"Well, you see it was this way," replied Breese, speaking slowly, so as to gain time to think. "There was a man named Plunkett in the company. He became a good friend of mine. He came to me one day and said, 'Breese, I want to warn you. You know you made a hit with the public and Wilson doesn't like it. In short, he is jealous, and is apt to make things very uncomfortable for you at a time when you are least prepared for it.' So I decided it was better for me to quit when I saw my way clear to make connections elsewhere."
The Eureka Springs reporter was duly impressed and went away to write up an article in which merit sidetracked through envy was the keynote. Meantime, Breese, who knew absolutely nothing about makeup, was floundering through his preparations for the evening, in which the learning of his lines was not the least of his troubles.
How he finally managed to "fix his face" he has no clear recollection. The one thing that stands out in his memory is a period midway in one of the early acts when he became conscious that he was absolutely ignorant of what he had either to say or do next.
In this emergency he suddenly remembered that he had been told that he, as the leading man, was to address the audience during the evening and tell them what the program was to be for the remainder of the week, as was the custom in repertoire companies. So what did he do, but step out of his character then and there, and, walking up to the footlights, start to apprise the spectators of what they would see if they came to the "opera house" during the other nights of the Wild Rose troupe's engagement.
As it happened, there was no second performance, and Breese has now no inkling of how that unhappy first one was ever brought to a conclusion. He does know, however, that he never received any pay for his services, that the company went smash then and there, and that the hotel held his trunk for board.
By good luck he met a friend in the town who took him to his home to stay until he secured connection with another management, and began a legitimate career which brought him, by way of Danglas and Nortier in "Monte Cristo" with O'Neill, on through the Indian and the football trainer in "Strongheart," to Jefferson Ryder in "The Lion and the Mouse."
WAGER BROUGHT EDESON ON.
"Soldier of Fortune" Was in Box Office
Until His Employer's Lamentations
Drove Figures Out of His Head.
Although he is the son of an actor, this fact was the means of an attempt to keep Robert Edeson off the stage rather than an aid to him in getting on it. His father, George R. Edeson, who died while comedian and stage manager of the Philadelphia Girard Avenue stock company, in 1899, was so convinced that the actor's calling brought principally heart-sickness and disappointment that he used every means to dissuade his son from taking up with it.
As a sort of compromise, when young Robert finished school (he was born in New Orleans, and the family now lived in Brooklyn) he went into the front of the house and obtained a position with Colonel Sinn as guardian of the box-office at the Park Theater.