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SHOWMAN
with Mephistopheles' thundering lines and Hobart Bosworth, the same one who was famous afterwards in the movies, was the symbolic figure of Man who struggled up the mountain with little devils poking him with pitchforks and holding him back. When Man finally reached the top and Mephistopheles, with a demoniacal laugh, kicked him in the solar plexus and sent him rolling all the way to the bottom again, it was something to see in the glare of the red fire. The better that got across, the prouder I felt. In no time I was insisting that Morrison print "Production supervised by William A. Brady" in the billing, and, when he refused, I felt very badly treated. So, to impress my importance on him, I resorted to some stage managing on my own. I hired a lot of gallery gods to attend one night— four bits apiece for admission was all that cost me— and see I was done right by when the curtain fell on the Brocken scene.
The house rang with applause as the curtain lowered and raised again for Morrison's first bow. But sticking out of the applause like a sore thumb was a chorus of shouts from the gallery: "Brady! Brady! We want Brady!" The longer the curtain went up and down on Morrison and the other actors, the louder the shouts grew. The house, figuring that Morrison was trying to hog the credit for something somebody else had done, took up the cry. And then, when it reached its height, I strutted on stage to be met by the finest ovation anybody ever got for a total investment of $25. It was just as well I got my money's worth that way, for Morrison
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