[Illustration: "BANG!" WENT THE PISTOL AND SIX LEGS
AND SIX ARMS BEGAN TO WORK LIKE PISTONS.
--Page 151.]
FRANK ARMSTRONG
AT QUEENS
By MATTHEW M. COLTON
AUTHOR OF
"Frank Armstrong at College," "Frank Armstrong's
Vacation," "Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker,"
"Frank Armstrong, Captain of the Nine,"
"Frank Armstrong's Second Term."
[Illustration]
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1911,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
MADE IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FRANK ENCOUNTERS A BULLY 5
II. AN AFTERNOON OF FOOTBALL 18
III. JIMMY GETS IN THE GAME 29
IV. FRANK HAS A NEW NAME 41
V. CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY 51
VI. HAZING AND THE WATER CURE 64
VII. SCHOOL SPIRIT AND SCHOOL INFLUENCES 76
VIII. QUEEN'S MEETS BARROWS AT FOOTBALL 88
IX. WHAT CAME OF A TUMBLE 102
X. FRANK SPRINGS A SURPRISE 112
XI. A PROSPECTIVE PUPIL 123
XII. A TRY-OUT ON THE TRACK 134
XIII. LEARNING TO RUN THE HUNDRED 145
XIV. A MYSTERIOUS APPEARANCE 156
XV. FRANK WINS HONORS ON THE TRACK 170
XVI. WARWICK INVADES QUEEN'S 182
XVII. THE GREAT FOOTBALL GAME 194
XVIII. GAMMA TAU RECEIVES A SHOCK 211
XIX. AN ENCOUNTER WITH THE MYSTERY 224
XX. A CONTEST AT THE GYMNASIUM 241
XXI. THE LOSS OF A RINK 252
XXII. A HEROIC RESCUE 265
XXIII. A CHALLENGE FROM WARWICK 279
XXIV. A GIFT AND A THEFT 294
XXV. THE ICE CARNIVAL 305
Frank Armstrong at Queen's.
CHAPTER I.
FRANK ENCOUNTERS A BULLY.
"Can you tell me how to get to Warren Hall, please?"
The question was addressed by a slender youth of fourteen to a group
of lads lolling on the grass at the foot of a great elm in the yard
of Queen's School.
"Well, I guess the best way would be to walk, unless you have
an automobile," was the flippant answer of a freckle-faced and
aggressive member of the group, who, lying with his hands under his
head, gazed up at the questioner with an impish grin. The rest of the
crowd laughed loudly at the sally.
"I mean," said the newcomer, visibly embarrassed with this unkindly
reception, "in which direction is Warren Hall?"
"Follow your nose and your two big toes, kid, and you'll get there
all right," was the rude response from the self-appointed guide,
and at this several of the recumbent youths rolled around on the
ground with laughter. It was great, this exhibition of wit. Chip
Dixon considered himself brighter than the morning sun, and through
a certain strength of his own held sway over his satellites, some of
whom were with him this particular afternoon.
The boy asking for information, at the second rebuff looked the
speaker coolly in the eye. His embarrassment had gone now, and in its
place came a look of disdain. He threw his head back.
"I asked for Warren Hall because I'm going there, and I'm not sure
which one it is, but this smart fellow," indicating Chip, "doesn't
have sense enough to answer a straight question. Can anyone tell me?"
He cast his eye around the group. A look of amazement that a new boy
should dare to cross words with this rough and ready fire-eater,
spread over the faces of several of them, and a titter ran around,
for Chip was not over well liked in the school.
Before anyone had time to answer, Chip himself sprang to his feet
with clenched fists. He liked to say sharp things, but like many
others, young and old, he could not stand his own medicine, and the
titter angered him no less than the cool looking boy who had drawn it
forth.
"Smart, am I?" he yelled, rushing up to the newcomer. "I'll show you
whether I'm smart or not," and he pushed his face up close to that of
the new boy, who held his ground bravely in the rush of the fellow
who evidently meant fight. In an instant the two were surrounded.
"Ow! ow!" yelled Chip, just at the moment he appeared to be ready
to land his fist on the unoffending boy, "ow! ow! I'll kill you for
that," and he grabbed one of his feet and danced around on the other
in agony. The heavy suit case, which the newcomer carried had been
dropped on the toes of Chip's thin pumps, and must have hurt cruelly.
And it looked as if it had been dropped intentionally.
"I'll pay you for that, you fresh kid," and Chip made another rush.
