Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 161 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 161: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose (page 145) from a Victorian penny dreadful titled "Troupe." The text depicts a domestic scene during wartime: Troupe Anderson shares news that "Tom lives" with his family, and a doctor reports on a wounded officer's condition, comparing him to a Greek hero. When Bob Brevard arrives at the house, he discovers the wounded officer asleep while a young woman named Dare kneels beside him in prayer, moved to tears. The dialogue includes dialect speech from a servant character named Martha.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
TROUPE 145 Troupe Anderson to tell his sister, his grandmother, “Tom lives!’’ What a story of courage and fortitude it was! He pulled furiously at his cigar. “No denying it. I am ex- cited!” Was it too soon to light the candles? “House looks dark, eh, Marthar” “Don’ look no darker ’n do ever’ day, time de sun drap down, Doctor. Mus’ wanter was’e can’les, Doctor? Dese is war times, Doctor! More ’n’ dat, dem can’le-moulds is down de well ’gin.”’ “Confound it! Why did n’t you —” Old Martha giggled. “Lord, listen at de doctor! Took ’n’ tole him, here, las’ Chuesday — I sez: ‘Doctor, dem can’le-moulds down de well ’gin!’ You disermembers, Doctor. Yo’ mind ainh on can’le-moulds. You stud’n’ sum’n ner way off yander! Stidder moulds!” The Oxheart carriage! .And the doctor was saying to Mrs. Anderson: “Asleep; madam — fast asleep. All he needs. No broken bones. Head’s as cool as mine. To- morrow he’ll tell you a story that— ahem! That boy’s like one of the old Greek heroes; he’s sucked the marrow of lions!”’ When Bob Brevard, hot-foot from Monticello, came clattering up the street, the old house behind the cedar hedge was brilliant with light, beautiful with roses, and still as an enchanted palace. The doctor’s body-servant Tony, clad in white linen and carrying a brush of pea-fowl, plumed as if it had been the royal mace, had just left the bedside of the wounded officer. Peachy pounced on him and stopped in the gallery to question him. In the sitting- room Mrs. Anderson, Mimi, and the doctor murmured together. Brevard proceeded, noiselessly. A light like moonlight through an open door: candles set behind white muslin bed-curtains shone softly on the sleeper, on a kneeling figure too, at the bedside. Tears of joy on her cheeks, Dare was kneeling there in voiceless prayer — pouring out her young soul to the God of Battles. The blood rushed to Brevard’s temples. He stole away, un- seen. CORNIECLIOO ‘Ss (E(©) m