Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 59 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 59: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose narrative from a Victorian penny dreadful titled "Stalking a Ghost" (page 43). The text depicts a dramatic domestic scene in which a character named Tom learns from a servant named Dilsey that his grandmother is seriously ill with fever. Tom expresses conflict between staying to care for her and attending to some urgent matter elsewhere; Dilsey reassures him the doctor will arrive soon. The passage concludes with Tom departing on horseback at dusk across a snowy landscape, muttering about his dilemma. The dialect-heavy dialogue and melodramatic emotional intensity are characteristic of the genre.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
STALKING A GHOST | 43 untold thing weighed upon her! While hanging about the locked door, she had heard Mrs. Anderson’s imperi- ous, distinct tones: “Fifine? Are you there?” and then, ‘“Dilsey, send my daughter to me!” Thereupon, Dare stole away, — quaking. Every fiber in her vibrated to that name, — her dead mother’s. Tom was consumed with apprehension. And neither Mimi nor Dilsey showed themselves. Stubbornly he waited for the sound of an opening door abovestairs. At length, when Dilsey did appear, she gave a start at sight of him. ) “You’ve been dodging me, Dilsey? Why didn’t you come out here and tell me how my grandmother does? Eh?’’ The answer was matter of fact. “Yer gran’maw po ly, Marse Tom.” “Is she seriously ill?” “Dr. Pratt hatter ‘cide bout dat.” She had been on the defensive, — but his trouble went to her heart. “Honey, yer granmaw got er high fever. Ainh ’sputin’ dat. But she come roun’ all right. Bimeby.” ‘“There’s something of urgent importance that I am bound to look after. But if she needs me, — if you think I’ll be of any use, — I won’t stir out of the house! Tell me the truth.” “Could n’t nuss her ef you’s ter stay, Marse Tom. She ainh gwine ax fer nobody. Thes ez well go on. Dr. Pratt be here ’fo’ long. En’ yer know I ainh slack!”’ “1 do know it. If I’m wanted before I get back, send a boy on a horse to the blacksmith’s shop for me.” At the avenue gate, Unaka on the Gray Goose. The white sprang up behind the redskin, and they rode away, Tom muttering, morosely: “What’s the use of my going back there where you’ve searched? — Yet, I must!”’ The sun was down, but the air was full of fervid light, as if a procession of comets was sparkling between earth and sun. The fateful sloe-thicket, the belt of timber beyond, the low hill crowned with a country church—all the snowy landscape — was drunk with wine-light. COMIC LOO cS (CO) im