Frank Armstrong at Queens

by Matthew M. Colton

"Hold on there," said Frank. "I'm trying to trace the course of the Thing. Down here we can't see the dormitory lights, and I don't think we can see them till we get through that bunch of trees. Consequently we couldn't see anything that was here if we were in our room."

"No, we couldn't, but what has that got to do with it?" said the Wee One, impatiently. "We'll get our deaths of cold here." But the shiver that the Wee One gave was not entirely from the cold. Now that he was on it, the mission that looked like a lark from the comfortably lighted room in the dormitory took on a different aspect.

Frank was already leaving the float, where there seemed to be no sense in staying longer. He climbed the path up the bank and went out into the open field.

"There," he said, "you can see our light. It was just here, I think, we saw the Thing the first time, and it headed off down towards the football stand, this way," and he turned his steps down the river. Looking, he saw both the boys standing a little way back. "Aren't you coming?" he said.

"Oh, what's the use chasing the old thing? We can do it in the morning as well," said the Wee One. "It's too late to-night. Come on up to the room. It was probably only a shadow, anyway."

"No, I'm going ahead, and if you fellows want to go back, you may go back. I'm going to take a look down by that football stand," and he turned his face in that direction and stepped out briskly. "They would think we were great ninnies if we went back without doing what we started to do."

"Hold on, Frank, I'll come," said Jimmy. "I don't want you trapesing around alone down here."

"Well, I suppose I might as well go along, too," said the Wee One, who preferred the company of the others, even on a ghost hunt, to traversing the field all alone. So he, too, swung in behind Jimmy, and the three went Indian file down along the river path. They stepped carefully and looked on each side of them. A couple of hundred yards further along loomed the dark shadow of the football stand.

"That's where I think it went, down behind the stand. There's quite a high bank there, and some bushes grow at the edge of the river," said Frank, holding on his course. The others came reluctantly along, not at all pleased with the adventure. The football stand was just ahead, and the shadow it cast was as black as velvet. The space between the stand and the river looked like a pocket, so dark was it, and the river itself murmured along, singing a mournful tune at their left.