Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker

by Matthew M. Colton

"'Rah, 'rah, 'rah, 'rah, 'rah, 'rah! Queen's!—Wheeler!"

The boys raised their voices with a will. Even the second and third substitutes came in for their share, and Frank felt a strange thrill run down his spine as he heard his own name, "Armstrong," snapped out by the bleachers. That it was well down toward the end of the list and not among the important members did not particularly matter. It meant that he was a possible candidate for the team and that was enough to fill him almost to bursting with happiness. And his joy was not lessened on seeing the bulletin near the gymnasium door, pasted there by Horton, after the practice. His name was among those who were to take the train for Warwick Saturday afternoon.

It seemed to the boys that Saturday would never come, but come it did at last, a glorious day in early November. The exodus for Warwick began early. The Queen's boys went by train, by automobile, by team, and some of those given to pedestrianism even walked the five miles up the river. Every Queen's boy bore his banner or badge of blue and gold, the school colors. Some carried them modestly while others flaunted their flags to the breeze and made sure that the entire populace would know that they came from Queen's, and that they were sure of victory.

"Isn't it great," said Jimmy, as he and Frank hurried for the 12:30 train which was to take the team to Warwick, "to see this turn-out? It makes me feel as though I could play my head off when the whistle blows."

Boys who have not attended a preparatory school or college can hardly understand the intense feeling of loyalty which a body of students has for its teams. They may be good or they may be poor, but since they represent the school, if the school has any spirit in it at all, the boys are behind the teams. This intense loyalty often actually makes a team strong that would otherwise be indifferent or distinctly poor. And so it was with the Queen's School eleven that Saturday with which our story deals. The bad record of the season was forgotten for the time, and every player who wore the Blue and Gold felt himself nerved to do his best, or more than his best, because his schoolmates were with him heart and soul.

"I've a hunch that we are going to win this game," said Jimmy as the train neared Warwick on its short run.

"Of course we are," said big Wheeler, overhearing the remark. "Don't believe anything but that and we'll show them who's who, and don't you forget it."

At the little Warwick railroad station a hundred boys who had preceded the team and all those on the train gathered around the team as it alighted from the car and, with hats off, gave it a ringing cheer. Then, as the players piled headlong into the 'bus that was to carry them to the Warwick grounds, the crowd fell into line four deep and followed along, occasionally sending up a cheer to vary the School marching song. And in this martial array Queen's invaded their rival's grounds.

"Let them sing," said a Warwicker who sat in a group of boys on the Library steps as the Queen's phalanx went swinging along, proud and haughty under the banners of Blue and Gold; "they will be quiet enough after the game is over."

The Warwick crowd were confident of victory, and the remark of the boy on the steps of the Library reflected the feeling of every one in the school. And they had good reason to feel confident. The Warwick eleven was a strong one, most of whose members had played together for two years. The team had won all its games by big scores, and what served to make assurance almost certain, was an easy victory over Porter two weeks before the day Queen's had played the same team to a tie. The Warwickers would not even admit that Queen's had a chance to get within striking distance of the Warwick goal on straight offensive strength. "Of course, there's always danger of a fumble or something," said those who liked to consider themselves fair to the other fellow, "but the chances are against that."