"Cheese it, Chip, here's Parks. Cut it out."
Chip subsided quickly, assumed an air of easy indifference, and began
to talk with those of his cronies nearest to him as if nothing had
happened.
Mr. Robert Parks, the assistant master of the school, and a martinet
for discipline, was swinging rapidly down the walk, unaware that
anything out of the ordinary was taking place. He was a young man in
appearance, perhaps not over thirty-five, but he had trained for the
army, and showed it in his bearing. A railroad accident had deprived
him of his left arm, and as army service was impossible for him, he
took up the work of teaching. He nodded pleasantly to the boys as he
approached them, and then stopped suddenly.
"Hello, Armstrong," he said with surprise, as he saw the strange lad
standing there, "I was just going across to your room. Been talking
with your father on the telephone and I promised him I'd see you
settled all right. He said that he had been unable to come up with
you, but described you so well I knew you at once. Glad you fell in
with friends, though," added Mr. Parks, glancing around the circle of
faces.
"They are not friends of mine. I was just asking for directions when
you came up," answered Frank, for the new boy was none other than
Frank Armstrong. He had made up his mind to enter Queen's in the fall
term after all, and as his health was so robust owing to the great
vacation he had had at Seawall and in the Everglades, his mother and
father offered no objections, and so here he was faring forth alone.
"They have given you a room in Warren Hall, I believe, haven't they?"
said Mr. Parks.
"Yes, sir; eighteen is the number."
"Alone?"
"No, a fellow named Gleason is with me, from New York State, I think.
I don't know him."
"Well, come along," said Mr. Parks, and led the way in the direction
of Frank's future domicile.
"So that's Frank Armstrong, is it?" growled Chip, still with his
feathers ruffled from the setback he had received. "I've heard of him
and he's what I call a pretty fresh guy. If old Parks hadn't showed
up when he did I would have knocked a little freshness out of him."
"He wasn't as fresh as you were," broke in little Willie Patterson.
"He asked a civil question and you began to be funny before any of
us had time to answer. And, besides, it mightn't have been so easy
to knock what you say is 'freshness' out of him. I notice he didn't
back up much when you rushed him. Was the suit case heavy?" he added
mockingly. Willie's diminutive size made him bold, and, besides,
wasn't his sturdy but slow-witted room-mate, A. B. C. Sinclair,
commonly called Alphabet, there to fight his battles for him in case
his sharp tongue ran him into difficulties?
Dixon knew he was at a disadvantage, shut his jaws tight and said
nothing, but if his look meant anything it meant that a heavy hand
was to fall on Frank at the first opportunity.
"That's the fellow the papers have been talking about. Call him the
'great swimmer boy of Milton' because he got in a race with the
champion Darnell down in Florida somewhere," sneered one of Chip's
cronies, anxious to find favor in the eyes of his boss.
"Swimmer! My eye," grunted Chip. "I could tie one hand behind me and
beat him out." Chip boasted of being something of a swimmer himself,
and he could not believe that the slender boy, whom he had tried to
jolly and later to scare, had the strength to swim against him. "If I
get him in the water some time I'll drown him."
"I don't know about that," said Willie. "I think he's all right, and
I'm going up to his room and tell him we are not all grouches like
you are," and picking himself up he steered rapidly for Warren Hall
to square matters with his own conscience. The bearing of the new boy
had won him completely.
Without a hint of the storm of injured feelings left behind, and
consequently unheeding, Mr. Parks walked rapidly with Frank across
the school quadrangle to Warren, and shortly arrived at the quaint
old doorway of the second entry.
"Warren was the first of the buildings of Queen's," said Mr. Parks as
they trudged along. "It used to be the whole school when there were
only about twenty-five boys. That was fifty years ago, but as the
number of pupils increased these other buildings were added, and we
have room now for a hundred and eighty boys altogether."
"Yes, I know the school has been growing. Father says it's the best
in the state."
"Well, I think there are none better, even though our friends of
the Warwick school up the river put on airs occasionally," said Mr.
Parks.
"That's Russell Hall across the north end of the yard where the
recitation rooms are," he continued, "and the school library and the
social hall; and at the north end of Warren there, is the chapel.
Just across from Warren is Honeywell where the school officers are.
Doctor Hobart, the head of the school--you know him, of course--has
his quarters in Warren. So you'll have to be on your best behavior."
And Parks smiled down on the lad to whom he was much attracted.
They were now at the foot of the entry where was located No. 18. Mr.
