"You play a Missouri Sheriff," he replied.
"Great Scott!" I thought, as visions of a low-browed, black mustached, heavily armed gentleman appeared before me. I could see myself coming on and saving the heroine, frustrating the plans of the villain and arresting everybody at the end of the play.
Barrymore was most reticent concerning the play and non-committal as to what he thought it would yield, or how he thought the character would suit me. He simply said, "Go and hear Gus read it."
That evening, a sultry night in June, I called on the author, who was just preparing to leave for a holiday in the country. The room was in disorder; in fact, there was nothing for me to do but sit on a huge Taylor trunk. I settled back as best I could as Gus quietly unfolded the script.
I listened intently through the first act and was spell-bound. At the end of every act I simply said, "Go on," and at the finish, "When do we produce that play?" I wished it were the next day. "I am ready whenever you are," he answered. We got together in a few days and selected one of the best casts with which it has ever been my good fortune to be associated, including Jeane Claire Walters, Minnie Dupree, Mabel Amber, Burr McIntosh, Frank Carlisle, Neil O'Brien, Louis Payne (now the husband of Mrs. Leslie Carter), Arthur Hoops, Louis Barrett and Robert Wilson.
We produced it at Hooley's Theatre, Chicago, in September, 1893, and I added one more success to my list and pegged another pin in my crib board of pathos as "In Mizzoura" was born.
The simple little sheriff Jim Radburn I adored. He was so true, so lovable, so honest! I never have grown weary of Little Jim. I have seen two or three actors play him, but—whisper—I really like my performance the best!
The rehearsals of "In Mizzoura" were replete with incident. It was the first time that I had placed myself in absolute charge of a stage manager and it proved a most delightful experience for one who had always borne the weight of a production to become an automaton, moved here and there under the guidance of Thomas who proved an excellent stage director. My! How we all put our shoulders to the wheel after Thomas had made clear the many hidden meanings that were not apparent at the reading! The play as read did not appeal to many of the company. Some even condoled with me. But I knew we were right and we went ahead. We called the company together on a Thursday, the opening being set a week from the following Monday. We rehearsed the entire play Friday, called the first act perfect Saturday, two acts perfect Monday and the entire play perfect Tuesday, when everyone came dead-letter-perfect, as it is called. Thomas in the meantime had written in two new scenes. After the opening we never called a rehearsal during the entire season.
We played to capacity business for four weeks, then foolishly went to New York, opening at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, where the play failed to draw. It received splendid praise, particularly in the magazines. Even the daily papers praised the play, but condemned my daring to rob them of their little funny man. I am sure, however, that I pleased the few who were courageous enough to come and have a cry with me. The play met with unqualified success throughout the country, with the exception of New York and San Francisco, the latter city condemning both the play and yours truly. The press was most severe, with the single exception of that gifted critic, Ashton Stevens, who had the courage of his convictions and whose praise of both play and star was as sweeping as the others' roasts were severe.
"In Mizzoura" was the only hit of my disastrous Australian tour.