Waterbury evening Democrat., 1907-04-30
THE PLIGHT OF
 A PLAYWRIGHT
By MRS. coULsoN KERNARAN
Copyright. by Joseph E. Bowles.l )

As Marcus Gilroy ran down the dark staircase he trod on a woman's gown Obtaining no answer to his profuse ex pressions of apology he struck 8 match and found that he was alone.
 He continued his course down the dirty, carpetless stairs, past two desc late-looking landings, dimly lit by sickly wall-lamps, and passed out into the November fog.
 He was glad it was foggy, for under its kindly shelter he could better dis pose of a parcel unobserved. Its des tination was the pawnshop. The pawnshop in question nestled affec tionately up to fiaring saloon.
 Gilroy united his parcel and dis closed a dressing-case. The pawn broker took out the articles one by one and examined the hall-marks.
 What do you want for it?' he in quired, with no show of interest.
 Twenty-Five dollars" answered Gill roy promptly.
 The pawnbroker burst into harsh laugh. T will give you ten dollars" he said.
 Gilroy took the ten dollars.
 A misty rain was falling when he found himself once more in the street He turned up his coat-collar, buried his hands in his pockets, and strode angrily along the slippery pavement, past the flaring shops, past third-rate music hall-then into a dismal street and through covered passage into a still more dismal square which was the young mans present abode.
 Gilroy mounted the endless stairs two at a time, not stopping till he gained his own door. Once inside, he lit his lamp and turned eyes of dis. gust on his wretched apartment. His bed, all unmade, stood in one corner under window. An oil-stove standing In the fireplace was still ornamented with frying-pan in which he had pre- pared his breakfast. The remains of a meal filtered table.
 A church clock struck the hour of nine. Gilroy compared his watch, and then hurriedly cleared his table of crockery and eatables-then he opened a bag of MMS. and emptied it on to the table, got his ink, pens, and blot ter from the dressing table, and sat down to write, mechanically filling a pipe as he did so. He had scarcely put pen to paper when a curious rasping sound fell on his ear. It seemed to come from the next room. It kept on so long that 1t irritated him, and he rose and opened his door and peeped out.
 A stream of light shot across the passage, and on the opposite wall was the shadow of slim girl doing some thing to a door. It suddenly struck him that it might be the girl on whose dress he had trodden, and, he believed, torn it He was impulsive by nature. so he stepped out into the passage and looked full at the shadows sub stance. It was a red-haired, girl in a grey. close.fitting gown. and she was trying to do something to the lock with a screwdriver. On another i'm pulse he addressed her.
 "Is you lcck wrong?" he inquired. Let me help you"
 The girl darted a frightened glance at him: then, seeming satisfied-for Marcus Gilroy had a boyish, frank face-she said. Thank you-there is something wrong-it won't catch,"
 A moment more and the young man was kneeling at the door. examining the lock, while the girl held the can. de.
 What a pleasant room you have!" Gilroy said. when he had fixed the lock.
 Yes" said the girl, but it's com fort sometimes makes me wretched For. oh: there are some terribly poor people in this place. It turns me sick sometimes to look into the rooms op- posite Yet I look when I can't sleep --I see poor wretshes creeping up the stairs. to huddle into horrible rooms 10 pass the night. They come at all hours of the night-little children. too-poor little children, There i< a window at every laEGs1g, and as the weary wretches creep up. up. a meagre light shines a moment from these win odws: and the rooms-there are no blinds"
 The girl ceased suddenly. a consci- ous blush overspreading her fair. oval face. She remembered that she vas talking 10 a man-and a stranger.
 Gllroy found no woris-he looked at the pure young face with that impss- stoned light of sorrow and sympathy upon it and was as one dumb.
 Another of his impulses came to him. You have a typewriter?- he said tentatively.
 Yes. I earn my living by it.
 ~will you type a play for ne uh,ch I have written
 Why eertainly,-
 He was once more at work oz the lock
 Thank you viii bring 1t to-n1r- uv. Poor playt I suppoee it viii Ss