Parks plunged up the stairs and Frank followed at his heels, taking
time to note the queer old crooked stairway, the newel post which was
nothing more than a round block of wood carved with many initials,
and the hand rail scarred with many a knife line where the ambitious
initial cutters had dug deep to impress their fame on succeeding
generations. The painted plaster of one side of the stairway
was scrawled with initials, impromptu verses and rude sketches,
caricatures evidently of school characters.
"Here we are," said Frank's guide, stopping before a door on the
second landing. "Let's see if Gleason's in," and he tapped lightly.
There was no response, and turning the knob he stepped within. Frank
followed at his heels, and entered what was to be his new home for a
number of months at least.
"Well, I wouldn't say Gleason was much of a hand at keeping things
tidy," observed Mr. Parks. "Maybe you can help him. I wish you luck.
If I can assist in any way, just call on me. I have an office in
Russell Hall, ground floor, first entry, and my office hours are
printed on a slip on the door. Come and see me when you get settled.
Good day."
"Good day, sir, and thank you for your kindness," replied Frank, and
the door shut.
Parks was right when he said Gleason was not a tidy housekeeper, for
the place was in heaped up disorder. Evidently Gleason had not yet
succeeded in settling himself. His clothes were scattered around
the room, and mateless shoes bestrewed the floor. A laundry box lay
tipped on the window seat with half its contents on the cushion and
half on the floor, and the center table was filled with a promiscuous
assortment of books, writing materials, a tennis racket, and several
tennis balls reposing on a battered flannel cap. Out of this crazy
jumble on the table, the drop light rose like a mushroom-topped
lighthouse. The fine fireplace was piled full of crumpled papers.
Frank's own things had been tumbled into his bedroom, and there lay
his first work of straightening things out. He was busily engaged
in setting things in order when there came a tap on the outer door,
and following the tap, without waiting on ceremony, a hand pushed it
open. Frank turned and saw his visitor, noticing at once that it was
one of the group he had encountered a little while before.
"You're Frank Armstrong," said the newcomer.
"That's my name."
"Well, my name's Patterson, Wee Willie they call me because I'm so
big." The manner was friendly and genial.
Frank grinned. "Glad to see you," he said as Wee Willie stuck out his
hand.
The visitor continued: "I happened to be in that bunch of fellows
this afternoon, and I came up to apologize for Queen's, and to tell
you that Chip Dixon made me sick. He didn't speak for the school
when he cut into you this afternoon so heavy."
"Who is he?"
"He's in my class, a Junior, and belongs to the society that thinks
it runs this school, but he's a big bluff, if anyone should ask you
about it. He's got most of us scared to death because he's so handy
with his tongue and his fist, but it tickled me to death to see you
stand up to him this afternoon. Christopher is his name, but 'Chip'
is a nickname they've given him."
"I couldn't do anything else, could I?"
"No, of course not, but it is going to put you in bad with Gamma Tau
all right. They are awfully clannish."
"Do you belong?" asked Frank.
"No, they didn't think enough of me to give me a bid, but I don't
care. I don't like the bunch they took from our class, and I would
rather be outside looking in, than inside looking out. Gamma Tau used
to be looked up to, but lately they have stopped giving the election
for merit. It's all politics now, and the master, old Pop Eye Hobart,
said he would abolish it if they didn't stop their monkeying and get
down to first principles."
"Well, I'm sure I don't care whether I get an election or not, if
it's that kind of a society. I'd rather stay out."
"The trouble is that the society runs the athletics of this school,"
continued the diminutive oracle, "and it's a hard job to make any
team if you don't have the Gamma Tau pin. If you do have it, no
matter how rank you may be, you're IT with a large capital I."
"Then that's what's the matter with your teams up here, is it?"
queried Frank, who had kept an eye on Queen's school athletics for
some time, and knew that victories were rarities.
"Hit it first time, right in the eye. We are punky to the state of
rottenness, and we'll remain that way till the Gamma gets its head
knocked off, and the best athletes in the school get a chance. As it
is now, the best we have don't try.
"Well, I must be off," said Wee Willie, as he slid from the window
seat. "I just wanted to tell you we're not all like Chip Dixon.
He's a crab and walks backward and doesn't know it. Ta ta, see you
later," and the Wee One swung himself out of the door and clattered
down the stairs, leaving Frank to straighten out his effects as best
he might, and puzzle on the first tangle of life at school in which
he found himself.