Henry Frohman had, as was later developed in his son Charles, a peculiar disregard of money values. Generous to a fault, his resources were constantly at the call of the needy. His first business venture in New York—a small soap factory on East Broadway—failed. Later he became part owner of a distillery near Hoboken, which was destroyed by fire. With the usual Frohman financial heedlessness, he had failed to renew all his insurance policies, and the result was that he was left with but a small surplus. Adversity, however, seemed to trickle from him like water. Serene and smiling, he emerged from his misfortune.
The only business he knew was the cigar business. With the assistance of a few friends he was able to start a retail cigar-store at what was then 708 Broadway. It was below Eighth Street and, whether by accident or design, was located in the very heart of the famous theatrical district which gave the American stage some of its greatest traditions.
To the north, and facing on Union Square, was the Rialto of the day, hedged in by the old Academy of Music and the Union Square Theater. Down 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.