Atlantic pass over him. In The Broadway theater was attained, and his habit of always looking on life not as eventually seven others, and over them all a serious and actual process, but as so the familiar line, “Charles Frohman premany dramatic or comic scenes often of sents.” Then came three theaters in Bossuch pictorial richness that they had better ton, two in Chicago, three in London, and be on the stage than wasted broadcast, one in Paris-all operated simultaneously Frohman undoubtedly took his farewell through the enterprise of one man, with of life fancying himself the principal ac- from thirty to forty plays, representing tor in an enormously stunning last act. an outlay of hundreds of thousands of dol

He always loved to act, and there were lars, ranging in quality from tragedy to few better actors than he. He could choke musical comedy and giving work to regiwith emotion over nothing and shed tears ments of actors and actresses. Like a genat a second's notice. As a lad his father, eral, he had a complete staff at his backhimself a great lover of the theater and a manager, a general stage-director for an amateur dabbler in it, once held up a legitimate pieces, a general director for new dime before his three sons, Charles, musical pieces, musical directors, carpenDaniel, and Gustave, offering it to the ters, electricians, scene-painters, propertyone who would most quickly invent dia- masters; but to the end nothing became logue that would lead to his weeping. "O.K.” until affixed to it was the memoCharles won the dime within a few min randum with the blue-penciled initials utes. Living was always a matter of act- "C. F.” The man behind these initials ing with the youngest of the Frohmans. until his death was only an inscription He was forever setting before himself the "Charles Frohman presents"-to the milimage of some goal worth attaining-fa- lions of playgoers whom it was his life's mous stars under his management, his own passion to entertain. Thousands there theater in New York, though when the were in his own profession who had never latter ambition first came to him Henry set eyes on him. Those who saw him for Miller and he were tramping the streets the first time gazed in amazement on the

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opposite of all they had expected. They preferably a large orangeade, and leave saw a man barely over five feet, broad of him there until the end of the play. Then back, and upon well-squared shoulders the we would meet again, and I would always head of an executive; in every posture,

tell him the best of even a bad night in speech, and look revealing great dynamic order that he might sleep, and because I power within, but, without, as soft of knew it was always his superstition that speech as a fine woman and as gentle of belief in success makes success. He called manner; in fact, loving gentleness in it "a kind of wireless from mouth to others above all human traits; healthfully mouth”; that if you believed success and ruddy in a countenance that at will could talked success, success embraced you and be an impenetrable mask, or, set aglow by gave you that energy which is success. smiling eyes, the lovable face of one whom That was a good part of the mystic that famous men and superb women, though was Frohman. He acted toward the varipossessing talents that he had not, but ous phases of life and toward people the could divine and develop, gloried to serve. rôles that he thought necessary for making

Play-producing was the artificial stimu- life and people react toward him as he lation by which Frohman lived. Open- wished them to do. ing nights were cocktails to him. The So it would have been surprising if at night before an opening he got no sleep the end he had not been the first to see a from anxiety, never knowing how the ven- fine drama in his position. Suddenly the ture would turn out. Early in the morn- world became his audience, and he even ing of the day when the play was first to fashioned himself an exit line such as an be done he would be up working his ut- actor might utter leaving the stage for the most upon a new venture: reading over last time. “They 've got us” meant the manuscripts; keeping in touch with "the Germans, whom he had always hated heartLondon playmarket” or “the Paris play- ily, but at whose hands he died not in bitmarket,” as he always called them, by terness, but as the protagonist in a great cablegram; feverishly busying himself tragedy. In the face of death-a word he upon some new enterprise that would would never utter in life or allow to be eventually mean as much agony for him spoken when he could silence it-he dramas that of the night to come; wearing him- atized himself and his last big scene as self out through the day, and at night get- deliberately and as objectively as if it were ting to the theater early, to sit obscurely the tragic closing act of any one the behind the scenery in a dark corner of the many plays he had directed for the stage stage suffering the pains of creation. This at home and abroad. he went through for over six hundred “In the grill of the

where we nights; for Frohman gave that many plays were guests, they used to shove Barrie and to the theaters of America, England, and me away from the table, those German France.

