Laura Brayton — page 90: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ELAURA BRAYTON. . 8] Nervously, out from behind this screen, he glanced at every new-comer who entered the place. They were not many. Now and then some belated seaman returning to his vessel, stopped in for a “night-cap” before going on board, and once a drowsy-looking policeman stumbled in, got a “snifter” as a matter of official right, and went off without paying for it. An hour passed, and Enoch Sharp could not well stay there longer without being considered a lodger, or paying seat rent by ordering another glass of something. po he arose and went to the bar to pay for his ale. He had taken out his old, black-looking pocket- book, and was selecting a bill to offer, when the sound of a footstep at the door caused him to turn his head. He saw, for an instant their eyes meeting and recognizing each other, the man with the red scar on his face. The face disappeared in the darkness, and the lawyer, with an agility one could hardly believe him capable of, bounded after him, leaving his pocket-book on the counter. “Old limpsy is clear crazy,” cried the barkeeper, in wonder. “But I’m safe,” he added, as he picked up the well-lined pocket-book. “I wouldn't cry if he never came back.” But Enoch Sharp did come back, nearly an hour afterward, looking weary and angry. “Did you see the man with the scar that I went to look after?” he asked of the barkeeper, as the latter handed him his pocket-book. “Yes,” said the barkeeper, noticing for a peculiar ie reason, with a look of relief, that the lame lawyer (e(@) Eomicbooks