“A million dollars each, not one cent less,” I replied. I was now thoroughly aroused; the whole thing was as clear as daylight, and I continued:
“Now we might as well understand each other; I don’t believe Miss Lind has authorized you to propose to me to cancel our contract; but if she has, just bring me a line to that effect over her signature and her check for the amount due me by the terms of that contract, some $77,000, and we will close our business connections at once.”
“But why not make a new arrangement,” persisted the Secretary, “for fifty concerts more, by which Miss Lind shall pay you liberally, say $1,000 per concert?”
“Simply because I hired Miss Lind, and not she me,” I replied, “and because I never ought to take a farthing less for my risk and trouble than the contract gives me. I have voluntarily paid Miss Lind more than twice as much as I originally contracted to pay her, or as she expected to receive when she first engaged with me. Now, if she is not satisfied, I wish to settle instantly and finally. If you do not bring me her decision to-day, I shall go to her for it to-morrow morning.”
I met the secretary soon after breakfast next morning and asked him if he had a written communication for me from Miss Lind? He said he had not and that the whole thing was a “joke.” He merely wanted, he added, to see what I would say to the proposition. I asked him if Miss Lind was in the “joke,” as he called it? He hoped I would not inquire, but would let the matter drop. I went on, as usual, and gave four more concerts in St. Louis, and followed out my programme as arranged in other cities for many weeks following; nor at that time, nor at any time afterwards, did Miss Lind give me the slightest intimation that she had any knowledge of the proposition of her secretary to cancel our agreement or to employ me as her manager.
During our stay at St. Louis, I delivered a temperance lecture in the theatre, and at the close, among other signers, of the pledge, was my friend and adviser, Sol. Smith. “Uncle Sol,” as every one called him, was a famous character in his time. He was an excellent comedian, an author, a manager and a lawyer. For a considerable period of his life, he was largely concerned in theatricals in St. Louis, New Orleans and other cities, and acquired a handsome property. He died at a ripe old age, in 1869, respected and lamented by all who knew him. I esteem it an honor to have been one of his intimate friends.
A year or two before he died, he published a very interesting volume, giving a full account of the leading incidents in his long and varied career as an actor and manager. He had previously, in 1854, published an autobiographical work, comprising an account of the “second seven years of his professional life,” together with sketches of adventure in after years, and entitled “The Theatrical Journey-Work and Anecdotical Recollections of Sol. Smith, Comedian, Attorney at Law,” etc. This unique work was preceded by a dedication which I venture to copy. It was as follows:
“TO PHINEAS T. BARNUM, PROPRIETOR OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM, ETC.
“Great Impressario: Whilst you were engaged in your grand Jenny Lind speculation, the following conundrum went the rounds of the American newspapers:
“ ‘Why is it that Jenny Lind and Barnum will never fall out?’ Answer: ‘Because he is always for-getting, and she is always for-giving.’