"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!

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!