Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 255 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 255: what you’re looking at
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# Page Analysis This is running prose from Chapter XXVI, titled "The Duel." Tom awakens to sense an unseen presence approaching him in darkness. Gripped by fear, he draws a weapon, only to discover the "pursuer" is his dog Luath, who has found him in what appears to be a tower. After reuniting joyfully with the dog, Tom encounters a character named Rory (holding a lantern) and someone called "Major," who makes a quip about Tom's unusual appearance in chaplain's clothing. The passage mixes suspenseful Gothic atmosphere with humor and Scottish dialect.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
CHAPTER XXVI THE DUEL WHILE all this was doing, Tom slept. He was waked by the consciousness that something was coming, stealing toward him. He was wide-awake. There was no sound. What had roused him? He laid his hand on the dirk in the breast of his preacher’s coat. He found his feet with no more noise than a cat makes. The black funnel collected every tremor of sound; how was it he heard nothing? Ah, there it was! Something breathing! The deadly dark, the secrecy of his pursuer, got on his nerves. [The ghost panic is a terrible thing. It gripped him now. He planted his back against the wall; he mumbled, — ghost panic swells the tongue, — “Tn the name of God — begone There was a soft frou-frou. “T believe it’s alive!’’ His circulation worked again. eak! before I run you through!”’ he spoke: in a frenzied howl. “Luath!’ ‘There was a downward scramble, an upward leap, and Luath’s tongue licked his cheek. “ How on earth did you find me, Luath?”’ A joyous bark, and two hun- dred feet of black tower reverberated till the sound was like a pack of hounds. This stifled, a voice was audible out of the pit below. “Whist, Luath. Are ye a’ richt, laddie?”’ “All right, Major.’’ And boy and dog went scrambling to the bottom of the stairs; where was Rory with a lighted lantern. Rory’s bewildered stare reminded Tom of his chaplain’s clothes. What a queer figure he must cut in his friend’s eyes! “Aweel, it’s yoursel’, Daur-Deevil; but I winna deny ye ve ta’en a short cut to the meenistry!”’ £47 e GOmiGcsoo SS (©) im