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On the night of her first appearance, a lawyer of Cincinnati who saw her play the part of Cicely was so delighted with her interpretation of the small role that he at once asked: “Who is she? What is her history?”–only to find that, like most happy women, she had none. She came from Cleveland, she lived three doors away with her mother–that was all.

Having seen her a second time, he exclaimed, “That girl ought to be in New York this very moment!” and he added, “I know the foreign theaters–their schools and styles, as well as I know the home theaters and their actors. I believe I have made a discovery!”

After seeing her in the “tearful part,” he said firmly: “I shall never rest till this Clara Morris faces New York. She need clash with no one, need hurt no one, she is unlike any one else, and New York has plenty of room for her. I shall make it my business to meet her and preach New York until she accepts the idea and acts upon it.”

As a result of that determination, at a later date, he met the object of his interest and roused her to such an enthusiasm in his New York project that she wrote to Mr. Ellsler, begging his aid in reaching New York managers, and one day, shortly afterward, she held in her hand a wee sheet of paper, containing two lines scrawled in an illegible handwriting:

“If you send the young woman to me, I will willingly consider proposal. Will engage no actress without seeing her.–A. DALY.”

It was a difficult proposition, for to obtain leave of absence she would be obliged to pay a substitute for at least two performances–would have to stop for one night at a New York hotel, and so spend what she had saved toward a summer vacation. But the scheme was too compelling to be set aside. That very night she asked leave of absence, made all other necessary arrangements, and before she had time to falter in her determination found herself at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in the great bustling city of her dreams. She breakfasted, and took from her bag a new gray veil, a pair of gray gloves and a bit of fresh ruffling. Then, having made all the preparation she could to meet the arbiter of her fate, in her usual custom she said a prayer to that Father in whose protecting care she had an unfaltering trust. Then, she says, “I rose and went forth, prepared to accept success or defeat, just as the good Lord should will.”

Having found Mr. Daly, she looked bravely into his eyes and spoke with quick determination to lose no time: “I am the girl come out of the West to be inspected. I’m Clara Morris!”

That was the preface to an interview which ended in his offer to engage her, but without a stated line of business. He would give her thirty-five dollars a week, he said (knowing there were two to live on it), and if she made a favorable impression he would double that salary.

A poor offer–a risky undertaking, exclaimed Clara. “In my pocket was an offer which I had received just before leaving for New York, from a San Francisco manager, with a salary of one hundred dollars, a benefit, and no vacation at all, unless I wished it. This offer was fairly burning a hole in my pocket as I talked with Mr. Daly, who, while we talked, was filling up a blank contract, for my signature. Thirty-five dollars against one hundred dollars. ‘But if you make a favorable impression you’ll get seventy dollars.’ I thought, and why should I not make a favorable impression? Yet, if I fail now in New York, I can go West or South not much harmed. If I wait till I am older and fail, it will ruin my life. I slipped my hand in my pocket and gave a little farewell tap to the contract for one hundred dollars; I took the pen; I looked hard at him. ‘There’s a heap of trust asked for in this contract,’ I remarked. ‘You won’t forget your promise about doubling the contract?’