Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 153 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 153: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful titled "Trouble in the Wind" (page 137). The text depicts a dramatic nighttime scene in which Dr. Pratt, after dismissing two distressed girls from his home, is startled by a mysterious figure at his window. The figure identifies himself as "Troupe" and urgently requests the doctor's help for a desperately ill man named Tom Calvert. Dr. Pratt agrees to assist, and the page ends as Troupe begins explaining the circumstances of their predicament while riding behind the doctor on horseback.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
TROUBLE IN THE WIND 137 tail, and looked reproachfully at Dr. Pratt. However, the medical profession — because it knows humanity — is im- pervious to humanity! Bob’s scowl went for nothing. Dr. Pratt soothed the two distressed, excited girls, laughed at the hallucination, besought them to drink tea with a forlorn old bachelor. Afterwards, he would drive them home, with outriders. Dare insisted she could ride— and must go at once. His visitors gone, Dr. Pratt dropped into a chair with a stare of abstraction. “Very odd. Of course it was no delusion. There was the track of a boot-heel.” A branch of syringa swept the window. He leaped to his feet and drove up the window. “Damme, sir! Who are you?” A figure that looked like a bare-headed boy in his shirt-sleeves had slunk back into the darkness. It was hardly visible. “‘In the name of God — is it Tom Anderson?!”’ “It’s Troupe.” ‘Troupe! ‘Troupe! My dear fellow, is it possible? Why do you stand there — “For sufficient reasons. Doctor, I sorely need your help. Will you come?” orehyy e. 335 ate s a long trip, and a dangerous one. You'll have to take a change of clothes — from the skin out — medicine- chest, your pistol, a saddle-horse — and the risk of being lynched. Believe that’s all. No instruments.’ “Who needs me?” “Tom Calvert.” “Oh, boy! Tom Anderson alive? Thank God — thank God!” “Alive, but awfully ill.” “Be at the stable gate in two minutes.’ When the doctor was in the saddle and grant up behind him, he heard the whole strange story. “It was hard when I looked in there, through your window, to hide myself CORNICLMOO SS (EO) im