gave me that ball to-day as if it were the dearest possession he ever
owned and was afraid I might break it. He was so careful he almost
made it hard for me, but hard in a different way from the day the
Barrows put it over us. No chance for a fumble there."

Frank and the Wee One exchanged winks.

"Oh, I guess Chip has had a change of heart," said the latter.
"Reformed, maybe."

"He certainly has reformed as far as I'm concerned. I grew quite fond
of him before the practice was over, although I know he doesn't like
me."

"Whether he likes you or not makes no particular difference as long
as he gives that ball to you right," said Frank.

"Oh, but his sweet disposition comes too late, for I'll not get
another chance. Hillard is playing like a breeze, and he's certain to
go in first. My only chance is for him to break a leg or his neck or
something, then I might have a lick at it."

"But in the meantime you are learning the game. I saw Horton speaking
to you the other day; what did he say?"

"Oh, he told me to keep at it, I might make the team in a year or
two."

"Don't believe him," broke in Lewis. "Horton was asking for a little
bit of advice from my room-mate." Lewis, since his retirement from
the onerous duties of holding down the sideline, assumed the position
of critic and cynic. "And that makes me think," Lewis continued, "I
saw Horton talking to you the other day in the gymnasium, Frank. Was
he asking you for advice, too?"

"Oh, just telling me that I ought to come out and get a little
practice at the game myself. He said he thought I was too light this
year, but that I might thicken up next year. He put me through a
course of sprouts on what I knew and what I didn't know."

"Didn't take you long to tell him that latter section, I suppose,"
ventured the loquacious Lewis, "but please take warning from my case
and recognize that even the most gifted coach sees only a small
amount of the real talent." Lewis threw out his chest.

"Frank, did they tell you how Lewis distinguished himself the first
day he was out?" said Jimmy.

"Well, that story ought not to be lost. Horton picked up a couple of
elevens the first afternoon we were out, along about the end of the
first week of practice. He had been showing us how to fall on the
ball, which was where Lewis shone bright as the morning star. When
the ball got loose and Lewis fell on it, it never got away, but it
generally needed repairs, he fell on it so earnestly, and you know
Lewis isn't a featherweight."

"This story is a chestnut, Frank," said Lewis. "Jimmy got it out of a
book somewhere and retails it about me. He is giving himself more and
more to unbridled fiction."

"Well," continued Jimmy, going on without seeming to notice the
interruption from the hero of the story, "Lewis was placed as
a halfback on one of these catch-as-catch-can teams. It was an
impressive sight to see Lewis trying to run with that ball. About the
time he had made up his mind which way to dodge, some one had him
about the legs. Horton was good natured then and only laughed. But
there was one thing that Lewis could do to the Queen's taste; as I
told you, he could fall on that ball, and once, when it came popping
out of the line, he dropped on it and saved the day for his side."

"See him swell up at this part of the story," said Frank.

"That particular afternoon," went on Jimmy, "in one of the scrimmages
in which Lewis' team was on the defensive, one of the other backs
came up to the line, but owing to the mix-up of the signals and a
mix-up of players, some one lost his head-gear, and it rolled out on
the side that Lewis was defending. He immediately fell on it while
the runner recovered, swept over him and scored, and that was the
last of Lewis as a real football player. He looked impressive after
that coming onto the field, and I think once or twice Horton let
him carry the balls, but they were the spare ones which were tied
together with a string."

Lewis took the chaffing good-naturedly. "But wait until next year,"
he said. "I'm going out again and I'll try for center. My weight and
fine build will strengthen up that weak spot I can tell you."

"Maybe we'll all be on the team next year," said Jimmy.

"And then it will be a mess, sure," said Frank.

As the boys were still joking about the possibilities of Lewis for
center on the team of the following year, there came a knock at the
door.

"Come in," yelled Lewis, "don't stop to knock."

It was a Western Union Telegraph messenger.

"A telegram for Frank Armstrong," he said. "Went to your room at
No. 18, and the fellow over there said to pursue my diligent way
thitherwards, and ask for one Frank Armstrong who might be in company
of a fat boy with pink cheeks," Jimmy snickered, "and a brick top."
It was now Lewis' turn to snicker.

Meantime Frank had taken the telegram and had broken the seal. He
read it with the greatest surprise.

"Great Scott, fellows, listen to this:

"'New York, October 25. Frank Armstrong, Queen's School, Milton.
David has decided to enter Queen's if possible. Will reach there
Thursday. Signed, J. B. Powers.'"

"Can't get along without you. Overpowering magnetism and all that
sort of thing," said Lewis.

"It's fine, isn't it?" said Frank. "The school is crowded, but if
the Doctor has no objections I can take him over in No. 18 with me.
There's barrels of room, and I'm sure Gleason wouldn't mind. He's a
good old encyclopedia. He's busy just at present compiling records of
the high jump since 1852."

"Why doesn't he go back to 1492," suggested Lewis. "Columbus was
quite a little jumper himself."

"And there was the cow that jumped over the moon," said Jimmy; "tell
him to get that record sure. The old bovine put them all in the
shade."

"Come and tell him yourself," cried Frank, at the door. "I'm going
over to see if we can't squeeze another couch in my sleeping den.
It's not as big as the Grand Central, but if it can be managed, David
is sure going to be with me."

"If the room is too small, why not try a trundle bed?" called out
Lewis, but Frank was half way down the stairs and did not hear him.

Frank burst into No. 18 where Gleason was scratching away in his
book of records. "Say, Gleason, got any objection to having another
room-mate?"

"What, Web-foot, going to leave your old wife?" said Gleason, looking
up in surprise.

"I don't mean that. The fellow I was down south with this summer has
decided to come to Queen's, if he can get in. I know the dormitories
are all crowded, and I'm willing to have him bunk in with me. He's a
dandy chap. You'd like him."

"No objections from the Codfish," announced that individual. "We can
set up a four-poster in the room here. It'll be very handy to hang
our clothes on. We need more room here anyway," and he looked around
at the disarray of clothes piled on chairs and tables and window
seat. "Bring him in, sir, the more the merrier. Always room at the
top," and Gleason returned to his scratching.

"It will not be necessary to put him in here. He can have half of my
room," said Frank. "If the Doctor has no objection, it's settled. I
had more room than I needed anyway."

"When's he coming?" inquired Gleason.

"The telegram I had says he's on the way and will be here Thursday."

"Is he a Web-foot, too?"

"No, David hasn't any feet to speak of. He walks with crutches and
can't take part in athletics, but he's about the finest little chap
you ever saw."

"Speaking of feet," said Gleason, "since you are not doing anything
in football, why don't you go down to the track and do something
there? You are a likely looking athlete, and you might be able to
help old man Duffy win some points for Queen's. He needs candidates
for every event. Nearly all the first string fellows graduated last
year. Great chance for some young buck to distinguish himself."

"Why don't you go down and show him some speed yourself?"

"Me? Oh, I'd rather watch. You see I don't come of an athletic
family. I'd rather set down what the other fellow does. Got to be
some one to do that, you know."

The notion stuck in Frank's head. "I believe I'll do it," he said
half to himself. "To-morrow I'll give myself up. I don't think
anything will come of it, but I'd like to do something to help the
school, and father has barred me out of football this year, but says
I'll be hardened up enough if I stay out of it till next fall."

"You'll be hardened enough if you stay with me," said the Codfish,
and Frank dived into his room, laughing.

CHAPTER XII.

A TRY-OUT ON THE TRACK.

Track athletics at Queen's had not been in a very flourishing
condition for some years prior to the opening of our story. The
popular sports were baseball and football, and these took the pick
of the fellows who had a desire to do some athletic work. Patsy
Duffy, the trainer of all the teams, managed now and then to find
some pretty good men in the sprints and short distance runs, and he
had once sent a team of six down to the Interscholastic games at New
Haven, which picked up eleven points in second and third places, and
that, when you consider that the school had less than 200 boys to
draw from, is not so bad as it might be.

But although Queen's was never in any great danger of winning
the Interscholastics, the school was nevertheless nearly always
represented by some one. Warwick was, in track athletics, as in
every other of the sports, the natural rival of Queen's, and for
the last two years had made away with the annual track contest by a
good, wide margin of points. The trainer had gone over the incoming
class pretty thoroughly for material and had not found much of it,
so he was pleased when Frank stepped up to him at the track the next
afternoon and said he would like to try for a place on the team.

"Where did you come from?" said Patsy.

"From the Milton High School, but I never did much there in the way
of athletics, excepting to play a little baseball and football."

"Can you run or jump?"

"Don't think so."

"Can you sprint or hurdle?"

"Afraid not."

"Jump?"

"Can't even jump, to my knowledge. But I'm willing to try any of
them."

"Well, this doesn't sound promising, but some of the best I've had
knew nothing about it when they came here, and I've sent some of the
best men they ever had to Yale and Harvard and Princeton. Ever hear
of Tinker Howe, the great Yale half-miler? Yes; well, he was one of
the men I trained. Came out here one day and at first couldn't run
a half mile in three minutes. But he came along fast. And there was
Winchester, the fellow who played tackle on Harvard last year, and
who was one of the best shot-putters that ever went to Cambridge. He
was one of our fellows, trained right in this little piece of ground."

"I don't believe I'll ever be like those fellows, but I want to try
anything you think I'm fitted for."

"Well, suppose you run up to the gymnasium and get into some togs.
Miggs, the rubber up there, will fit you out and if you like the
work, and I like you, we'll fix you up with a regular suit. Hurry it
up, and I'll have you jog around the track once or twice with Watkins
here," indicating a young fellow who was prancing up and down the
stretch with long, springy strides.

Frank was quickly equipped at the gymnasium with a jersey and a pair
of misfit running trousers which Miggs had dug out somewhere for
him. "I feel like a scarecrow," thought Frank, "but maybe after this
performance to-day he will not consider my efforts worth much."

"Come on now," said Patsy, as Frank came trotting back to the track.
"Let's try a few starts. You will run only fifteen steps or so. Don't
suppose you know anything about starting, Armstrong?"

"No, I guess I don't."

"All right. On your marks, get set, GO." Frank, accustomed to the
starting signal for swimming, went away like a shot and ran away from
the half-miler, who was taking things more leisurely.

"I thought you said you didn't know anything about starting," said
Patsy, as he and Watkins came back to where the trainer stood.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that I have done a little swimming racing,
and we start about the same."

"So much the better. Some very good runners are spoiled because they
can't start fast enough. When the pistol goes off you'd think they
were going to take root. You don't seem to be bothered that way, but
I'm afraid you haven't got stride enough for a long distance racer.
Try it again."

The boys lined up and started at the word "Go," and again Frank
started in excellent form; but this time Watkins was watching for
him, and got off his marks with more speed than before, although,
even then, Frank led him a step.

Patsy was smiling as they came back to him. "Did you ever run a
hundred yards, Armstrong? No? Well, I'm going to try you at that now
and see what you can do. You have the appearance of a sprinter, at
least as far as the first twenty yards go. Do you think you can hold
it at the pace you set out?"

"Don't know, but I'll try."

By this time a half dozen other runners, in their airy, abbreviated
costumes, who had been trotting around the track or taking little
dashing spurts, had gathered around to see the new boy tried out, and
there was a good deal of interest manifest when Patsy said he would
have the new boy try a hundred yards dash.

Just at that moment the Codfish strolled up. "Hello, wifey," he said
as he saw Frank in running costume; "took my advice, didn't you? You
look handsome, but are you any good?"

"We are just going to try to find out," said Patsy. "I'm going to run
him a hundred yards. Will you go up and start him? I want to take
his time. Here's a pistol. Collins, go along with Armstrong and pace
him down the full distance, and bring him as fast as he can come."
Collins was the best sprinter of Queen's, as Frank afterward learned.

At the sound of the pistol, Collins was off with a great burst of
speed, but Frank, in spite of his lack of training, followed him
closely for half the distance. Then the training of the practised
sprinter began to tell and Frank dropped behind, but not so far
behind but that Patsy's face wore a much pleased grin when he
finished. Collins, who was a Junior and slated for the captaincy
if Gamma Tau didn't undertake to knock things out of gear with
politics, came back and patted him on the shoulder. "It was well run,
Freshman," he said.

"What did he do it in?" said Gleason, coming up to Patsy when Frank,
who was not in the best of condition for sprinting, was recovering
his wind. Patsy held up the watch. Eleven and two-fifth seconds, it
said.

"By Jove, that's good time for a kid, and his first trial, and not in
condition, isn't it?"

"It's first rate," said Patsy. "He will be a good one or I miss my
guess. He has a good build for a sprinter."

Meantime Frank was taking a turn around the back stretch, and when
he came back, Patsy said: "Armstrong, that's enough for to-day."
Frank was turning away when Patsy continued, "Don't go yet, I want to
have you try a jump for me. We need a jumper badly, and you may be
the fellow we are looking for. You said you never jumped?"

"No, only in fun, and the jumps were never measured."

"Well, come over here and try one or two, and we will see if you have
any spring in your legs. Most natural sprinters have."

