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“He rested his dark, unspeakably melancholy eyes on my face, then he sighed and said: ‘Well, it was the closet scene I wanted to speak to you about. When the ghost appears you are to be–‘ He stopped, a faint smile touched his lips, and he remarked:

“‘There’s no denying it, my girl, I look a great deal more like your father than you look like my mother–but–‘ He went on with his directions, and, considerate gentlemen that he was, spoke no single unkind word to me, though my playing of that part must have been a great annoyance to him.

“When the closet scene was over, the curtain down, I caught up my petticoats and made a rapid flight roomward. The applause was filling the theater. Mr. Booth, turning, called after me: ‘You–er–Gertrude–er– Queen! Oh, somebody call that child back here!’ and somebody roared, ‘Clara, Mr. Booth is calling you!’ I turned, but stood still. He beckoned, then came and took my hand, saying, ‘My dear, we must not keep them waiting too long,’ and led me before the curtain with him. I very slightly bent my head to the audience, whom I felt were applauding Hamlet only, but turned and bowed myself to the ground to him whose courtesy had brought me there.

“When we came off he smiled amusedly, tapped me on the shoulder, and said: ‘My Gertrude, you are very young, but you know how to pay a pretty compliment–thank you, child!’

“So,” says Miss Morris, “whenever you see pictures of nymphs or goddesses floating in pink clouds and looking idiotically happy, you can say to yourself: ‘That is just how Clara Morris felt when Edwin Booth said she had paid him a compliment.’ Yes, I floated, and I’ll take a solemn oath, if necessary, that the whole theater was filled with pink clouds the rest of that night, for girls are made that way, and they can’t help it.”

The young actress was now rapidly acquiring a knowledge of her ability to act; she also knew that as long as she remained with Mr. Ellsler there would be no advancement for her, and a firm determination took possession of her to take a plunge into the big world, where perhaps there might be a chance not only to earn enough to take care of herself, but also enough so that her mother would no longer be obliged to work, which was Clara’s bitter mortification.

While she was considering the advisability of making a change, she received an offer from a Mr. Macaulay, manager of Wood’s Museum, at Cincinnati, Ohio. He offered a small salary, but as she was to be his leading woman she decided to accept the offer. “When the matter was apparently settled, he wrote, saying that ‘because of the youth of his new star, he wished to reserve a few parts which his wife would act.’ Only too well did Clara Morris understand what that meant–that the choicest parts would be reserved. Then an amusing thing happened. She, who was so lacking in self-confidence, suddenly developed an ability to stand up for her rights. By return mail she informed Mr. Macaulay that her youth had nothing to do with the matter–that she would be the leading woman and play all parts or none. His reply was a surprise, as it contained a couple of signed contracts and a pleasant request to sign both and return one at once. He regretted her inability to grant his request, but closed by expressing his respect for her firmness in demanding her rights. Straightway she signed her first contract, and went out to mail it. When she returned she had made up her mind to take a great risk. She had decided that her mother should never again receive commands from any one–that her shoulders were strong enough to bear the welcome burden, that they would face the new life and its possible sufferings together– together, that was the main thing.” She says: