FRANK SAVES THE GAME.
"What's the matter with Dixon?" inquired the Codfish, as Horton sat
down on the ground just in front of our friends.
"He says he hurt his wrist in the first half and again just now,"
replied the coach gloomily. "If he's hurt as bad as he acts, it's
all over with us. There goes the ball," he added, glancing over his
shoulder. "Good kick! Fine catch, too, even if it does beat us!"--for
Hudson had caught Burns' kick-out right in front of the posts. "They
can't miss it from there."
Nor did Warwick miss it. Burns took most deliberate aim, while the
little quarter-back, lying flat on his stomach, tilted the ball this
way and that. When it was just right, Burns moved forward and swung
his foot. Every one watched the ball's flight with straining eyes.
"Goal!" shouted the referee, and the Warwick crowd, which had settled
back on the stand, again sprang up, yelling like mad. The point just
scored meant a victory, even if no more scoring was done. A great
white figure 6 appeared in the blank space, which up to this time had
decorated Warwick's place on the scoreboard. At the sight Warwick
redoubled its yells.
"One, two, three, four, five, six!" chanted the crowd, while the
teams trotted back to their places on the field.
"Five minutes left in this quarter," called Burns to his team; "do
that over again! Come on now, hard!"
And hard it was, for with the taste of a well-earned touchdown in
their mouths, the Warwick team played like demons; and before the
whistle blew Burns had crossed the line for another touchdown. But no
goal was kicked, the angle being a hard one. The Queen's colors were
drooping like their players, and the boys began to ask each other:
"How much more is it going to be?"
"Looks bad, Frank," said the Codfish gloomily, "we can't hold 'em. I
wish they'd let you get in."
"No chance, old fellow," returned Frank. "Chip seems to be all right,
and I think he'd play till he died rather than let me on if he is
really hurt."
"Yes, he's a dog-in-the-manger, for sure."
Dixon did appear to be all right, and when the Queen's team lined up
for the last quarter there were no substitutions.
"It's all over but the shouting, fellows," cried a big Warwick cheer
leader. "Get into this cheer--hip, hip," and the Warwick cheer split
the air.
"They are pretty confident, Frank," ventured David, who, though eager
as the others, had taken very little part in the conversation on the
side-lines.
"Yes, they certainly are," said Frank. His face was long. "Queen's
has made a good fight out there, but they are not strong enough in
the line. What a wonder Jimmy Turner is!" This as Jimmy piled the
Warwick interference up so solidly that the runner with the ball
could not get past it, and was easily nailed for a loss.
But Warwick still held the ball, and was driving through the Queen's
line again and again to a first down. The Queen's supporters sat
stupefied on the stand and only occasionally raised a half-hearted
cheer. Wheeler seemed to be played out, and had missed tackle after
tackle, and twice Jimmy had stood alone as a defensive back to stop
everything that came his way. In the few times that Queen's was able
to get possession of the ball, Chip ran the team badly and seemed to
have forgotten all he knew about the game of football. When he had a
chance, he did not make the best of it, and Horton actually tore his
hair and dug his heels into the turf over on the side-line. Finally,
losing all patience, he jumped up from his seat and ran down along
the line of substitutes.
"Armstrong! Where's Armstrong?" he shouted.
"Here, sir!" said Frank, jumping up, his heart thumping like a
trip-hammer.
"Go out there and take Dixon's place, and for pity's sake get that
team together. They are playing like the team from an Old Ladies'
Home."
Frank pulled his sweater off with a jerk, tossed it to David--who had
hardly time to shout out, "Good work!"--and raced onto the gridiron.
"Who's going in?" was the query that ran through the stands.
"Why, that's Armstrong, the kid who played on the Second team a
while," said some one better informed than his neighbors. "He's going
in at quarter in Dixon's place. Dixon is all in, I guess."
"A long cheer for Armstrong!" howled the cheer leaders. But Frank
never heard it. He dashed over to where Dixon was beginning his
signal, for Queen's had recovered a fumbled ball on her own 30-yard
line. Frank reported first to the referee and then stepped ever and
touched Dixon on the shoulder. "I'm to take your place," he said
quietly.