"You see," said Patsy as they reached the broad jump runway, "you get
up your speed here and then strike this take-off board with whichever
foot comes most convenient for you to jump from; lift yourself into
the air and strike in that soft sawdust pit. The jump is measured
from the face of the take-off to the point where you break the ground
nearest to the take-off block. Do you get me?"

Frank nodded and walked down the runway, measuring carefully with his
eye the distance he had to go.

"All ready," shouted Patsy; "come on!"

Frank took a run, gathering momentum as he came. He saw ahead of him
the trainer and Codfish Gleason and a dozen boys watching his effort,
and in spite of his best attempts he could not concentrate his mind
on that take-off block. It seemed to lie somewhere in a fog, and he
simply kept on running with the result that he dashed across it into
the sawdust, which is put there to break the fall of the jumpers,
tried to stop, and went headlong. He picked himself up, covered with
sawdust, and much chagrined at his failure.

"I want to try that over again," he said. "I couldn't seem to see
where that block was, and I missed it."

Patsy grinned. "The best of them do that sometimes. It's one of the
hardest things in jumping. As you come up to the block, you want to
concentrate your mind on that place. Arrange your steps so you will
come to it on the foot you can best jump from, and come down on the
block as hard as you can, bouncing off it, so to speak, and going as
far up in the air as you can. The momentum you have gained in your
run will carry you along. That's the idea of the broad jump. And
don't get nervous." Patsy communicated this information to Frank as
he walked along with him to the head of the runway.

"The take-off, the take-off, the take-off," was drumming through
Frank's mind as he came rushing down for it. So determined was he
not to overrun the block that he under-did it this time, and he
"took-off" about 14 inches before he reached the block. But even in
spite of this handicap, the measuring tape showed a jump of 15 feet 6
inches.

"O, but," said Frank, "you are not measuring from where I jumped."

"That's not the way we do it. We measure, as I told you, from the
face of the block, so that as you jumped you really handicapped
yourself 14 inches. It would have been a very good jump, indeed, if
that 14 inches hadn't been wasted. The best jumpers contrive their
run so as to hit the center of the block squarely with the ball of
the jumping foot, the toe even projecting over the block. Try it
once more, and try not to over or under-run the block, but to hit it
squarely."

"I never knew there was so much to jumping," said Frank, as he walked
back for his third trial. "But this time I'm going to get it if it
takes a leg."

Fixing the block firmly in his mind as he had been told, and also
the idea of carrying as high as possible into the air, Frank came
rushing down the runway. This time he struck the take-off like a
veteran, rose in the air and was carried along by his speed. As
he was coming down he threw his feet out in front of him so as to
get as much distance as possible, but when he struck he had more
distance than he could hold and fell backwards. His heels had broken
the ground at 16 feet 9-1/2 inches, but in his efforts to keep from
falling he had put his hand behind him, and from the block to the
break made by his hand it was only a little over 15 feet.

Frank thought it hard lines not to get all he had actually jumped,
but saw at once that the rule was right--that the first break in the
ground from the face of the take-off was the only right thing to go
by, although his actual jump had been in this case two feet farther.

"That's all for to-day," said Patsy, "you've had enough for the first
day."

But Frank pleaded for one more try to see if he could not get it
right--the very last--and Patsy relented.

And this time Frank did get it right. He came carefully up to the
block, got a good raise and carry, and held his footing when he
struck the ground. The tape measure, held by the Codfish and Patsy,
showed 16 feet 3 2-5 inches, a remarkable jump, indeed, for an
unpractised schoolboy.

"To-morrow at 2 o'clock I want to see you here, and we'll do a
little more work. Your showing to-day is all right. Maybe I can make
something out of you," said Patsy, and when Frank had trotted off in
the direction of the gymnasium he said to Gleason: "There's the right
sort of a chap. Doesn't know much about it, but willing to try, and
crazy to make good at whatever he tries. I'll make something out of
him, see if I don't. The fall trials come off a week from to-day, but
I'll bet in spite of the short time he has had to work, he'll make
some of the older ones hustle to keep ahead of him. I don't know yet
about his sprinting, but he certainly can jump like a deer."

CHAPTER XIII.

LEARNING TO RUN THE HUNDRED.

Frank was at the gymnasium at 2 o'clock the next afternoon, garbed in
a running rig that the Codfish had given him.

"How did you come to have running clothes with you?" asked Frank,
surprised when the Codfish produced from the recesses of his trunk a
neat blue jersey and a pair of spotless running trousers.

"My fond papa said he thought I ought to take some exercise when he
sent me up here. He told me he was a peach of a runner in his school
days, and talked so much about the way he walloped every one in sight
on the track that I got kind of ambitious, and let mother put these
things in."

"Why don't you go out for running yourself? You ought to make a
runner," and Frank gazed admiringly at the long legs which Gleason
had spread out on the window seat, the lower parts of them dressed in
gorgeous green socks.

"Oh, I don't like to fatigue myself. If I run I grow weary, and if
I'm weary I must rest, and I'd much rather rest without being weary
first. Don't feel backward about taking the duds, old chappie,
because your Uncle Dudley will never put them on. If they had
something like a 15-yard dash I might get out and make a record or
two myself, but since the shortest distance is a hundred yards and
the longest is a mile, I guess I'll put my spare time in some other
way."

"And how about your father's ambitions for you?"

"Oh, dad won't mind. I don't believe he was much of a runner anyway.
He just lets his imagination carry him away."

So Frank became the possessor of a fine outfit, and wore it that
afternoon with considerable pride. Patsy nodded pleasantly as he came
onto the track. "See you're on time," he said. "Now jog around the
track very easily two or three times just to get limbered up, and
then we will have a few starts with Collins and you. Felt sore this
morning, did you?"

"Legs pained me when I woke up this morning. Dreamed that I fell out
of an aeroplane."

"It's the jumping," said Patsy. "I've known fellows when they began
to jump to be so sore they'd have to walk with a cane. But you'll
soon be over that."

"I sincerely trust so; it's no fun."

Patsy was like the manager of a three-ring circus, as any track
trainer, who knows what he is there for and who is worth his salt,
ought to be. He had a word of caution to the long-distance runner
to run flat-footed and save himself for the sprint, if sprint he
must at the end of his race; to the pole-vaulter he reiterated the
oft-repeated injunction that to get over the bar when it was 10 feet
up meant to pull up with the arms and not altogether a spring from
the legs; to the hurdler he gave a minute of his valuable attention,
indicating where his take-off for the barrier was too near or too far
away, and if he lost too much time in the flight.

"If you're going to hurdle on this track you've got to get down to
the track and run on it and not try to sail through the air." And
even when he wasn't giving direct coaching, Patsy was making mental
notes for use later on when they would be of more value to the
coached.

Frank had jogged around several times when Patsy hailed him on one of
his trips, and said: "Now I want you and Collins and Herring"--that
was the other sprinter in the school, a second string man to
Collins--"to come up to the start of the hundred. We will do a little
work."

The little work consisted in getting down at the starting line,
balancing delicately on the balls of the feet--the one just on the
starting line and the other about fourteen inches behind--with the
tips of the fingers resting lightly on the ground, and at the sound
of the pistol, shooting forward from that position without the delay
of a thousandth part of an eye-wink.

On the first trial Frank made a sorry mess of it. The crouching
sprinter's start was new to him. He had started the day before from
a straight standing position, but when he got to the crouching
attitude--pictures of which he had seen many times, and as many
times wondered how runners could possibly start from such an awkward
position--he found it necessary to come to an upright position before
he could get under way. Both Collins and Herring gained a stride on
him at the very start, and a stride is a lot in a hundred yard race.

"See here, Armstrong," said Patsy. "The sprinter, that is the fellow
who runs the short distance, hasn't time to start off easy. From the
shot he must be moving forward. Now you come straight up. Watch me,"
and Patsy dropped down to the racing position, and shot away from it
with an astonishing swiftness that made Frank open his eyes. Patsy in
his time had been one of the best runners, and knew to a nicety just
how to do the trick.

"Come on, now again, and remember that you shoot out and not up," and
Patsy held the pistol over his head. "Get ready, set----" but Frank
in his eagerness felt that the pistol shot was coming, and dashed off
only to recover in a moment, and return shame-facedly to the mark.

"That would cost you a yard, Armstrong, if it had been an actual race
you were running. But we'll not penalize you this time. Now again."

Little by little Frank began to get the science of starting. Patsy
showed him the why and wherefore of hole-digging so that the starter
would get a better grip with his feet. In a dozen or more starts
Frank showed improvement steadily, and was overjoyed at the praise of
the trainer.

"You are doing well, Armstrong," said Patsy; "keep it up. Now take
a little rest while I see what these high jumpers are doing. They
look from here as if they were playing leap-frog. Those fellows never
will learn to turn right when they get in the air," and he hurried
off to correct some faults his keen eye had detected even from that
distance. While he was gone the boys pranced around and took a couple
of starts by themselves.

"Have you run much?" inquired Herring, who was a Junior and had
worked hard for what he got. He was not especially well built for
sprinting, being a little too stocky and short-legged, but what he
lacked in form he made up in determination. He had almost reached his
limit in development and never could be a first-rater.

"No," said Frank, "I've never run before; this is my first offence."

"Gee whiz, you'll soon have me lashed to the mast. If you can hold
the gait you strike at the start clear through to the finish, I'll
be third string right off the reel. Here's Patsy back to give us our
trial on the hundred."

"Now, boys," said Patsy, "this is the last for you to-day. I want you
to run this hundred through as fast as you can. Collins, you take
the pole; Herring, you next; and you, Armstrong, have the outside.
No crowding. And, Armstrong, don't forget what I told you; don't
lose time getting up--the finish isn't up in the air, it's down the
track a hundred yards. On your marks!----" The three stepped into
the little holes they had dug for their feet. "Get set!----" They
crouched and touched the tips of their fingers to the ground, leaning
well forward, necks craned and eyes straight ahead.

"Bang!" went the pistol, and six legs and six arms began to work
like pistons. Frank had somehow remembered his instructions and got
a better start even than Herring. He tore along ahead of that runner
who was making a desperate effort to reach him. Collins was running
freely on the pole, a half stride in advance. For half the distance
the order remained the same, but then Frank's lack of training and
lack of experience began to tell, and Herring reached him. At the
80 yards he was running breast to breast with Herring, but that
individual's bandy but powerful legs and better wind carried him
ahead from that point. Collins finished first, Herring second, and
Frank a good third.

"Well run," shouted a hearty voice from the side of the course as
the three runners pulled up just beyond the finish line; and Frank,
looking up, saw Colonel Powers and David at the side of the track. He
ran over and shook hands, overjoyed to see them. "Thought you weren't
coming till Thursday," said Frank, "and this is only Wednesday."

"Well, you see," returned the Colonel, "David couldn't stand it any
longer. We came up to Milton last night intending to go down to Eagle
Island to-day to look after the house, but David persuaded me to come
out here instead, and so here we are. But I didn't know you were a
runner as well as a swimmer."

"O, I'm a pretty poor apology for a runner. Maybe I'll be able to run
some day and win a point for the school."

"Well, judging by the way you were coming down the stretch with those
two fellows, you would be able to put the Powers family to shame, eh,
David?"

"Frank can do anything he undertakes as well as the next one," said
David, "and I think if he starts out to run he can do it and win.
Don't you remember the race down at St. Augustine, father?"

"Track work is over for the day," said Frank; "come along to the
gym while I get into my everyday clothes, and we'll go up to the
room; or, if you would like to, we'll go over and see the football
practice. David, you remember Jimmy, don't you? Well, he is a
candidate for halfback on the school eleven, and in spite of his
being a Freshman, I think he'll make it."

"Jimmy was the owner of the _Foam_ that sunk in the foam, was he
not?" inquired the Colonel. "I remember how plucky he was when we
picked him out of the water. You all were, for that matter."

"And Lewis Russell is here, too, in the same class with us; they
entered at the first of the term, and I came in three weeks late."

"Is Lewis on the eleven, too?" inquired David.

"No; Lewis' football sun set very early in his career, and now he
sits on the bleachers the same as I do, and watches the other fellows
get talked to by the coach.

"How does it come, David, that you changed your mind about school? I
thought you were going to study with a tutor the same as last year,"
said Frank.

"The trouble was," said Colonel Powers, "that David, who has been a
pretty quiet fellow all his life, got a taste of companionship this
summer on the yacht, and when he went back to his tutor, old Mr.
Melcher, he found the work drier than ever. So he wanted to know if
he couldn't come along to Queen's with you."

"Yes," said David for himself. "Before I met you I didn't think I'd
go to school at all, but last summer changed me somehow. I saw what a
good time Burton had, and when I thought of you over here making lots
of friends and taking part in things, I wanted to come along."

"Yes, and it happens," said the Colonel, "that Doctor Hobart is a
personal friend of mine, and it was easily arranged that David come
here, though it is nearly the end of October and half the first term
gone. The only difficulty about it seems to be, for I have just had
a talk with the Doctor, in getting the right kind of a room for him;
they are crowded to the limit here."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that the room part of it is all arranged.
He's going to bunk in with me. The night I got your telegram I put it
up to Gleason, my room-mate, and he had no objections. The place is
not big, but plenty big enough for us two."

