Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 325 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 325: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Dick Knatchbull's Neighbor, Page 307 This is a page of running prose from what appears to be chapter 307 of a serialized Victorian narrative. A young man named Tom recounts his life story to an elderly, worldly Irish woman of aristocratic bearing (addressed as "Madame la Princesse"). After dinner on her veranda, she interrogates him about his past—his grandmother Sarah Anderson of Virginia, his home at Oxheart, and notably a duel involving someone named Troupe, whom Tom describes as a De Berrien "beautiful as a Greek god." The woman listens intently, swearing softly in Russian by the passage's end. The text emphasizes her penetrating gaze and commanding presence.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Dick KNATCHBULL’s NEIGHBOR 307 “T see, mon enfant, you’ve discovered my secret,” laughing. “Your secret, madame?”’ “T am an Irishwoman.”’ “The secret of your charm, Madame la Princesse.”’ “Listen to him saying pretty things to an old woman! If I had Amy Dalton’s rosy cheeks, now —”’ “T’ve been saying pretty things all my life to a much older woman than yourself, madame; though she’s not less charming. I have the loveliest grandmother in the world.” “Her name? Her title?’ Tom drew himself up. He did not know it, but he stood there on the white bearskin rug, a soldier at “attention.”’ “Sarah Anderson: Virginia matron!” mareec! 1 seel’* Her eyes held him. Then she said gently — “De la Jonquiére has told me your story. But I wish to hear it from your own lips. All!” After dinner her wheel-chair was pushed out on the veranda. She unfurled a great tissue fan, heavy with spun gold, placed him where the light fell full upon his frank face, and turned on him those eyes that had studied men and women in many a capital of Europe, for years a-many. She was puissant as a messenger-angel. “Now,” she commanded. He pictured Oxheart, and the home-folks. From Pat Carr and small Sehoy and Bryan o’ Lynn to Monticello and Governor Jefferson, she was en rapport with them all. Then events were recounted, in strong, forceful, pic- turesque narration. When he described the duel in St. Michael’s, she wrung her hands. “Oh, but he is a knight! your Troupe.” | “Troupe is a De Berrien,” proudly, “and as beautiful as a Greek god.” At length he finished his story. She was swearing softly, in Russian; but nobody was the wiser, not even De la Jonquiére. The great wing of GOMIGIOO SS (C©) im