Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 223 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 223: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Charleston (Page 205) This page contains running prose from a serialized narrative set in Charleston. It depicts a dramatic street encounter where a young woman named Miss Elliott is courted by two men: Sir Æneas (a British baronet and "The McIntosh") and Tom, a Virginian. When Sir Æneas offers his escort, Tom challenges him, declaring "I'll see you dead first!" in passionate defiance. Miss Elliott, though surrounded by twenty British officers, ultimately chooses Tom's company, placing her hand on his sleeve and departing with him, delivering a graceful but firm rejection of the baronet. The scene emphasizes Southern pride and youthful romance amid apparent colonial-era tensions.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
CHARLESTON 205 “She did n’t waste much time on him, by George!”’ These excited quips reached the group in the street with ‘unpleasant distinctness. Tom forgot his cropped hair! He bared his head with an obeisance Captain Valentine Paris would not have derided. His self-possession was admirable. ‘“Ma’m’selle, will you accept my escort?”’ Sir A‘neas, startled and annoyed, displayed his charac- teristic quickness. He was no quicker at the memorable ‘ae of Briar Creek. He extended his card to the agitated irl. “Miss Elliott, my carriage is here. Let me take you home, I beg.” “Will you honor me?” Tom stood his ground. “Impossible!” exclaimed the baronet. “Mon Dieu, man! Stand aside!” “T’ll see you dead first!’’ The Virginia blood was a witches’ caldron now. “What, sir? How dare you address such language to - me! The Colonel of the Seventy-first —” ‘Pardon me, Colonel. We’re all a bit excited,” quietly. “Who are you, sir? Pardieu! What effrontery! Offer- ing to take this young lady home! You? You don’t know that I’m The McIntosh.” The Virginian stood tall and straight. Because he was excited, he dropped into French. He gave Sir Atneas a level look and a shrug. “Laissez-moi!’’ He drew a step nearer the belle of belles. “‘Ma’m’selle, permit me.” What was there in his voice that vibrated through and through her? She faced twenty British officers— men of the world every one of them, — but her eyes were turned on Sir A‘neas. She swept him a magnificent curtsy. (“ Eh, mon, it had the dip o’ a swallow, and the spread o’ a pea- fowel’s tail to’t!’’ Rory declared, when he told this story.) “Sir A‘neas, I’m honored by your acquaintance; and grateful for your kindness,” — the stateliness of seventeen is something matchless, — “which I must decline.” She laid a hand on Tom’s linsey shirt-sleeve. “We will go.” CORNICLIOO SS (C©) m