David beamed with joy, and the Colonel expressed his pleasure that
the boys were to be together again. "David needs companionship to
bring him out of himself," he said, "and it is possible that David
may be a help to you, Frank."

That night the Colonel and David sat down to table in the school
dining hall together with Frank and Jimmy and Lewis, and when dinner
was over they strolled under the great elms of the school yard and
listened to the Glee Club singing on the steps of Russell Hall. To
David it was like fairy-land.

CHAPTER XIV.

A MYSTERIOUS APPEARANCE.

David saw his first football practice the next afternoon and enjoyed
the spectacle of Jimmy zipping through the line or spilling the
fellow with the ball when he happened to be playing on the defensive.
Dixon was living up to the part of the contract forced upon him by
Frank and the Wee One, and made no further obstacle for Jimmy when
the coach occasionally put him over in the backfield on the First
eleven. But Chip bore the Freshman halfback no very deep affection.
He was, however, becoming more and more impressed with the belief
that Jimmy was the genuine material and that he was pretty nearly
necessary to the welfare of his eleven. Hillard generally took
precedence, that is, he went in at first, but Jimmy would get in
awhile toward the end of practice.

During the week, practice had been very satisfactory, by far the
best of the season, and when on Saturday the school eleven scored
12 to 4 against the Milldale High School eleven, hope began to run
high in the school that perhaps after all Queen's might pull out that
Warwick game, which was now only a week off.

Friday night there was a mass-meeting under the elms in the yard,
and Horton, Mr. Parks and a graduate of the school of some forty
years before--a Mr. Walbridge--were the speakers. They stood on the
steps of Russell and torches lighted up the scene. There had been
a torchlight parade up and down the walks of the school, and the
procession finally halted in front of the wide steps of Russell Hall
where the speakers were in readiness.

"We are going out next Saturday for a victory, boys," said Horton.
"We have been down in the mouth all the season because factions
have been pulling us one way and another, but that is all over now.
You played good football this afternoon, but you'll have to play
better next Saturday for those fellows up the river are going to
give you the battle of your lives. But if you will forget all your
disagreements and get together, and then stay together, we'll show
them yet."

"You bet we will," sang out a voice from the rear, as Horton retired.
"Three cheers for Horton."

Harding, the captain of the eleven, wakened from his lethargy by the
enthusiasm, jumped out in front of the bunch of boys and cried: "Now
a long one for Mr. Horton, get into it," and they did with a vim and
a snap which made Horton's eyes brighten.

"Rackety wow, rackety wow, rackety wow, Horton, Horton, Horton."

The rumpus stirred the katydids in their leafy bowers overhead and
they were loudly affirming and denying when Mr. Parks gave the boys a
word of encouragement. Mr. Parks was followed by the elderly graduate
of the school, who told them of football when he was at Queen's.

"We hadn't a quarter of the number of boys to choose from in my
day," he said, "and I don't think we were any bigger, but we worked
together and played together and ate together, and when we went out
on the field to play our games we were so completely together that
the team moved like one man. And if you will look over the records
of those old days, you'll find that Queen's didn't lose many games.

"It's the same on the football field as it is in the daily walks of
life. To be successful, I mean to have the right kind of success,
you've got to play fair and hard and keep thinking. If some one
slams into you, I know the feeling is to retaliate, for that's human
nature; but when you're tempted to do that, just think that while
you're slugging the fellow who slammed into you unnecessarily, your
opponent may be getting past you, for you can't do two things at
once. I remember a fellow in my own class; they called him 'Biff
Scott.' He used to play center, and when he could keep his temper he
was a wonder. But a hard jolt always made him mad, and then he was a
very poor center. In our big game with Warwick, for our big game was
with Warwick just the same as yours is now, the Warwick center knew
of Scott's weak point, so he teased him into forgetting what he was
there for, and they put play after play right over him and actually
won the game because he fought and didn't play.

"I'm of the opinion," the old graduate continued, "that what Mr.
Horton says is right, that if you give up these little dissensions,
get together and stay together, you may yet make this football season
something to be proud of. I, for one, believe you can and will do it.
That's all."

Again the school yell ripped out sharply and was echoed back by the
walls of Warren just across the way. Cheers were given for the team,
the coaches, the captain, and a crashing one for Queen's School. Then
the torches were swung over shoulders again, and the procession took
up its course, the tramp of many feet following the marching melody
of the school--

  Tramp, tramp, tramp, old Queen's is marching,
    Marching onward to the fray.
      Can't you hear our ringing cheer,
      Rising loud and high and clear,
    Queen's will fight and win the victory to-day.

  Tramp, tramp, tramp, the team is marching,
    Onward down the field they go.
      They're the best in all the land,
      They've the heart, the brain, the sand,
    And the courage high to conquer every foe.

  Tramp, tramp, tramp, the battle's raging,
    Cheer the victors loud and long.
      They will raise the Blue and Gold
      Where it waved in days of old.
    Then a cheer, my boys, and join us in our song.

  Tramp, tramp, tramp, old Queen's victorious,
    Ever valiant in the fray.
      And we'll give a rousing cheer
      For the team that knows no fear.
    Then for Queen's, my boys, hurray, hurray, hurray!

When it was all over Frank and Jimmy and Lewis climbed the stairs to
No. 18 and found David where they had left him.

"It was like fairy-land," cried David, as Jimmy and Frank came in.
"Looking down from here it was like a long fire-snake twisting and
turning up and down the walks."

"How about the cheering?" asked Jimmy.

"It sounded wonderful coming up through the branches. I'm so glad I
came up after all. I had made up my mind not to go to school because
I felt I would be in the way," and he looked down at his twisted and
misshapen limbs, and there was a tremor in his voice. "But just the
same, I'm glad I came. I can't take part in all the fun, but it will
be good to see it from the window."

"Go along with you," said Frank, going over to David and slipping his
arm around his shoulder. "In a little while you'll be taking your
part just the same as any of us, and you won't have to watch from
the window as you say."

"What could I do?" wailed David.

"There are lots of things you can do. Maybe you can write for the
_Mirror_."

"That, we'd have you know, is the sparkling weekly of Queen's," broke
in Jimmy.

"Yes," said Frank; "you might stamp your name forever on the history
of Queen's athletics by writing a good football song, and who knows
but they might erect a monument to your memory, because we're a
little shy on good songs."

"I've been thinking of trying myself," said Lewis, "now that I've
given football up for more serious things."

"Because football's given you up, you mean," slung in Jimmy, "for
better things!"

"But I can never do anything in athletics like you fellows," said
David wistfully. "It would be such fun."

"I'm not so sure you can't do any athletics," said Frank. "To-night I
happened to meet Patsy, he's our trainer, you know, and instructor in
the gym as well. I told him about you and he said you might go into
the gym, and if you develop strength in your arms there are lots of
things you could do."

"What, for instance?" inquired David, brightening up at the
possibility of taking part in any of the sports which he had thought
all closed to him forever.

"Well, Patsy said there was the gymnastic work, parallel bars,
horizontal bars, flying rings and rope climbing. The champion of
the school gets a big 'Q' on a white sweater just the same as the
football fellows. And he said you might make a good coxswain of the
crew. Lots of things for you to do, so cheer up."

"I'll see about it right away. I've always been strong in my arms and
hands, probably because of these things," indicating the crutches.
"You see my poor legs are not very heavy," and he caught the arms
of the chair in which he was sitting, and raised himself with the
greatest of ease, swinging his body clear of the seat and swaying
backwards and forwards.

"I say," said Jimmy, "wouldn't it be great if David got his 'Q'
before any of us?"

"Guess there's no real danger of my being burdened with a 'Q' for a
while," said David laughing. "But I'll train up and be ready for it
if a 'Q' should be flying around looking for some pleasant place to
nest."

"We're all looking that way and would be most willing to offer a nest
to this much-desired but elusive letter. Jimmy is the most likely of
us if he doesn't break his neck before the Warwick game," said Frank.

"Come on, Fatty," cried Jimmy, after the boys had chatted for a half
hour. "We must be going to our model apartment up the road, and let
these old cronies get to bed. I've got to keep good hours, you know."

"Speaking of beds, you see how I've fixed my room," said Frank,
leading the way to the chamber. "We got them to put another couch in
here alongside of mine, right by the window. From here we can look
out and see you fellows laboring any fine afternoon. The football
field is right over there," added Frank, pointing. He broke off
short. "Gee whiz," he cried suddenly, "what's that?" The others
crowded up close to the window and looked in the direction indicated
by Frank's finger.

The moon was shining brightly, the stars twinkled brilliantly, and
the trees and the football stands threw dense black shadows on the
grass which at that distance looked like a pall of black velvet.
But what caught and held their attention was in the middle distance
between themselves and the silvery line of the river, where a white
shrouded figure moved rapidly along. It looked like a woman dressed
completely in white, but the garments hung from the head rather than
from the shoulders, and seemed to flow out behind.

"It's a ghost," whispered Lewis, his scalp beginning to stretch with
the rising hairs. The boys watched the thing intently. It did not
seem to walk but rather to glide along about five or six feet from
the ground. Suddenly it turned from its course parallel to the river,
and started to come in the direction of the dormitory. It came on and
on until within perhaps a hundred yards of the foot of the slightly
higher ground on which the dormitories were built, and then swung
away off in the direction of the football stands and disappeared as
suddenly as it had come, while they stood watching with fascinated
eyes.

Frank was the first to recover himself.

"Well, if that doesn't beat the Dutch," he said, turning a puzzled
face to his companions. Lewis was positively blue with fear.

"I thought the thing was coming right up the bank," he said.

"Yes, you grabbed me as if you had been a drowning man and I had been
a straw," said Jimmy.

"You did some grabbing yourself," retorted Lewis, beginning to
recover himself now that the apparition had gone.

"Well, I'll admit the blooming thing did startle me, all right. Must
have been a shadow," said Frank. "The moon plays funny tricks with
shadows at night."

"It wasn't a shadow," remarked David, "because I distinctly saw a
black shadow following the thing, whatever it was; and if it had been
a shadow it certainly wouldn't have cast a shadow, would it?"

The boys stood at the window for half an hour looking for another
visitation of the spook or ghost, or whatever it was, but the field
appeared to be deserted. There was only the moonlight on the grass,
the black shadows and the katydids calling mournfully to each other
the old, old refrain. Then Lewis and Jimmy made their departure, the
former keeping very close to Jimmy as they headed for their own room.
Unconsciously they quickened their steps and occasionally looked
fearfully over their shoulders, and on reaching their entry made a
break for their room, three steps at a leap.

A little while after Jimmy and Lewis had made their hasty exit to the
other end of Warren Hall, Gleason came sauntering up the stairs, and
into the room.

"This is our new room-mate, David Powers," said Frank. David and
Gleason shook hands.

"Glad to see you," said the Codfish. "Hope you and Web-foot won't get
lost in that big room of yours--what's the matter with the both of
you?--you look as if you had seen a ghost."

"That's just what we did do."

"Get out, where?"

"Right down there on the meadow."

"Go to bed and have a little sleep, and you'll get over it all right.
You're studying too hard."

"I saw it too," chimed David. "There were four of us and we saw it
plain as day."

"What was it, the headless horseman or the slaughtering ghost of the
Barrows' football team? Did it walk or skate?"

"No, we're telling you the straight goods on this. Jimmy, Lewis,
David and I saw it, and watched it for five minutes. It disappeared
down by the river bank. It didn't walk on the ground at all, but
seemed to be floating through air."

"Poor fellow, poor fellow," said the Codfish mournfully. "We'll get a
doctor in the morning. That algebra has gone to his brain."

"Well, you can believe it or not," said Frank. "We saw it sure
enough. It came apparently from the river, and seemed to go back to
it down there by the football field."

"By Jove," said the Codfish, after a moment's reflection. "One of the
fellows at this school was drowned in the river just a little below
the bath-house float three or four years ago, and they recovered his
body down there by the football stand. I wonder---- I wish I'd been
here."

And Frank and David and Jimmy and Lewis also wondered, and the
latter, when he was ready for dreamland took a long, long look out
onto the silent playground. "Gee," he said to himself, "and I thought
of going down there to-night, it looked so pretty in the moonlight.
What do you suppose it could have been?" He took the precaution of
closing the window tight that night, leaving only those windows
on the yard side of the rooms open. That night he dreamed that a
headless woman dressed all in white stood beside his bed, and offered
him her head which she had tucked nicely away under her arm, and when
he looked at it more closely, he saw it was a football and not a head
at all.

CHAPTER XV.

FRANK WINS HONORS ON THE TRACK.

