Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 274 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 274: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# This Page from "Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil" This is a page of running prose (page 256) from a Victorian penny dreadful serial. The text depicts a dramatic confrontation: a man named Higgins produces a bill of sale claiming ownership of Tom Anderson, whom he describes in dehumanizing racial terms. Tom draws a knife in protest, but is suddenly distracted by the appearance of someone in a mirror who resembles his friend Arthur Leslie. A stranger then enters—an older man who identifies himself as Lord Ouseley, Arthur Leslie's cousin, and demands to know Tom's identity. The scene combines sensational elements typical of the genre: property disputes, violence, mistaken identity, and melodramatic surprise revelations.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
256 Tom ANDERSON, Dare-DeviL proofs, Mr. — er — Higgins, of what you assert,’ haugh- tily. “By your leave, my Lord, I’m here ter prove property and take it away,” producing a dirty document. “Bill of sale, Your Lordship. All reg’lar. Witnessed, signed, and sealed. Height, weight, and so on. ‘For, and in considera- tion of the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds’ — ‘ Half- breed boy, Anderson.’ Signed: “Columbus Egger.’ All c’rect, my Lord. Yes, gents, I paid that nigger-trader one hundred an’ fifty poun’ down for this yeller feller. Bad bargain. Tricky? He’s wuss’n a horse-trader. Half Injun, half mulatto, you know —”’ “Tt’s false as hell!’’ roared Tom, snatching up Rory’s knife, which lay on the table, with T'roupe’s amulet, the ivory fan. | “Oh, he’s a bad un. But he’s my prop’ty. I’m here to swear to my prop’ty an’ take him away,” reiterated Hig- gins. Every eye watched the forlorn object who faced Higgins with desperate eyes, and upraised blade. At this instant a mirror opposite the folding doors showed the reflection of a man’s figure. He had come into the adjoining room. The man in the mirror confronted Tom. His arm dropped to his side. “Arthur Leslie? 4r- thur!” the room rang with the imploring cry. He forgot everything. It was Arthur! It was his friend! Nobody moved a muscle save the man in the mirror. He came and stood in the door. An older, colder, stouter man; whose resemblance to Arthur Leslie was remarkable. “Who called Arthur Leslie?”” he demanded. “TI. He was my friend,” answered the friendless one, steadily. But his head whirled. Here stood a man who looked like Arthur, but was not. For long they had called Arthur “Tarleton.”” He was not Tarleton — but here at his elbow, ‘Tarleton in the flesh, the man he had faced, followed, and fired on! The man in the door spoke. ‘Arthur Leslie is my cousin. I am Lord Ouseley. Who are you, pray?”’ Gomicbooks: Go m