And he laughed and answered: "Good-night, Mignonne!"
And so it came about that Frank's wooing, being of the strict and stately order, I gradually came to be Miss Morris to others beside himself. I saw my advance in dignity, and if I did not love him I gave him profound gratitude, and we were true friends his short and honorable life through.
Mr. Wilkes Booth comes to us, the whole Sex Loves him--Mr. Ellsler Compares him to his Great Father--Our Grief and Horror over the Awful Tragedy at Washington.
In glancing back over those two crowded and busy seasons one figure stands out with such clearness and beauty that I cannot resist the impulse to speak of him, rather than of my own inconsequential self. In his case only (so far as my personal knowledge goes) there was nothing derogatory to dignity or to manhood in being called beautiful, for he was that bud of splendid promise, blasted to the core before its full triumphant blooming--known to the world as a madman and an assassin--but to the profession as "that unhappy boy," John Wilkes Booth.
He was so young, so bright, so gay, so kind. I could not have known him well. Of course, too, there are two or three different people in every man's skin, yet when we remember that stars are not generally in the habit of showing their brightest, their best side to the company at rehearsal, we cannot help feeling both respect and liking for the one who does.
There are not many men who can receive a gash over the eye in a scene at night without at least a momentary outburst of temper, but when the combat between _Richard_ and _Richmond_ was being rehearsed, Mr. Booth had again and again urged Mr. McCollom (that six-foot tall and handsome leading man, who entrusted me with the care of his watch during such encounters) to "Come on hard! Come on hot! Hot, old fellow! Harder--faster!" He'd take the chance of a blow, if only they could make a hot fight of it.
And Mr. McCollom, who was a cold man, at night became nervous in his effort to act like a fiery one. He forgot he had struck the full number of head blows, and when Booth was pantingly expecting a thrust, McCollom, wielding his sword with both hands, brought it down with awful force fair across Booth's forehead. A cry of horror rose, for in one moment his face was masked in blood, one eyebrow being cut cleanly through. There came, simultaneously, one deep groan from _Richard_, and the exclamation: "Oh, good God! good God!" from _Richmond_, who stood shaking like a leaf and staring at his work. Then Booth, flinging the blood from his eyes with his left hand, said, as genially as man could speak: "That's all right, old man! never mind me--only come on hard, for God's sake, and save the fight!"