officers, claiming it was theirs,” he once Toward the end, just before nature's

"It often happened to us, and curtain fell upon him for the last time, when it did, Barrie would only smile, but these pitiless tests were becoming too much it made me hate them.” So that the Gerfor him. Hysterical actresses who only mans were the natural villains of the scene half knew their lines, actors who forgot at the end, the expected villains, for, with entire speeches, mechanicians whose care- that delightfully romantic egotism which lessness ruined scenes, and the thousand lifted him from poverty to the chief conand one horrors possible to a first night trol of the theater in America, Frohman in New York, began to tell so much on in all seriousness said before sailing: him that he would send for me and say, "They know I hate them, and the “Let 's go to some restaurant," and I Kaiser himself knows that I hate him; so would lead him to a café, place before they will all be only too glad to torpedo him an enormous sweet drink of some sort, me at sea if they can.” But when his

told me.

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Reasonably enough, these final words exclusively for her, his merriment over the of the marooned Peter Pan were in Froh- idea was so enormous that he simply teleman's mind when his own end came. For graphed back: it was the thought of seeing and chumming “Yes, it is very careless of me, and, do about with Barrie that always made you know, there is another book the rights Frohman nervously eager to sail for of which I cannot control for the stage, England every spring. Theirs was an and it 's called the Bible." extraordinary friendship, lasting for six- Two or three close men friends, thouteen years, and with but one difference be- sands of mummers, and many thousand tween them during all that time.

manuscripts were the boundaries of Froh"We had only one quarrel,” says Barrie, man's life. He was like a man who went speaking of Frohman, "but it lasted all through the world always looking on life the sixteen years I knew him. He wanted through the proscenium-arch of a theater. me to be a playwright; I wanted to be a Invariably he thought and spoke of people, novelist. All those years I fought him on happenings, and every aspect of life in that. He always won, but not because of terms of the theater. Once the droning his doggedness; only because he was so din of many voices in a theater between lovable that one had to do as he wanted. the acts, the sound never rightly reproHe also threatened, if I stopped, to repro- duced on the stage, the murmuring of a duce the old plays and print my name in mob, gripped Frohman's attention. large electric letters over the entrance to "Listen to that sound!” he said. the theater."

"Would n't it be fine if you could get Frohman was not a man for books; he that on the stage? If a phonographic recwould never touch them unless he was ord could be made of that, why have stage assured that they contained plays. In that mobs ?” case he would attack a book with the Likely enough there was a bag of peaavidity of a gormand. He did not need nuts in his lap, or, what he craved even all the fingers of one of his remarkable oftener, a bag of chestnuts. These he hands-hands of a woman, which he never would methodically munch during the clenched, but held composed at his side as play, until the incessant crackling of the if they were always serving as a model shells got so thoroughly on the nerves of for an artist-to number the books that the people seated in the box behind him he really knew. Once some newspaper

that there would be protests. He would asked him the name of his favorite book, not notice the protests, and would never and he instantly replied, “Roland Strong's take his eyes from the stage or his fingers ‘Best Restaurants in Paris.'” But he knew from the bag of chestnuts; but now he "Huckleberry Finn" thoroughly, "Alice in would wait until there was an outburst of Wonderland” fairly well, and all of Bret laughter or applause sufficiently loud to Harte's that he had put upon

the
stage

in drown out the sound of more chestnuts play form. He was fond of drawing upon quietly cracked and stealthily eaten. .

. “Alice in Wonderland” for scenes, no- Like Dr. Johnson, he loved a good talk, tions for stage groupings. To him it was and like Johnson, too, wherever Frohman a kind of treasury of all that was possibly sat and whatever the group, there was the fantastic for the theater, a book that could head of the table. But his talk was albe drawn on endlessly. One of the last

of plays or of men and deeds of a stage episodes that he devised was taken dramatic quality; always of the concrete, entirely from it. Later, when the whole never of the abstract. He weighed a play book was dramatized by another manager by the idea in it, and he never produced for the New York stage, and the actress a play, however arbitrary in story or charfor whom Frohman had devised his own acters, -as, for example, “Peter Pan,". little scene complained bitterly because he without being able to name the elements had not kept the stage rights of the book of success he thought it possessed.

ways

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