"Lawrence" condescended to a little conversation now and then. He was quite encouraging at times. Said I had wonderful eyes for the stage and if I ever went to New York and got in right, I'd get jobs "on my eyes." (Sounded very funny—getting a job "on one's eyes.") Advised me never to get married if I expected to stay on the stage. Told me about the big New York actors: Leslie Carter, who had just been doing DuBarry; and David Belasco, and what a wonderful producer he was; and dainty Maude Adams; and brilliant Mrs. Fiske; and Charles Frohman; and Richard Mansfield in "Monsieur Beaucaire"; and Broadway; and Mrs. Fernandez's wonderful agency; and how John Drew got his first wonderful job through her agency at one hundred and twenty-five dollars a week!
I was eager to learn more of the big theatrical world three thousand miles away. I invited Mr. Griffith out home to lunch one day. A new world soon opened up for me—the South. The first Southerner I'd ever met was Mr. Griffith. I had known of the South only from my school history; but the one I had studied didn't tell of Colonel Jacob Wark Griffith, David's father, who fought under Stonewall Jackson in the Civil War, and was called "Thunder Jake" because of his roaring voice. He owned lots of negroes, gambled, and loved Shakespeare. There was big "Sister Mattie" who taught her little brother his lessons and who, out on the little front stoop, just before bedtime, did her best to answer all the questions the inquisitive boy would ask about the stars and other wonders.
This was all very different from being daughter to a Norseman who had settled out on San Francisco's seven hills in the winds and fogs.
The South began to loom up as a land of romance.