David very quickly dropped into the school life, just as Frank had
done. The two room-mates were always together. David was eager to
see everything, and every day found him, after the school work was
done, down at the track or the gridiron. He also found time to get
acquainted with the muscle building apparatus in the gymnasium. A
certain small amount of gymnastic work was required at Queen's, but
David had determined to take up some specialty. From the nature of
his infirmity those things which could be done with the arms and body
were, of course, the only things open to him. Patsy's assistant in
the gymnasium, Harry Buehler, took him under his wing, and set him at
tasks which would help to develop his arm and shoulder muscles.

"Do you think there's any chance for me to do anything for the
school?" inquired David, shortly after he began his work.

"Why, certainly there is. One of the best athletes we had here three
or four years ago was a chap named Bascom. He had bad legs, but the
way he could handle himself on the horizontal bar was a caution. He
set the record here, too, for rope-climbing. I don't think it will be
broken for some time to come."

David made a mental note that if he could develop, he would take a
whack at that record, whatever it was. In the meantime he was content
to do the simple athletic tasks which were set for him. Frank, who
was not much for gymnastic work, preferring the outdoor athletics,
came down to see David one day, and found that youngster lying on the
mat and raising dumbbells at arm's length.

"Great Scott," he said, "where did you get all that strength? I don't
believe I could do that so easily."

David grinned. "Perhaps the explanation is that the strength I
haven't got in my legs goes to my arms. I can lift heavier ones than
that. Look," and he seized a 25-pound bell and swung it up and down.

Frank was amazed. "I didn't think you had such strength. What will
you be when you work a while under Buehler? I'll certainly not get
into a fight with you. I'd have no chance at all."

"I guess we will not fight right away," returned David. "But I say,
you are in the track games to-morrow, are you not? I noticed a
bulletin tacked up on the door giving the entries. Does football stop
the afternoon of the games? I see some of the players' names there."

"Yes, they give the pigskin warriors a day off, and some of them take
part. The games are chiefly to give Patsy a line on what there is in
the incoming class. In order to make it interesting as a contest,
every one takes part, the 'Q' men as well as the new men."

"You're going to try the hundred and the broad jump, I see."

"Yes, Patsy says I may be good at one or the other if I live long
enough. But I haven't much hopes of myself. I'm too green."

"I'll bet you will make the best of them all," said David
enthusiastically.

"Oh, come now, David, no taffy here. It's bad enough for a fellow who
can do something to have a swelled head, but when a fellow can't do
anything at all, it's fatal. So don't try to puff me. I won't stay
and listen or I may get the big-head microbe. See you later. Don't
strain yourself with those big weights. I'm responsible to your dad
for your well-being. Ta, ta."

At four o'clock the next afternoon there was a sprinkling of Queen's
boys, the non-athletic fellows, down on the stands, to see what
the new class was likely to do for the school in the way of track
athletics. Queen's had been down in the dumps in this particular
line of sport for several years, and it had become almost a habit to
lose to Warwick. There was always pretty good material available for
the weight events, but for some singular reason no sprinters headed
Queen's way. It had become noised about that a new sprinter in the
person of Frank Armstrong had been turned up by Patsy, and every one
wanted to see just how fast he was.

The first race to be run was the quarter in which there were seven
starters. Queen's track was a quarter-mile, and the runners were
to start at the middle of the back stretch, and finish down the
straightaway. This gave them only one turn, and it was supposed to
be easier on that account. Hillard was scratch man on this event.
The new men were given various handicaps--that is, Patsy set them
at points from 10 to 20 yards further along, so as to even up their
speed with that of Hillard, who had won the event the year before
from the best that Warwick had to offer.

"Nothing in that bunch," said a Senior as he looked the fellows over;
"they're not strong enough. Look at that skinny Freshman with 20
yards handicap. I'll bet he'll die half way down the stretch."

The little chap he referred to was a slender boy of fourteen, light
haired almost to whiteness, and very spindly in his shanks. He had
come from some little town in the western part of the state, and was
so insignificant looking that no one paid much attention to him in
the fall practice. Even Patsy's eye failed to note him. His name was
Brown--Tommy Brown.

After Patsy had put all his runners on their marks, he gave the usual
preparatory signal for starting, and the pistol snapped. There was a
rush of spectators for the end of the straightaway where the runners
were to finish. Hillard, sure of himself, and moving rapidly, soon
began to overhaul the inexperienced Freshmen. One by one he passed
them, and as he swung into the straightaway with half the distance
gone, only two were ahead of him. One of these was the fellow who had
run second to Hillard the year before, and the other was Brown, the
skinny one.

"Look at that toothpick coming," rose a cry from the watchers. He
certainly was "coming" like a locomotive, his thin legs flying
and his arms working like flails. A hundred yards from the finish
Hillard caught Peckham, but the little whitehead was still legging
it ten yards in front of him. And now Hillard settled down to do his
best. Slowly he came up on Tommy Brown while the school yelled its
applause, but those thin, flying shanks still continued to move with
unbroken rhythm, and despite Hillard's greatest efforts he could not
overhaul the Freshman who, with a great burst of speed, broke the
tape six feet ahead of the champion. Immediately there was a babel of
voices.

"Hurray for Skinny!"

"New world-beater come to town."

"Hurray for the Freshman!"

"Hard luck, Hillard, old boy."

Patsy who had made a short cut from the start of the quarter to
the finish, and got there just in time to see the Freshman's great
effort, hurried after him on the way to the gymnasium, and whispered
a word of praise in his ear. Coming back he displayed a stop watch
whose hand pointed to 55 3-5 seconds.

"And that's going some for a kid," he said. "I'll make something of
him before he gets through at Queen's." And Patsy kept his word, for
Tommy Brown not only won points for his school, but when he went to
college---- But that's another story.

After the quarter mile came the half, but nothing worth while turned
up there. The event was run in slow time, and the Freshmen who were
entered made a very poor showing.

Then came the first heat of the hundred yards dash. Twelve runners
were entered--among them Frank Armstrong, who was drawn in the first
lot to be sent over the distance. As they came from the gymnasium and
trotted up to the start, their good points were commented on by the
spectators.

"Armstrong looks like a runner," said one. "He has a good step and a
good face."

"I don't care about his face," said another of the group, "if he has
good legs and knows how to use them."

David and Gleason were perched on the uppermost row of the stand
where they could see the entire length of the hundred. David was all
excitement. "Do they all run together?" he asked Gleason.

"Oh, no, they run it in heats or trials. It wouldn't be fair to run
them all at the same time for they couldn't all get an even start.
This track will only accommodate six at one time. First, second and
third in each heat qualify for the finals, so you see each runner has
to go over the distance twice."

"I see."

"They're getting ready," announced Gleason. "See them getting down on
their toes. They're off!"

A white puff of smoke came from the pistol in Patsy's hand, and the
sound of the explosion came sharply to their ears. Away at the top of
the stretch they saw the runners spring forward.

Down the track they swept for thirty yards, none having any
advantage. Then the runner on the pole and Frank began to forge to
the front. On they came, nip and tuck, until just near the finish the
fellow on the pole made a great effort and broke the tape four or
five feet ahead of Frank. The third man was a step behind Frank.

"Oh, what a pity he couldn't keep up," said David mournfully.

"What's the matter with you? He did exactly right," said Gleason.

"How is that--he was beaten, wasn't he?"

"Yes, my son," replied the Codfish, "he was beaten for first place,
but he qualified for the final, and that's all you need. What was
the use of his running himself out? You see what an effort the other
fellow had to win, didn't you? I told Frank myself to run easy in
this first heat even if he only came in third place. Third would have
been just as good as where he finished."

Then came the second trial of the hundred immediately on the heels
of the first. This was well run, but slower, and it was won by the
bandy-legged Herring. A Freshman named King was second, and Wilson, a
Sophomore, third.

The mile followed and showed nothing promising, no Freshmen getting
nearer than fifth place.

"Didn't expect anything, anyway," said Patsy. "A fellow has to
learn to run the mile." But in the hurdle trials Tommy Brown, the
skinny spindle-shanks, surprised everybody by galloping off with
first place, beating out Morris, the Junior hurdler. In the finals,
however, Morris got back at him and won, but the Freshman made him
stretch himself to the limit. Patsy was as happy as a lark at finding
such youngsters.

"This Freshman class has some good stuff in it," he said, "the best
that has come to Queen's for many moons. Armstrong and Brown are
going to be corkers, you mark my words. Just watch Armstrong in the
hundred. For a kid who has had no experience he is a wonder."

"All out for the finals of the hundred," cried Patsy's assistant, who
was helping to run off the events. The summons brought out the six
who had been successful in the trials--Collins, Herring, Armstrong,
King, Wilson, and a Junior named Howard. The latter two were not
expected to figure very heavily in the race.

"Collins and Herring will run scratch in this race," said Patsy, who
was getting the six ready up at the start. "You two Freshmen go to
that six-foot handicap mark; Howard and Wilson, you take an extra
yard."

The boys went to their places, and there was a false start, but on
the next attempt they got away splendidly. The first spring took
Frank ahead of King, and he never saw him again until the race was
over, but Collins, who had got a magnificent start, had made up most
of the distance in the first thirty yards. Frank felt him at his
elbow, and determined not to let him pass that point. On they flew.
The spectators were crowding out on the track and craning their
necks. Collins was running desperately for his reputation as the best
sprinter in the school was at stake. He had come up on Frank inch by
inch, but every inch was hard won. The crowd was close above them now
and shouting:

"Collins!"

"Armstrong!"

"The Freshman's winning!"

"Gee, what a race!"

Inch by inch Collins gained till he was even with Frank, but past him
he could not get. Frank was running with every ounce of power in his
body, and still held on. He could see the little red line across his
path at the finish now, and in another instant he felt the touch of
it on his breast. But at the same instant Collins touched it, too.

"A dead heat, a dead heat," shouted the crowd. The boys had crossed
the line exactly together.

"Good, Freshman!"

"That's the boy, Armstrong."

And half a score of his own class surrounded Frank and patted him on
the back. The effort had been so great that he could hardly stand,
and he was glad enough when Jimmy and Lewis took him by the shoulders
and let him rest some of his weight on them, but he soon recovered
a bit. Herring, who was third, and Collins came up and gave him a
kindly word, and Patsy said when Frank had started for the gym,
"There is a game kid, I tell you. When he knows how to run, as I mean
he shall, you will all take off your hats to him. I guess we will
have something to send down to the Interscholastics in New Haven next
spring after all."

CHAPTER XVI.

WARWICK INVADES QUEEN'S.

It was the morning of the closing football game of the Queen's School
schedule, Saturday, November 12, and recitations were hurried the
least little bit. Even the teachers felt the excitement of the day.
This was shown by the generous disposition to overlook poor lessons
for at least one morning of the school year, and some of them even
cut the hours short.

David, who had interviewed the Doctor and taken his place with his
class the first of the week, felt the thrill of enthusiasm, and was
burning for the slow hours to drag along till 2 o'clock when the
great contest was to be called. Football was literally in the air,
for everywhere in the school yard, where there was a chance for it
between the recitations, groups of boys were gathered and footballs
flew high from vigorous toes, and there was the resounding thwack as
the ball dropped in some fellow's arms thirty yards away from the
kicker.

It was an ideal day for the game--just a little nip of frost in
the air, the merest suggestion of the coming winter, but this was
tempered by a bright, warm sun. It was not so warm that the players
would be exhausted by the heat, nor was it so cold that spectators
were put to the inconvenience and discomfort of heavy wraps.

About noon the invading hosts of Warwick began to reach the Queen's
School, and spread themselves about the grounds, flaunting the
red and black colors of Warwick. Here and there groups of boys
from the two schools gathered together, and there was some little
fraternizing, but as a general thing the black and red and the blue
and gold did not mix well. The rivalry between the two schools in
everything was intense, and the members of each thought the other
school just a little inferior in most things.

This feeling sometimes resulted in blows being struck and blood shed
from bruised noses when encounters took place between representatives
of the two away from school grounds. But to-day was the day of the
year, and while rivalry was strong, the feeling of antagonism was
held in check, for wasn't Queen's the host to-day, and Warwick the
guest? No blood should be shed this day except on the fair field of
battle--the gridiron.

"What's the matter, Jimmy?" said Frank to that individual, whom he
chanced to meet hurrying along the path in front of Warren Hall.
"Have you seen that ghost again?"

"No, but I'm pretty nervous."

"Been losing sleep over the apparition?"

"Oh, shucks, no. The old ghost doesn't bother me, but I just met
Horton and he told me that he may put me in before the game is over.
I'm scared to death."

"And what's to worry you about that? I thought that's what you wanted
most of anything on this green, grassy earth."

"Well, I do, but what would happen if I didn't make good?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, you'll be Johnny on the spot, I'm
willing to bet. And if you get in, you'll get your 'Q.' Just think of
it--your first year!"

"I'm not thinking of the 'Q' so much as whether I can do what I've
got to do. I feel just like I did that day when you and I swam at
the water carnival at Turner's Point last summer--shaky all over."

Frank grinned as he recalled it.

"I remember that well enough. Before the race came off I was sure
that the moment I hit the water I'd go down, and drown, but as soon
as I hit the water I thought no more about it. And you will be like
that. I tell you it's a big honor to be able to get on the team the
first year. Not many Freshmen get the chance. I'm proud to know you,
Mr. James Turner."

