We saw
the first and last of her. Vanderbilt, who had given largely to the Red
Cross, was returning to England in order to offer a fleet of wagons and
himself as driver to the Red Cross Society, for he said he felt every
day that he was not doing enough.
KLEIN AND HUBBARD LOST.
_Oliver O. Bernard, scenic artist of Covent Garden, said:_
Only one or two of the shining marks which disasters at sea seem
invariably to involve have lived to tell the Lusitania's tale.
Vanderbilt, the sportsman, is gone. Genial Charles Klein, the
playwright, is gone. That erratic American literary genius, Elbert
Hubbard, is gone, and with him a wife to whom he seemed particularly
devoted. And Charles Frohman is gone.
Frohman's was the only body I could recognize in the Queenstown
mortuary, and perhaps it will interest his many friends in London and
New York to know that the famous manager's face in death gives
uncommonly convincing evidence that he died without a struggle. It wears
a serenely peaceful look.
Frohman must have found it more difficult for him to take his place in a
lifeboat than any other man on the ship.
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