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SHOWMAN
bett's style— and he got sick of it soon enough, as I knew beforehand he would. It wasn't his idea— it was George Consadine's, as a matter of fact— the same Consadine who afterwards ran the big Metropole Bar at 42nd Street and Broadway. Consadine's influence with Corbett was evidently on the up-beat and mine was on the way out— so, regretfully, as it always is when you part with a man whom you've taken all the way to the top, I cashed in my checks and bowed out.
Jim and I'd done business for ten years without so much as the scratch of a pen between us, so there was no friction about settling our mutual interests. I gave him my quarter of the projected saloon and he gave me his quarter of the production of "Way Down East," which was very much on my mind just then. A fair bargain at the time, but a bad bargain for him in the end. The net profits from "Way Down East" went to well over a million and his share would have been a very pretty piece of change.
But then, "Way Down East" was the most dramatic example of a theatrical ugly duckling that I ever ran into. In number of performances and total returns it was right up in the same class with "The Old Homestead" and "Ben Hur." "Abie's Irish Rose" isn't in it with comparisons on either count. For twenty-one enduring years "Way Down East" was a lively piece of theatrical property and it's still a fine thing to own— D. W. Griffith paid $175,000 for the silent picture rights and just recently there was $50,000 more com
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