"Quit your jollying, Frank, and tell me if you've seen the ghost
since. You never saw such a scared kid as Lewis was that night, and
you couldn't get him down on the playgrounds after eight o'clock if
you were to pay him real money."

"Yes," said Frank, "David and I saw it night before last in exactly
the same place. It seemed to come from nowhere and disappeared behind
the football stand. Seems as if it went into the water. Isn't it
queer?"

"It is mighty queer, indeed. What did Gleason say about it?"

"Oh, he wasn't in at the time. He'd gone over to the library early
in the evening, and David and I were alone. When he came in and
we told him about it, he said it must surely be the ghost of the
drowned boy. He had inquired of old Peter Flipp, the shoemaker up on
the hill, and Peter told him that the meadows were what he called
'hanted'."

"Did you see it clearly this time?"

"No, not so clearly as the first time; the moon, you know, is on the
wane now, and the grounds were darker, but still light enough to show
pretty plainly. It was the same figure, and seemed to move pretty
swiftly, faster than a walk, I should say, and slower than a run,
and, as before, it was above the ground."

"Well, it beats me," said Jimmy. "I've never heard of anything like
it. I must be getting along. Here comes Gleason now. Good-bye, old
speed. I'll see you later," and Jimmy turned away, as Gleason came up.

"Telling him what the score is going to be this afternoon, old
Web-foot?" inquired Gleason.

"No, Codfish, I was telling him about the second visitation of that
thing down on the grounds by the river. When this football season is
over, I'm going to lay for that old ghost or whatever it is."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Gleason, "you don't know what might
happen. I've heard of people who tried a hand with ghosts and their
hair turned white in a single night from sheer fright. I wouldn't
like to see my trusty wife in such a condition as that."

"Just the same I'd like to take a closer look at that thing, and I
don't believe I'd be afraid; but at present there is something else
to be done, and that's to get something to eat and get down to the
grounds in time for a good seat."

"Looks like a big crowd to-day. Guess these Warwickers have all left
their happy homes to see the slaughter, and I'm afraid they're not
going to be disappointed," said Gleason.

"Oh, don't lose heart, you can't tell. There may be a Freshman in
the game before it's through, and that will help a lot." Frank threw
this last word over his shoulder to Gleason as he hurried to the
dining-room. Coming from the hall, after a hastily snatched bite, he
overtook the Wee One, and together they journeyed to the gymnasium,
where both teams were to dress for the fray, Warwick having been
given the big locker room on the second floor, while Queen's
retained the lower floor.

As they approached the gymnasium a big coach drove down the river
road in a cloud of dust. It was positively covered with boys. It bore
the football eleven of Warwick and its immediate crowd of heelers.
Wherever a boy could stick, he had stuck himself, and every one swung
the colors of the school.

"Gee whiz, look at those mastodons," cried Wee Willie as the Warwick
players began to uncoil themselves from various parts of the coach.
"They'll eat us alive. I know they must be cannibals. Poor Queen's,
poor Queen's."

"They certainly are whales," said Frank, "but they look a bit logy to
me. A good fast team ought to keep them on the jump."

"Yes, but where do you see that good, fast team? It doesn't live
hereabouts, does it?"

"Oh, don't get discouraged so early in the game. Wait at least till
they've played a few minutes."

By this time the coach had unloaded, and the heelers of the eleven,
reinforced by fifty or more boys of those who had come down earlier
in the day, got together and gave the snappy school yell:

  "War I wickety-kick,
  War I wickety-kick,
  Rah, rah, rah, WARWICK."

"They yell as if it were all over, don't they?" observed David, who
had just come up.

"There does seem to be something of jubilance in it, that's a fact,"
said the Wee One. "And the eleven is certainly big enough to give
the York Freshmen a rub if weight amounts to anything. Come on, we'd
better get to our places, the stand is filling up."

Every one around the country-side within a radius of ten miles was
present. Country lads and lassies making a holiday of it; fond papas
and mammas to see Charlie or Freddie or Tommy take his part in the
game. And mamma was very shivery about what might happen to the young
man in the conflict so soon to come. And then there were the young
beaux of both Warwick and Queen's who had blossomed out into their
very best, each with a pretty little maid, perhaps from as far away
as Milton, at his side, who simply revelled in the blue and gold or
the red and black. Some of the girls even carried the color scheme
into their hats and clothing. And such a hum of talk and such a
clatter, as the crowds climbed the wooden bleachers looking for the
best vantage points, and such a world of questions for the young
beaux to answer the pretty little maidens.

"Oh, dear," says one fair questioner, "what are those white H's at
each end of the field for?"

"White what?" says the escort.

"Those big wooden things like an H--two straight pieces, and another
across the middle; it looks like an H. What does it stand for?"

"Stand for, stand for, why it stands to get kicked at. It's the goal
post, Minnie."

"O, stupid, I should have known. And those little white lines. I
suppose they're out if they run across them."

"Of course they are," says the escort, busy watching the corner
of the field where the teams make their appearance, and not
comprehending what she says.

But Frank, the Wee One, David and Gleason have no attachments of any
kind. Frank had written an urgent letter to his father and mother to
come up, but Mrs. Armstrong was not very well, and could not make the
trip, and Mr. Armstrong was too busy at the office. "Will come up
when you are on the team," was the answer. And the quartet were all
very well satisfied to see the game this way.

Suddenly there was a great waving of red and black flags as the
Warwick eleven came lumbering onto the field with Captain Channing at
their head. A burst of cheering rolled up. The snappy Warwick yell
floated out over the field and then a rollicking song.

In the middle of the song up rose the whole Queen's side of the stand
and let out a roar, for the Queen's team was seen coming 'way down
by the far end. Their quick movements were in sharp contrast to the
heavier Warwicks. And as the school saw their active prancing, a
feeling came from somewhere that after all the hard knocks they might
win to-day. The cheer leaders were busy pumping melody out of the
bunch on the stands:

"What are you doing, whispering? Get into it and let's hear you. It's
as silent out here as the town of Milton on a summer afternoon." This
brought a laugh, for Milton was not noted for its activity at any
time of the year. And they got into the song which the cheer leader
called for.

Both teams were, meanwhile, going through a brief practice in signal
drill.

"My, how Channing boots that ball--see it soar!" cried Frank, and
soar it did. Channing was a remarkable punter for a schoolboy, and
every kick he sent off was labelled danger for the catching backs.

"Jimmy is not in the line-up," observed the Wee One to Frank.

"No, didn't expect he would be at first, but I think he'll get in,
for I don't believe Hillard will last long. He was never very good as
a defensive player anyway."

"Horton wants to put him in anyway at the first of the game so as to
get the best of his speed. Good plan, too."

"Think it is a mistake," ventured the Codfish, "because these fellows
from up the river are going to slam-bang that line of ours, and
they'll need all the defence they can get, and on defense Turner is
about twice as good as Hillard. If I were coaching I'd put my best
backs in and try to stop these fellows' fire, and then when I had
them stopped I'd put in my fast fellows and run around them."

"There's wisdom in what you say, Solomon, but as you're not the
coach, you can't give us a demonstration, and Mr. Horton will."

By this time the teams had finished their signal drill, and gathered
each in a little knot while the captains went out to midfield to toss
the coin for position on the field.

"There she goes," said the Wee One. "Bet you Queen's gets it."

"You lose," said Gleason, "Warwick got it and Channing's taking the
wind at his back. Oh, my, oh, my! That's bad, right off the bat."

The Warwick captain had elected to take the wind, and the breeze
now blowing would be a considerable help to him. The sun affected
neither, as the football field lay nearly north and south.

"There we go," cried Frank, as a piercing whistle announced the
beginning of hostilities.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE GREAT FOOTBALL GAME.

From the powerful toe of Mitchell, the right guard on the Warwick
eleven, the ball, which he had carefully set at the center of
the field, went flying directly between the goal posts. It was a
wonderful kick, and a great yell rose from the Warwick sympathizers,
who believed that Warwick had scored so soon.

"What are they shouting about?" said the Codfish, contemptuously.
"They'd better read the rule book. It isn't a score."

"It went between the posts, fair and square," said David.

"Oh, but you can't score a goal from a kick-off," said Frank. "The
ball will have to come back,--there, you see the referee is bringing
it back to the center of the field. Mr. Mitchell will have to do it
over again."

"You're wrong again," said the Codfish. "It's a touchback, and
Queen's brings it out to the 25-yard line."

It was now Queen's time to cheer, and the Warwick crowd, which had
jumped excitedly to its feet, sat down, the points they supposed they
had made having suddenly been taken away from them, as they thought.

"It simply makes me sick the way some of the people who attend
football games show their ignorance of the first principles of the
game. They couldn't tell an off-side play from a woolly dog. Wow!
there she goes," as the ball rose from Queen's kick-out and carried
on a long, slicing drive away down towards the side of the field. But
Warwick punted on first down and sent it once more into Queen's goal.

"That's going to be a hard one to get back," said the Wee One. "It
doesn't give our fellows much chance to dodge, it dropped so close to
the side lines. Hillard's got it, Hillard's got it!"

"Good boy, Hillard!" shouted every one, for that individual, by
twisting and squirming, had carried it from Queen's 10-yard line
diagonally across the field to the 25-yard line, where he was stopped
from behind when a clear field was almost in sight. It was a pretty
run, and brought the ball out of danger for a little while.

There was great excitement in both stands as the two teams lined
up for the scrimmage. Frank found himself holding onto the seat
desperately as the lines crouched, and his jaw was chattering. He
could see out of the corner of his eye the tense look on the faces of
the other fellows.

"Crash!" went the lines. There was a quick pass from Chip to Dutton,
and the latter went into the line head first in what ought to have
been a hole but wasn't, for the tackle didn't make it for him, and
the result was that he got no further than his tackle's heels, and
was there piled under a heap.

"Second down, ten yards to gain," shouted the referee.

"Nothing doing," cried Gleason. "They're as solid as a rock. I wonder
if Chip will try it again before kicking."

They had not long to wait, for in another instant Hillard was off
for a run at left, and with the ball securely tucked under his arm.
Hillard ran behind a good interference which kept him from turning
in, but when 20 yards had been covered in a straight run across the
field, he left his interference, and took his chance on an open
space which had just offered. The quick change of direction bothered
him, he slipped and fell, rolled head over heels for a yard or two,
and was pinned down to the earth by the big Warwick halfback.

"Didn't make it, did he?"

"Guess not; they're going to measure." The linesmen ran out with
their chain while the two teams gathered to watch the proceedings.
Then the men with the chain straightened up, and ran back to the
sidelines again while Queen's prepared for a scrimmage, and the
Warwick defence backfield scampered backwards as hard as they could
go.

"Queen's ball and they are going to kick. Only a little to gain, but
they don't dare take the chance. Good judgment, Mr. Dixon," said
Frank.

"We'd put him in a mad-house if he did anything else, particularly
with those big farmers. Twenty-five-yard line's too near your own
roost to monkey with fate," growled Gleason.

Wheeler got off a rattling good kick which carried to the middle of
the field, travelled high and dropped straight. The Warwick back
was deceived. He expected it to go farther than it did and was not
under it when it came down. There was a great mix-up, and when the
dust cleared away Captain Harding was found on the ball. Queen's ball
on the enemy's territory! How Queen's did yell! Warwick's red and
black flags were as quiet as death now that the blue and gold waved
jubilantly.

"Well, if they do that every now and then we may get one over on
them. Come on now and get into this, Queen's," shouted the Wee One.
He was all excitement, now that there seemed to be a chance, and
one listening to him would think he was running the eleven from his
position on the stand. Frank was scarcely less excited, but he kept
control of his tongue.

Dutton slammed into centre for three yards, and then in the same
place made more than enough for a first down. Again Chip drove him at
center, but this time the Warwick backs came a little closer up and
smothered Dutton when his head went through the line.

"No gain that time, was there?" queried Frank.

"No, the chump might have seen those backs coming in a bit if he'd
used his eyes. Wonder if he thought they were going to keep on
leaving the door for him there at centre? What's up, I wonder?" he
added, for the Queen's team had gathered around their captain, with
their heads together. "Some trick play they're going to pull off.
They'd better stick to the good old bucking since it's going well."

But the critics upon the bleachers were deceived,--it was not a trick
play then, at any rate, for the next play Chip sent against the enemy
was a delayed pass with Hillard taking the ball. He had a big hole,
and went for it fast, but somehow, without any one being near him,
he managed to drop the ball. It struck the ground in plain view of
every one, but, providentially for him, bounced up into his hands,
and on he went without the slightest check. The delay in making the
pass had unsettled the Warwickians, who expected something entirely
different, and before they could recover Hillard had gone fifteen
yards. The Warwick quarter, who was the only player between Hillard
and a touchdown, threw him hard. Queen's yells broke out afresh, and
now the Warwick cheering section began to get busy, calling out in
unison:

"Hold them, hold them, hold them!"

