Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker

by Matthew M. Colton

"Can't," said David. "I've got to work on an editorial for the Mirror."

"All right, I'll go alone. I'll only be a minute."

Together the three boys, Jimmy, Lewis and Frank, clattered out of the dormitory and stepped rapidly up the walk.

"By Jove!" said Frank, "I'd like to walk about five miles. Isn't this air wonderful?" and he drew in a deep breath of the frosty air.

"About fifty feet is enough for me," grunted Lewis, and as they reached his entry, "I'll drop off this procession right here. Ta, ta. If you fellows are found frozen stiff as Lot's wife in the morning, I'll say I told you so."

"Lot's wife wasn't frozen," said Jimmy; "she was petrified. Your Biblical education has been neglected."

"You fellows will be both petrified and frozen in about five minutes, if you hang around there correcting your betters on Biblical matters," retorted Lewis, and he dashed up the stairs.

"Come on!" shouted Frank to Jimmy; "I'll race you to the other end of the yard and back—one, two, three, go!"

Away the two tore at breakneck speed down the walk. The Chapel lay at the far end of the walk on which the boys were having their little race, and it was to be the turning point. Frank reached the wall of the tower first, touched it and turned a step or two ahead of Jimmy. The latter trying to make a quick turn slipped and fell to the ground with a crash. Frank stopped and came back.