Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker

by Matthew M. Colton

The first play Frank gave was stopped without an inch of advance, and Warwick spectators howled with derision. "It's all the same to us!" cried one loud-mouthed boy in the front row, just opposite where the teams were lining up at that moment. "No hope for Queen's. Take the ball away from them! We want another touchdown."

Before Frank gave his signal on the second down, Wheeler called his players around him. With heads close together they had a little heart-to-heart talk, while Warwick shouted from the stands: "Come on, you kids, play ball! Don't delay the game."

The head-to-head group fell apart, settled to their crouching positions, and Frank snapped the signal out sharply. Back came the ball to Frank and, scarcely checking it a moment in its flight, he tossed it to Jimmy, who shot out to the right, which happened at that moment to be the long side of the line. Frank fell in behind him. The tackle dived at Jimmy as he sliced past, but missed. Burns was right there, however, having followed the runner with the ball out toward the center of the field, and now he reached Jimmy's waist with powerful arms. The defensive end came in full tilt, also, to help his captain to make sure of the tackle. But just as Jimmy felt himself falling from the impact of Burns, he squirmed half way around, and even as he pitched headlong to the ground with the deadly clasp of Burns on his hips and the none too loving embrace of the end's arms around his neck, he tossed the ball to Frank. Before either the half-back or the end could recover, Frank, continuing at full speed, had swept clear of the defense, turned in like lightning and was off down the field!

Ahead of Frank loomed the quarter, the only player between him and the glory which lay in the form of a touchdown far down the field. Full at the quarter he charged, gaining speed with every step. He did not hear the wild cries of encouragement which went up from his schoolmates. There was only one thought in his mind—how to pass that player who stood waiting, eagerly crouching.

Frank's training on the track stood him in good stead now. He was fresh, too, and he was making the best of both circumstances. Directly at the quarter-back he raced, apparently to run him down, but when he was within ten feet of him, he suddenly swerved to the right and ran straight across the field toward the side-line. The quarter-back, fearing Frank's speed, followed him out with all the pace his tired limbs could muster. But just when he seemed to have Frank cut off there, the latter suddenly stopped, evaded the rushing tackle that was intended to lay him low, and went straight down the field. His stop, although but for an instant, brought the Warwick reserves up to him. One by one they tried to reach him, but eel-like he evaded them. It was one of the prettiest pieces of dodging running that had ever been seen on the Warwick field. But despite his wonderful luck and pluck he was finally caught from behind, and thrown with a crash to the ground at Warwick's 25-yard line. He had covered nearly fifty-five yards, the longest run of the day. And, excepting the help that Jimmy had unwittingly given him in tangling up the half and the opposing end, he had accomplished the run unaided, as his tired team-mates had not been able to follow the pace down the field and were outdistanced.

With first down at the 25-yard line, Queen's took on a great determination, and in three tries—a quarter-back run and two dashes past tackle by Jimmy—the ball was finally within striking distance of the Warwick goal. But here the advance ended. The next play was thrown back a yard or two by the desperate Warwick team, and a short forward pass barely made up the lost ground. Then came a conference and Frank dropped back to the 27-yard line.

"He's going to try for a field goal, by jiminy," cried the Codfish, who had nearly had a fit of apoplexy through joy at Frank's splendid run. "And he'll do it. Watch him!"

Warwick kept up a steady yell, probably with the intention of disturbing the young quarter-back, but if that was the idea, it had no effect on Frank whatsoever. The ball lay on the ground in the center's hand a little to the right of the center of the field, and the angle was not a bad one, although not an over-attractive one. In the storm of cat-calls from Warwick, Frank measured the distance carefully with his eye. The protection for the kicker formed quickly, and then came the signal. With as little hurry as if he had been practicing down at Seawall, Frank took the ball from the center's long pass, turned it over quickly but carefully, so that the seam lacing was away from him, dropped it to the ground, and as it rose again, swung his foot against it. The ball swept upward to its greatest height, described a long crescent downward, struck the cross-bar fairly in the middle, bounded into the air and fell—on the other side!

The yell that the reawakened Queen's stand gave might have been heard as far as Queen's School itself, but the cause of it all trotted quietly back with his team to the center of the field without looking to right or left.

"What did I tell you!" shouted the Codfish, waltzing wildly around Lewis. "You can't beat that kid! There, that score looks better," as the scorer changed the Queen's figures to 8. "We'll beat them yet. Whoop!"