"Gee whiz! if Hillard doesn't stop those circus stunts," said the
Wee One, "you might as well send for the ambulance right away. I'll
die of heart failure. Did you ever see such luck that he recovered
it?"

"They ought to put tacks to his fingers, and see if they couldn't get
him to hold the ball that way," grumbled Gleason.

"A basket would be better for him."

"No, it wouldn't, he'd lose the basket."

The ball now lay about Warwick's 35-yard line, and so far Queen's had
all the best of the battle, but it must be admitted that Queen's also
had had all the luck. But by good luck and some skill the eleven had
made good progress, and it really began to appear as if they could
hold the big fellows from up the river. The hope in the Queen's stand
was doomed to quick disappointment, for on the next play Dutton made
a scant yard just outside of tackle, and Boston Wheeler could do no
better than another yard through the weak centre. It was third down
and yards still to go, so Dixon signalled a drop kick.

"It's all off now," groaned the Codfish, "we haven't a drop kicker on
the whole squad. More's the pity."

"Well, let's all pray that he gets it over even if he kicks it with
his knee. They're getting ready. Steady now. Oh, Lord,--hurray,
hurray, it's over!"

The ball came straight and fast, and although the Warwick players
seemed to be surging all around and over him, Boston Wheeler somehow
got it away, a most slovenly kick, but the ball rose out of the ring
of grasping arms, and went in a wobbling fashion in the direction of
the goal, struck on the cross-bar and jumped over.

The Queen's cheering section was making the place echo with its yell:

"Rah, rah, rah, Queen's! Rah, rah, rah, Queen's!"

"Well, that helps some," said Frank. "Three points are not to be
sneered at, and they came pretty easy, too."

"Oh, my, but what luck!" laughed the Codfish, who had been pounding
every one on the back.

"It will probably make those farmers come back harder than ever, and
it's early in the game, so don't get too gay yet awhile. They haven't
been at it five minutes yet."

The Wee One was right. The score, so unexpected for both sides,
drove the big red and black team to desperation, and after the next
kick-off, when the ball came into their possession near midfield,
they went at Queen's like wild men, and tore their line to pieces.
Wherever their backs hit they made gaping holes, and carried the ball
five yards at a jump. Queen's fought with great determination, and as
the enemy ploughed along they found it harder going as they neared
the Queen's goal line. Most of the advance was made on Hillard's side
of the line, where the Warwick quarter found gains could be made the
easiest. He was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity.

Finally the ball lay on the Queen's ten-yard line. Warwick was
confident, and crouched for the trial, but something went wrong with
the signals, and there was a loss of a yard. Big Henderson, the right
half of the Warwick team, who had a reputation for being able to
bore through anything short of a stone wall, was called upon, and
smashed through the Queen's left side and made four of the necessary
yards before he was pulled down by main force. It was third down and
several yards to the goal line.

"Will they try to carry it, do you think?" David asked.

"Guess they don't know themselves," answered the Codfish, "they're
talking it over. If I were running the team I'd slam into the line
again, although it ought to be an easy drop kick for Channing."

"They'll try to carry it, of course," cut in the Wee One; "see,
they're getting ready; Henderson's going to take the ball, bet you a
horse and cart."

He was right. Henderson did take the ball. He dove head first into
the hole that was offered for him, and tried to sidestep Dutton,
who was coming at him like a bull. He could not avoid the tackle,
however. Dutton knocked the pins clean from under him, and he came
down on his elbow with so great a shock that the ball flew from his
arms, and bounded away toward the goal line. Half a dozen forms dived
for it, but Harding, being fortunately near at the moment, reached it
first and hugged it to his breast.

It was a narrow escape, for when the two teams lined up a moment
later the ball was placed on the ground only two feet away from the
Queen's goal, but it was Queen's ball. The Queen's sympathizers
breathed easier for a while.

Boston Wheeler had to go far behind his own line to kick, and
Channing, who was playing back now for Warwick, received the ball
from Wheeler's punt on the Queen's 25-yard line. He made no gain,
as the two ends were on him almost as soon as the ball touched his
fingers.

Now Warwick began all over again, harder than ever. It was two yards
here, five in another place, and in almost as short a time as it
takes to tell it, the ball was back in dangerous territory. In spite
of every effort that Queen's could put forth, the big fullback,
Channing, tore through the last yards, with Henderson at his back,
and fell across the goal line just outside of the post. And now it
was the turn of the red and black flags to wave, and the cheers which
rent the air had something of jubilance in them, because Warwick had
been able to cross the line, while Queen's could only score by drop
kicks, and, moreover, Warwick was two points in the lead, but only
that, for the goal from touchdown failed. Her sympathizers had good
reason to cheer.

"There's no doubt about it, Warwick is stronger than we are, and only
more luck like we had at the beginning and then some more luck, will
save us," said the Wee One gloomily.

For the remainder of the period the battle raged up and down the
field, Warwick always the aggressor. Lack of concerted action was the
chief fault of Queen's, and the captain did not seem to be able to
pull his men together.

When the whistle blew to end the period, the team walked off to the
gymnasium to be freshened up by their handlers. The score stood 3 to
5 against Queen's.

"Like Files on Parade, in Kipling's 'Danny Deever,' 'I'm dreadin' wot
I got to watch' this next period," said the Wee One. "Danny Deever"
was his favorite verse and he was fond of quoting it.

"Will Jimmy go in this second period, do you think?" David inquired.

"I don't know, but I hope so. I hope he gets a chance, and certainly
Hillard hasn't distinguished himself to-day."

But when the teams came out for the second period, Hillard and Dutton
were still the backs. Ends of the field having been changed again,
Warwick had the wind, which was now breezing up considerably.

From the minute the whistle blew Warwick became the aggressor and
Queen's was constantly on the defensive. Once or twice Queen's had
the ball and attempted to carry it, but there was no unity in the
play, and they were obliged to give it up with a punt. But somehow
they managed to stave off the bigger team, helped along considerably
by the latter's blunders and fumbles. The third period went in much
the same way and play had been going on for five minutes of the
last quarter when Warwick began to get things running to suit them.
Then they began an irresistible advance. Twice Channing got around
Harding's end for a pretty run. The Queen's captain seemed to be
dazed. When he began to go to pieces, his team followed him.

Warwick had advanced to the Queen's 15-yard line and on the third
down, having two yards to go, prepared for a drop kick. But the
preparation was only a fake, for on a quick pass, Channing, seeing
his opportunity, made a long, sweeping end run, cleared an outlying
end, threw off Chip, raced behind the goal, and touched the ball down.

Of course, there was a great jubilation, for the score was now 10 to
3, and when the goal was kicked a few minutes later, still another
point was added.

As the team trudged back up the field to take their positions for the
next kick-off, Hillard was seen walking wearily towards the sidelines.

"There's your friend the Turner, my old wifie, going in," observed
the Codfish. "Now things will be different. Eh, what?"

"Too late, I'm afraid. Jimmy's good, but he can't play the whole
game." But Jimmy came pretty near to playing the whole game, as
Warwick found out. Wherever they shot their backs toward the line
the Freshman was there to meet the charge. He tackled everywhere,
and when he got his arms around a Warwick leg there was no further
advance just then. It was wonderful to see that red shock of hair
flying from point to point, defending the weak places. Warwick had
penetrated Queen's territory half a dozen times, only to be held
up when they thought they were about to score, and principally by
Jimmy's wonderful defensive work.

Finally, after one of these charges down the field, it was Queen's
ball on downs on her own 20-yard line. Time was passing rapidly, and
there seemed very little hope of any more scoring. Warwick was pretty
tired, and Queen's was so badly disorganized that they couldn't make
anything go. In desperation Chip sent Dutton against the line, but he
was slammed back, and Jimmy, without any one to help him, suffered
the same fate. Now he tried Jimmy at the Warwick right end.

A new player had just gone in there, and Chip figured that it might
be good policy to shoot a play at him before he got his bearings. And
it was good judgment. Jimmy got away like a flash, Dutton acted as
interference for a few steps, but he was too logy, and Jimmy cut away
from his interference, bearing well out across the field. The faster
players of Warwick eleven followed him out, and the slower ones,
believing he would be run out of bounds, did not follow very hard.
Consequently, a considerable gap was left in the line of defensive.

Quick as a flash Jimmy dashed into the gap, dodging and twisting as
arms reached for him, but he was through. Between him and the goal
was only the Warwick quarter away down the field. Seeing Jimmy headed
for him, the quarter came up to meet him, confident that he would
stop him. Jimmy changed his direction a little, and bore off for the
sideline, so as to draw the quarter in that direction. His trick
was successful, for the quarter edged over to that side, expecting
to run him out of bounds. Then when the wide, unprotected field was
upon Jimmy, he swung to the left again, sidestepping the waiting arms
neatly.

Behind him thundered the whole of the Warwick eleven, and he imagined
he could feel their hot breaths on his neck, and their hands on his
body. But he threw his last ounce of energy into the business in
hand, and ran on, holding onto that ball like grim death. Now he was
only two chalk lines away, now one; a heavy body struck him, knocking
him off his legs, but he struck the ground like a rubber ball, and
rolled over and over across the goal line with that precious ball
hugged tightly to his breast. It was a touchdown.

Pandemonium reigned. Never had such a run been seen on Queen's field,
and it had been accomplished by a Freshman.

"Turner, Turner!" yelled the crowd, and they kept it up while the
goal was being kicked. A few minutes after the next kick-off, the
whistle blew ending the contest, and although Queen's had lost, the
crowd swept down from the stand and carried the embarrassed Jimmy,
the cause of all the racket, around and around the gridiron on their
shoulders. It was a great afternoon for Freshman Turner, and the
sting of defeat was forgotten by the whole school in the performance
of one of its younger members.

CHAPTER XVIII.

GAMMA TAU RECEIVES A SHOCK.

It was two weeks after the great game with Warwick, and things in
Queen's School had settled down into their normal condition. The
election of the captain had taken place a few days after the closing
game, and the choice was on Boston Wheeler, the fullback. The school
did not particularly like the choice, although Wheeler was really
a fair player, and had, while he was a member of Gamma Tau, showed
himself to be a man of rather good judgment.

"He's the best of the bunch," announced the Wee One, who had kept up
the friendship with Frank and his friends. The Wee One had just now
dropped into Frank's room to talk over the situation.

"Do you think he'll make a good leader?" questioned Frank.

"Yes, if he doesn't take too much advice from Chip Dixon. It's a
sure thing that as long as Dixon is on the eleven he will work it for
his friends, and he will work Wheeler for his friends."

"It's queer to me," said Frank, "that as bright as he is about most
things, he can't see where his playing favorites hurts himself, and
the team and the school. Although Jimmy was better than Hillard, he
fought him off as long as he could. I believe if Jimmy had been in
that game all through it the score would have been different. What do
you think?"

"Yes, I think the score would have been smaller for Warwick, but
Jimmy alone couldn't have stopped it. The trouble was with the
captain. He couldn't pull his men together when the test came. They
played good ball in spots, but they had it in them to play it all the
time. Gamma Tau is responsible for the poor athletic showing here at
Queen's. And, speaking of Gamma Tau, have you heard that they are
pledging for the March elections?"

"No, I hadn't heard. Are they?"

"Yes. I've been wondering if they've called on you."

"Me? Gracious! You know that Chip Dixon would rather stick me than
have me in Gamma Tau," said Frank.

"Perhaps so, but he isn't all of the Society. There are some good
fellows in it, and they don't take his view. What would you do if it
were offered to you, Frank?"

"I don't want it, and I wouldn't take an election."

"Yes, but Alpha Beta is the only other; you're sure to get asked by
their scouts. I wonder they haven't been around yet."

"I don't want Alpha Beta either. I don't see that it is necessary for
me to be in a society, is it? What good is Alpha, anyway?"

"Well, it's made up of the left-overs from Gamma Tau, as I told you
when you came here. It hasn't any weight. It's the Gamma that is the
Colossus around whose legs we all crawl."

"I'm not going to crawl around Gamma Tau. I don't like what it stands
for, so I'm going to stand for myself. I can get along without it."

"Hear, hear, fine sentiments from Mr. Frank Armstrong. Hurray for
high morality----"

The Wee One was interrupted by the opening of Frank's door. Jimmy
entered.

"Hello," he said, "glad to see you. Hope I'm not intruding."

"Oh, not at all. We were just talking about Gamma Tau and her scouts
who are out pledging for the elections."

"Well, that's just what I came over here to talk to Frank about."

"I'll be going then," said the Wee One, sliding down from the window
seat.

"No, don't," cried Jimmy. "You're just the Solomon whose advice I
need. You are bowed down with the wisdom of the ages. Stay where you
are."

"I'm on my pedestal again," announced the Wee One when he had climbed
back to his commanding position. "Fire away, and I'll pass judgment
with the help of the whole jury, Frank Armstrong. Have they asked you
to come into the fold?"

"That's just it. Cuthbert, of the baseball team, and another fellow I
don't know, came around half an hour ago and asked to see me alone.
They fired poor Lewis out of the room, locked the door, and then
began to ask me fool questions about myself. I didn't know what they
were driving at, but after a while Cuthbert stopped beating around
the bush, and asked me how I'd like to wear a Gamma Tau pin."