"Get out!" said Dixon, and crouched behind the center ready to
receive the pass. But the whistle shrilled and the referee ran up
among the Queen's backs.
"Queen's has twelve men on the field, Mr. Wheeler. Who is going to
play your quarter? Decide quickly."
"Armstrong, sir," returned Wheeler. "Dixon, go to the side-line."
Chip stood up and glared hard at Wheeler. Then he turned, dropped
his head and walked slowly off the field, never once looking back.
When he was off the playing surface, the whistle spoke again and the
battle was on once more, this time with Armstrong in charge of the
attack.
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!"
The score seemed to put new life into Queen's, and after the
kick-off, which was made by Queen's to Warwick, the latter made
little headway in the rushing game. In the very first attempt to
kick, the Queen's right guard, by a great effort, got through the
defense and blocked the ball squarely. A desperate scramble ensued,
and despite the orders of the referee to "get up" and "let go," the
pile which formed like magic where the ball had been had to be dug
apart one by one. At the very bottom Jimmy was found with the ball
under his chin and both arms wrapped around it, as if it were the
dearest possession he had ever known. It was Queen's ball on the
Warwick 21-yard line.
Once, only, did Wheeler order a rush. Warwick stopped that with
deadly determination, throwing back even the redoubtable Jimmy. Then
again Frank dropped far behind the line. He stood exactly on the
33-yard line and again measured with the greatest care the distance
to the goal posts.
"You can't do it, Armstrong; you can't do it!" sang out the first
rows of the Warwick benches in a vain attempt to disturb the poise
of the boy on whom all eyes were turned. But they might as well have
tried to disturb a statue. One of Frank's gifts was concentration,
and perhaps he never concentrated his mind on anything in his life
more strongly than he did on that occasion. "I must! I must!" kept
ringing in his brain.
Wheeler disposed his protection for the kicker with great care, for
on the success of the play hung the issue of the day. Three points
would tie the score. There were only a few minutes of time now
remaining in the last quarter of the match. No wonder the players
took their places with minute care. When all was ready Frank gave
the signal. Back came the ball, as straight and true to his hands as
a bullet. Down it went to the ground, rose and was sent spinning on
its long flight from Frank's toe. But it rose none too soon, for big
Robinson had beaten down the Queen's defense, leaped high into the
air and in his slash for the ball missed it only by the fraction of
an inch. But he had missed it, which was the important point, and it
swept up as true as a compass needle to the pole. On, on it went,
rising higher and higher, and revolving rapidly on its short axis.
Would it carry? On that thought every mind was concentrated. Now the
ball turned, dipped downward, fell almost straight--but cleared the
far side of the bar by ten feet at least!
[Illustration: DOWN IT WENT TO THE GROUND, ROSE AND WAS SENT SPINNING
ON ITS LONG FLIGHT FROM FRANK'S TOE.--_Page 225._]
The Queen's demonstration which broke loose at this entirely
overshadowed anything that had ever been heard on that field, and it
was still in progress when the teams lined up for the final minutes
of the play. All the fire had gone out of Warwick's play. They could
do no more than fight off the buoyant Queen's team till the whistle
blew. And when it did blow, there was a wild flight of boys from the
Queen's stand, which for a moment completely swallowed the tired but
happy little knot of football warriors. And then they were heaved
into sight on the shoulders of the admiring crowd and carried around
the gridiron protesting. For half an hour Queen's assumed complete
control of that football field, dancing wildly around in a long snaky
dance while their songs and cheers rent the air. They did not forget
in their joy, however, to stop in front of the center section of the
Warwick stand and give a hearty cheer for the rival school. Gradually
the crowds broke up and streamed off in the direction of the station.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, ELEVEN!"
chanted the joyous Queen's School contingent.
That night a bonfire at Queen's lit the sky with a yellow light which
was seen for miles around, and caused the story that the whole of
Queen's School had burned to the ground. Armstrong's name was on
every tongue, for through his wonderful drop kicking Queen's had gone
into history as having, with two field goals, tied a game in which
at the outset they seemed not to have the slightest chance. Frank
bore his honors modestly and said it was nothing but luck. But his
particular friends didn't think it was "just luck," and took no pains
to conceal their belief that he was the greatest drop kicker ever,
past, present or future!