Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 41 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 41: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful novel titled *A Counselor*. The text depicts a scene in which characters named Ishmael and Billy (a dwarf with black wool hair) interact with someone called Tom, discussing witches and apples. The dialogue is written in heavy dialect featuring racist language and caricatured speech patterns typical of period entertainment. The passage describes Billy hiding in a meal-sack and being offered apples while characters converse about supernatural afflictions and mischief.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
A CoUuNSELOR | 25 nuts. His mop of black wool being “cyarded”’ straight up from the scalp, the dwarf looked more like a black thistle than anything else. That was it: a Black Thistle! — sucked up from the marshes of Mephitis, maybe, to be blown about the world by every gust of mischance till his fate found him out. For Tom the mongrel showed a doglike devotion. The fierceness at the bottom of this attachment — the wolf-blood in it —who could have suspected? The ogre eyes, floundering round, had found Tom, who was vainly feeling in his pockets. ‘Dat mind me er dem meller seek-no-furders I got laid up fer you, Marse Tom.” And Ishmael brought out an empty meal-sack. “Now, den, Billy, while I’s gittin’ out dem apples, you keeps yer haid in dishyer bag. No nigger boys is gwineter find out whar I keeps mer apples. ’Kase ef dee wuzter/— atterwards, — dee’d sho git down wid de belly-ache!”’ Billy fitted his sunburst of black wool and goblin head into the “millin’ sack”’ and waited, looking, in the fire- glow, not unlike a giant mushroom which on a sudden had sprouted from a crevice in the hearth. Ishmael lifted a loose plank in the flooring, and brought out the juicy seek-no-furthers, boast of Virginia orchards. Billy looked on approvingly —through the hole he had bitten in the bag. Ishmael proceeded: “ Now des tek yer pick, Marse Tom! Billy, Ill je’k off yer blinders. Sho do look lak er night- mare out’n er meal-tub! Why’n’t you down’t yer granny’s house, nigger?”’ “Huntin’ Marse Tom? De witches— dee’s devilin’ atter me. Mek ’em lemme ’lone, Marse Tom.” “What are they up to, Billy?” asked ‘Tom, laughing. “Tuk en’ stole mer brains, dee did. Mammy ’d done went ter de corn-shuckin’ —”’ “Dar!” ejaculated Ishmael. Billy wagged the unbelievable head dismally — “ Den gin, dee dances me down. Gits tired. Mer haid mos’ too big fer er dancer—” For some minutes the apples si- lenced him. Then, —. CORNICLOO® SS (©) mn