"And you said you'd rather have a rose," interjected the Wee One.

"No, I didn't. I just said I hadn't thought about it. Apparently he
had the notion that I should have fallen head-over-heels into the
plan. I hadn't been thinking about any such possibility, and I sat
there like a dummy."

"And what happened? You are killing me with impatience!"

"Well, they began to tell me some of the advantages of belonging to
it----"

"And some of the disadvantages of not belonging, eh?"

"No, they just hinted at those," said Jimmy, smiling. "They said that
I had made a good showing in football----"

"No credit to them," snorted Frank.

"And that if I kept on there would be a good chance for me to make
the captaincy, if I came into Gamma Tau."

"They emphasized the IF, I suppose?" inquired the Wee One.

"Well, it was a little like that. They intimated that with Gamma Tau
behind me I could have anything I wanted."

"Yes, that's exactly what they think. But maybe there'll be a change
some of these fine days."

"Well," said Jimmy, "I'm here for advice. What do you think I ought
to do?"

"Don't you know what to do?" said Frank.

"I think I do, but I don't want to make mistakes, and I thought I'd
like to talk it over with some one. My own notion is that Gamma Tau
can go hang. I don't like the bunch that is in Gamma Tau, and I don't
like the way they are running things in this school."

"You don't mean to say that another Freshman has chucked down poor
old Gamma Tau?" said the Wee One, in what he pretended was an
awe-struck whisper. "Frank here, has just been firing hot shot into
them. It's a rebellion of the Freshman class, that's what it is, I
tell you."

"Quit your jollying, Patty," said Jimmy. "Before Cuthbert and the
other fellows got out of my room I told them that I guessed I'd take
a chance on staying out, and if I couldn't make good on merits I'd
have to make bad. They said not to make up my mind in a hurry, and
that they'd see me again."

"A throw-down for the Gammas. Hurrah, hurroo! But it's all off with
you now. You have digged your grave, as they say in Shakespeare;
it's your athletic grave. You're as good as dead now. Go and buy a
nice, sweet little headstone and mark it: 'Sacred to the memory of
the rising athletic hopes of James Turner. Erected by the Gamma Tau
Society.'"

It seemed like a dread prophecy to both the boys, who had come to the
school hoping that they might be able to do something for the school
besides their school work, something to help the honor of the school
on field or river, and silence fell for a time on the gay talk. As
they sat there, steps were heard on the stairs.

"S-s-s-h!" whispered the Wee One. "I'll bet a dollar it's the Gamma
scouts come to have a whack at Frank. Jimmy, you and I hide." They
sprang from their seats and scampered to Frank's bedroom, where
they drew the curtain, from behind which they could hear everything
that might go on in the room. The Wee One's guess was good, for the
two were scarcely concealed when the footsteps stopped at the door,
and there was a knock. Frank had snatched a book from the table and
placed himself in the attitude of study.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and in walked the Gamma scouts, Cuthbert and his
friend.

"Sit down," said Frank courteously, rising and offering his visitors
chairs.

"What did I tell you?" whispered the Wee One to Jimmy, "They're after
your young friend."

"How do you like Queen's?" was Cuthbert's first query. "Pretty good
place, isn't it?"

"I haven't been here very long," said Frank, "but I think it's fine.
If we only had some good athletic teams here! Seems to be a dandy
bunch of fellows."

"Yes, I guess it's one of the best schools in this part of the
country," said Cuthbert. "We are not so big as Andover nor Hotchkiss
nor Hill School, but size isn't always the best thing. We are closer
together than these big schools, and in a small school all the best
fellows get together easier." Cuthbert settled himself in his chair,
and threw back his coat, displaying the handsome Gamma Tau pin on his
waistcoat. It was a well-known thing that a glimpse of the Gamma pin
had often settled the case of the doubting ones, when it flashed its
radiant message to the candidate.

But it did not dazzle Frank the least little bit.

"Yes," he said, "we have everything here, I guess, excepting good
athletic teams." He said it so innocently that Cuthbert, who looked
up quickly, did not know whether he was hinting at Gamma's part in
the "good" athletic teams or not. At Frank's words the Wee One gave
Jimmy his elbow so hard behind the curtain that that individual
staggered and almost lost his balance.

"Well," continued Cuthbert, settling back comfortably, "we might
have better teams, and we are going to have them. Things have been
breaking badly for us for some time, but there are good times ahead."

"I hope so," said Frank, "we need better times."

Again there was a scraping sound behind the curtains, but Cuthbert,
not noticing it, went on: "You have a friend named Turner, who lives
in the other end of Warren, haven't you?"

"Yes. He's one of my best friends."

"Well, we want him in Gamma Tau," said Cuthbert, coming straight to
the point. "He's a likely fellow, and we think will make good. In
fact, we'd like to have you both come into our fraternity. The first
elections are in March. It is considered a very great honor to get a
first election. You play baseball, don't you?"

"Yes, a little."

"Pitcher, I hear."

"Yes, pretty poor, though."

"Well, that's all right. You will improve. We want you to be one of
us, and to use your influence with Turner. You will be both taken
in together. It doesn't often happen to Freshmen. I didn't get my
election till my second year, and I thought I was pretty lucky then."

"And you want me to use my influence with Turner?"

"Yes; neither of you know, perhaps, that Gamma controls the school
athletics, and it can help a fellow a great deal with the honors of
athletics."

"Doesn't a fellow stand as good a chance outside of Gamma as inside?"

"No, I shouldn't say he did. Most of the athletes are with us, and
we run things about as we wish them. May we have your word that you
will come along and bring Turner with you? It is a distinct honor,
you understand."

"I thank you very much for the honor," said Frank, steadily, looking
straight at Cuthbert, who expected a favorable reply, "but I do not
care to accept an election. I think Turner has the same opinion."

"But why?" said the amazed Cuthbert.

"According to all I hear, Gamma Tau has been responsible for all the
defeats in the school teams for the last three or four years. As you
said yourself, you run things to suit yourselves and elect your own
captains. It doesn't strike me as the right way to do it. They say a
fellow who isn't in Gamma Tau has no chance. If that's the thing that
decides it, I guess I'll stay outside."

Cuthbert rose to his feet as though he had sat on a tack, and his
friend followed suit. "You'll be sorry for this night, my boy," said
he, striding to the door and jerking it open. "I can tell you now
that for Freshmen you and your friend Turner have put yourselves in
wrong, and if I can help it you will not have another chance."

"Is that all?" said Frank, rising.

"Yes, that's all," shouted Cuthbert, and out they went, and banged
the door after them.

The scouts were hardly off the stairs when the Wee One and Jimmy
burst forth, holding their sides with laughter. "Hasn't he the nasty
temper, though!" cried the Wee One. "Now you're both buried in the
same grave. We'll erect a double monument for Turner and you. Wow!
but Gamma will be hopping mad."

"Let them," said Frank. "I don't care a hooter. If I can't get on a
team without bootlicking that crowd, I'll stay off it."

"Me, too," said Jimmy.

"And me, too," said the Wee One, assuming a dramatic attitude, and
thumping his narrow chest. "I wouldn't take the position of football
captain from the Gamma if they offered it to me."

At that moment a great clattering was heard on the stairs--some one
pounding up in undignified haste.

"They're coming back to capture you," cried the Wee One, "and take
you to their lair by main force. Skip." But before any one had time
to move, Lewis burst in at the door with his jaw hanging and his eyes
popping out of his head.

"The ghost!" he gasped, "the ghost! I was out behind Warren on the
bank a minute ago, and it came walking straight for me, and I beat
it for here at a mile a minute."

The boys dashed for the windows which looked out on the meadow and
playgrounds. Sure enough, there in the light of the half-moon went
the figure in white, sailing over the ground. They all watched it
with staring eyes, and while they were looking it stopped, made a
small circle, then headed off down behind the football stands and
disappeared.

The boys watched till it had gone, and then turned and looked at each
other in amazement.

CHAPTER XIX.

AN ENCOUNTER WITH THE MYSTERY.

"Well, if that doesn't beat the Dutch," said Frank, the first to
recover his tongue after the thing, whatever it was, had gone from
their view.

"Seems to melt right into the air, doesn't it?" exclaimed the Wee
One. "I thought when I heard of there being a ghost down on the field
that some one was just kidding. What do you suppose it can be?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Jimmy. "The first time we saw it
was the night David came. We happened to be in the bedroom and the
thing came just like it did to-night, and then went as quickly as it
came. There's no kidding about it. It's something, sure as shooting."

"Let's go and take a look," suggested Frank, looking around the group.

"Not on your life," said Lewis. "I'm not out hunting ghosts to-night.
I've got something better to do. I've got lessons to get ready.
And you'd find nothing, anyway, and maybe the thing would jump out
on you. I've heard of such things." And Lewis drew his coat tighter
around him and shuddered.

"Jimmy, will you come?" said Frank. "David can stay here and keep
watch to see if anything else happens."

"I'll go," said Jimmy.

"Me, too," said the Wee One. "I'm big enough to keep you all out of
trouble, and if any ghost dare give me any of its lip"--he drew out
his chest and squared off at the imaginary assailant.

"Lewis, you can stay here with David if you want to do your lessons,
but be sure you shut the window, for I've known of ungentlemanly
ghosts stepping right in through one if they happened to find it
open," said Jimmy.

"Are you afraid, David?"

"No, indeed," said David. "Besides, I'm not alone. Isn't Lewis here
to take care of me if anything should come? But I guess we'll be all
right. You are the only fellows that are likely to get into danger."

The boys started off at once, and soon reached the field by way
of the path down the hill. They headed for a clump of trees by the
boat-house, near which they had first seen the Thing. The crescent
moon had dropped considerably, and the light was dim enough, but they
held bravely on. Once Jimmy stepped on a twig of something, which
snapped under his foot, and the three boys almost leaped into the air.

"Gee! how you scared me," said Frank.

"I'd have run if I hadn't been stuck to the spot," said the Wee One.
"Please watch out where you step and don't do it again. My nerves are
bad, with all the hard work I've been through this fall." They got
another start as a night bird whirred up from the branches of the big
elm nearby, but as Frank was determined to go on, the other two would
not leave him.

Presently they stood on the boat-house float and peered all around.
There was no sound but the gurgle of the river as it flowed past,
dark and silent. A little white mist was rising from the water, and
the place was damp and chill. Even the song of the frogs, which
might have lent a little cheerfulness to the place, was hushed. They
listened and looked, but they might have been on a desert island in
the middle of the Pacific.

"Gee whiz, it's a melancholy looking place; let's get back," said the
Wee One. "Whatever the thing is, it isn't here. I'd rather be up on
the hill. Let's go."

"Hold on there," said Frank. "I'm trying to trace the course of the
Thing. Down here we can't see the dormitory lights, and I don't think
we can see them till we get through that bunch of trees. Consequently
we couldn't see anything that was here if we were in our room."

"No, we couldn't, but what has that got to do with it?" said the Wee
One, impatiently. "We'll get our deaths of cold here." But the shiver
that the Wee One gave was not entirely from the cold. Now that he
was on it, the mission that looked like a lark from the comfortably
lighted room in the dormitory took on a different aspect.

Frank was already leaving the float, where there seemed to be no
sense in staying longer. He climbed the path up the bank and went out
into the open field.

"There," he said, "you can see our light. It was just here, I think,
we saw the Thing the first time, and it headed off down towards the
football stand, this way," and he turned his steps down the river.
Looking, he saw both the boys standing a little way back. "Aren't you
coming?" he said.

"Oh, what's the use chasing the old thing? We can do it in the
morning as well," said the Wee One. "It's too late to-night. Come on
up to the room. It was probably only a shadow, anyway."

"No, I'm going ahead, and if you fellows want to go back, you may
go back. I'm going to take a look down by that football stand," and
he turned his face in that direction and stepped out briskly. "They
would think we were great ninnies if we went back without doing what
we started to do."

"Hold on, Frank, I'll come," said Jimmy. "I don't want you trapesing
around alone down here."

"Well, I suppose I might as well go along, too," said the Wee One,
who preferred the company of the others, even on a ghost hunt, to
traversing the field all alone. So he, too, swung in behind Jimmy,
and the three went Indian file down along the river path. They
stepped carefully and looked on each side of them. A couple of
hundred yards further along loomed the dark shadow of the football
stand.

"That's where I think it went, down behind the stand. There's quite a
high bank there, and some bushes grow at the edge of the river," said
Frank, holding on his course. The others came reluctantly along, not
at all pleased with the adventure. The football stand was just ahead,
and the shadow it cast was as black as velvet. The space between the
stand and the river looked like a pocket, so dark was it, and the
river itself murmured along, singing a mournful tune at their left.

"S-s-s--! what was that?" said Jimmy. "I thought I heard a noise
ahead." The three boys came together, and grabbed each other. They
listened with all their ears.

"There's certainly something there," whispered Frank, "and it's
moving about, don't you hear it? Come on, we'll see what it is;"
but before he could take a step ahead both Jimmy and the Wee One
grabbed him by the arms. But he shook himself clear of them, and went
stealthily ahead, walking on tip-toe. There was nothing else left for
Frank's companions but to follow. They felt their hair rising, and
at every step they took they glanced uneasily to right and left, as
though in deadly fear that something would spring from the bushes,
and grab them with wet and clammy hands.

Again there was a sound as of something moving in the darkness just
ahead, and the boys drew close together again and waited. They
themselves were in the shadow of the stand by this time, and the
noise came from a point apparently only a few yards ahead. Suddenly
the moon, which had been behind a cloud, shone out faintly and the
boys could see something moving back and forth about half way down
the stand.

"Come on," said Frank, "we'll rush it."

"We will not do anything of the kind," said the Wee One. "You can't
tell what it might be."

"Well, I'll go alone, then," said Frank, in a whisper, "I'm going to
find out what that is."

"I'll go with you," said Jimmy, quietly. He was not going to let his
old chum take desperate chances alone.

The boys, however, were saved the necessity of "rushing it," for the
noise began to grow louder, and resolved itself into a definite step
which came in their direction. They squeezed themselves back against
the big uprights of the stand and waited, hardly knowing what to
expect. In another moment the footsteps had come opposite to their
hiding-place, and Frank closely followed by Jimmy, sprang out into
the path and grappled with something. Down they went on the ground,
a general mix-up from which proceeded groans and grunts. Finally
Frank's voice rose clear:

"I've got it, strike a match."

The Wee One struck a match with shaking fingers, and when it blazed
up it showed the scared face of no other a person than Gleason--the
old Codfish!

"Holy Moses in the bulrushes!" said that individual, "what do you
mean by jumping on a fellow that way, knocking him down and nearly
choking the daylights out of him?" gasped the Codfish, as soon as he
had gulped down enough breath to fill his lungs.

"Well, I'll be hanged," said Frank, ruefully, "I thought you were the
ghost. Pardon me, old man."

"Well, at first I thought you were the same thing, but when we'd been
scrapping around here on the ground for about a minute I thought you
were the devil for sure and all. My, you little rooster, I didn't
know you had so much strength. You nearly choked the life out of me."

"What are you doing down here, anyway?" said Frank, suspiciously. "I
thought you were going over to the library."

"Well, I did go over to the library, but I've heard a lot about there
being a ghost down here, and I came down to investigate it myself."

"And we were down on the same errand. It's a good joke," and the boys
had a good laugh there together in the shade of the stand.

Together they retraced their steps to Warren Hall, where they
found David and Lewis holding the fort at the window. Both were
considerably alarmed, for they had not expected the friends to be out
so late. The chapel bell had just tolled the third quarter after nine
o'clock. Lewis had been suggesting the organization of a searching
party, believing that the apparition had turned on the investigators
and thrown them into the river.

The whole story was gone over for the amusement of Lewis and David,
and they entered into the general fun. Then they agreed that nothing
should be said of the adventure outside, because it was too good a
joke; but somehow it leaked out, and was all around the school before
noon of the next day.

The matter even spread to the Milton papers, and that afternoon
there was a half-column article in the Milton _Record_, telling of
the encounter on Queen's field between Frank Armstrong and the ghost
which had been haunting the place for some time. Frank was given
great credit for having the bravery to follow the thing, whatever it
might be.

Of course, that was enough to set the whole school by the ears, and
every night there were watching parties, but the ghost did not make
its appearance again, at least while the watchers were around. And
gradually the excitement about it died away. The officers of the
school did not take much stock in the stories, believing, they said,
that it was probably the beam from some searchlight which reflected
from some window on the yard, and played fantastic tricks on the eyes
of the beholders. Frank and Jimmy and the ones who had seen it the
most frequently knew it was not a mere shadow, but there was nothing
to do about it but to wait.

"I'm going to get it yet," Frank said to David. "Ghost or no ghost,
I'm going to chase it down."

"It may never appear again," said David.

"I think it will. We haven't seen the last of it."

Gleason, who was at his desk, was listening to the conversation.
"What do you think about it, Gleason?" asked Frank.

"Oh, I'm not much of a judge of such things, but I suppose it will
show its nose some time again and scare us all out of our boots when
we least expect it. I wouldn't wonder if we had an appearance soon,
it's about time."

"What makes you think so?"

"Oh, I don't know, I just feel that way."

"Well," returned Frank, "I'm too busy with my work just now to chase
it, but it better look out."

"Better let it alone, it may hurt you."

"What makes you think so? I thought you said you were no judge of
ghosts a minute ago!"

"Well, all I know is that I'm not going hunting it again. Once was
enough."

Nothing more was said that night, but the next night, shortly after
the early dusk had fallen, Gleason, who had been bending over his
studies at the table, got up, stretched himself, and said:

"Well, I guess I'll go over to the library a little while. I'll be
back in an hour or so." He went out and shut the door behind him.

He was no sooner out of sight than Frank slammed his book down on the
desk, startling David.

"I have a notion there's going to be an appearance to-night.
Something in my bones tells me there is something on foot, and the
ghost is going to walk, or glide, or fly, or something. And, by the
hocus pocus, I'm going to find out which means of locomotion it uses,
and whether it is vapor or blood and bones."

"How, I'd like to know?" inquired David.

"See this perfectly fine piece of cord? Well, it's about a hundred
feet long, a nice hempen cord, big enough for ghost or man to hang
himself on. Now, I'm going to tie one end of this to that big oak
tree down on the bank, and the other end to a stake at the corner of
the gymnasium. Whatever the blooming thing is, it will have to go
past that string. It seems to float right through the air, and if it
really does that then I'll have to guess again. But I have a notion
it doesn't float, and if it walks, there's going to be a tumble for
it, for this nice little piece of cord will be four or five feet off
the ground.

"You shoot up and get Jimmy and Lewis," Frank continued, "and I'll
shoot down and hitch up my trap. Have them come to the bank right
under our window, and we'll wait there and see what happens." Frank
was off with a rush to do his part of the work, and David started
on his errand. In ten or fifteen minutes Frank had accomplished
his purpose, and was back, waiting at the bank behind Warren Hall,
alongside the trunk of a big oak, protected from the cold of the late
November night by a thick sweater and heavy cap. He was joined there
a few minutes later by the three boys and the Wee One; for on the way
over they had run across the latter and brought him along.

When the new arrivals came to the meeting-place, the Wee One wanted
to know what it was all about. Frank gave a whispered account of what
he had done.

"Yes, but what gives you the notion that the great scene from Macbeth
is coming off to-night?"

"Never mind, I just feel that it is, and I wanted you fellows to see
it. All we have to do is to watch here and keep out of sight."

"If you expect us to watch here long with you," said the Wee One,
"you should have provided a gas stove or something. It's blithering
cold." The boys huddled up close together, and waited while the
minutes passed without anything happening.

"My opinion of it is, that you're a bum guesser. Get us out of our
cosey corners just to see how wrong you could be," grumbled the Wee
One.

"Keep your nerve, Big Fellow," retorted Frank. "'Everything comes to
him who waits,' so the copybook of my fast vanishing childhood told
me. The night is only begun. I say, Lewis, will you run over and look
in the library and see if the Codfish is there?"

"Run over yourself," suggested Lewis.

"'Fraid cat. I can't go," said Frank. "I'm stage manager of this act,
and I can't leave the job."

"I'll go," said the Wee One. "It will keep me from freezing," and he
dashed off. He was back in a few minutes, and reported that Gleason
had been there, but had gone a few minutes before. One of the fellows
who knew Gleason was positive that he had gone out, probably to his
room.

"Why did you want to know?" added the messenger.

"Well, I didn't want him messing around here. He'd think we were
crazy, sitting out here on the cold ground, waiting for a spirit to
make its appearance."

"Well, if it doesn't indicate its presence in about three shakes of
a lamb's tail, I, for one, will be after wishing you a hearty good
ni----"

He paused in the middle of his sentence and pointed. There over the
clump of trees near the boat-house rose the Thing. It seemed to come
right out of the trees, and headed across the field in the direction
of Warren, just as it had done before. The boys watched it with bated
breath, as it approached them. Lewis, who had been a little way down
the bank, now hastily got to his feet and went to the rear of the
group, ready to make a flying retreat if necessary, but meanwhile
keeping the others in front of him as a measure of present safety.
On the Thing came till it was within a hundred yards or so of where
they were hidden, then it stopped and appeared to go backwards in the
direction of the football stand and the river.

No one moved. They sat watching, expecting every moment that it
would disappear as it had in the past. And it did disappear, but not
just in that way. All of a sudden the sound of a yell floated up to
the ears of the watchers. The white thing took a curious circular
motion in the moonlight and sank to the ground; but it did not
disappear, instead it seemed to flop around and then lay quiet.

"Come on, fellows," yelled Frank. "David, you stay here," and he
started to run in the direction of the ghost as fast as his legs
would carry him. Jimmy and the Wee One followed him. In a minute or
two they were up to the ghost. There seemed to be two of it, one
white and the other black. The white thing lay in a heap on the grass
and the black thing rolled around in agony.

"O Lord, I'm killed, I'm killed. My arms and my legs are all broken."

"Great Scott! it's the Codfish!" cried Jimmy. "Here, help him. He's
hurt."

The three boys got on their knees beside the repentant ghost.

"I was just doing it for fun," he said. "I learned to walk on stilts
this summer. Oh, my arms! and I thought it would be a good joke to
start a scare in the school--so I got a sheet--and wrapped it around
me down there in the woods--and then walked around here and--down
behind the football stand, where I hid the stilts--Oh, I know I'm
going to die!" This confession came out in gasps, for the fall over
Frank's cord, hampered as the "ghost" had been by the entangling
sheet, had been a severe one. But, fortunately, it had broken no
bones, and the worst damage it had done the Codfish was to knock all
the wind out of his body.

He was a very humble ghost as the investigators helped him up to his
room that night.

"But for heaven's sake don't tell any one about it. I'd never hear
the last of it," he begged. But like the other joke on the Codfish,
the story somehow got out and the "ghost" was guyed about his tumble
for the rest of his school course.

And the next day the Milton _Record_ had another story of how Frank
Armstrong trapped the mystery of Queen's School. It was the sensation
of the year.

CHAPTER XX.

A CONTEST AT THE GYMNASIUM.

With the laying of the ghost, excitement dropped temporarily from
the life of Queen's School. It was the time for work now, and right
valiantly did every one study, making up for some of the lost time in
the glorious fall days which invited one out in the open to waste the
hours. Examinations were coming along, and the evenings were put in
poring over the books.

Mrs. Armstrong was a visitor at the school for a day at this time,
and Frank conducted her around the grounds, to the boat-house, the
football field, the baseball field and the gymnasium. She wanted to
know where they had trapped the ghost, and he showed her. It was a
happy day for Frank, who pointed out the various things of interest
around the old school as if they belonged to him personally.

Mrs. Armstrong noted the look of health on her boy's face, and was
glad. She felt that he had already gained something physically, for
even in the short time he had been at the school he seemed to have
increased in stature. She told Frank that he was growing like a weed.

"You think I'm growing. Just cast your eye on Jimmy," said Frank.
"Jimmy grew bigger every day of football and he is as hard as a stone
wall. Feel his muscles. Come on, Jimmy, show the lady." And Jimmy
obligingly flexed his biceps and offered the bunched-up knot of
muscles as a proof of his growing power.

"And look at David there. He's going to be the champion strong man of
Queen's, if he doesn't look out. He spends all his spare time down at
the gym. You should see him dipping on the parallel bars and doing
stunts on the flying rings. Patsy has to actually drive him out of
the place," which was a fact. "David has made up his mind to be a
'champeen.'"

"I can't do anything else, Mrs. Armstrong," said David. "And I've got
so much to learn that I have to keep at it."

David had set his heart on winning a place on the gymnasium team, and
to do this he had taken up the work he was best fitted for. Owing
to his light body and a natural strength in his arms, he was already
able to do things in raising himself with his arms, which a boy fully
developed, of greater general strength, might have accomplished only
with the greatest difficulty.

David's strength of arm was in evidence one day at the gymnasium when
the four friends, David, Frank, Jimmy and Lewis, were on the floor.
A certain amount of physical work in the gym was called for by the
school requirements, or, at least, a certain time had to be spent
in some kind of exercise. Boys who took part in any of the outdoor
sports were not called upon to do work on the floor during the period
of practice of the teams they represented. To Lewis, who was indolent
of body, the hour in the gym was the hardest of the day, but he
made his task as light as it could be. His way of exercise was to
stroll over to a chest-weight and give it two or three pulls with the
lightest loads he could find for it, and then walk to the other end
of the gym for two or three pulls at some other piece of apparatus.
Patsy kept after him, but athletic work for Lewis was like pulling
teeth.

On the day in question, the four boys had just about finished their
work and stopped by the end of the parallel bars.

"How many times can you dip?" said Jimmy. Dipping, as of course
every one knows, consists in raising oneself up and down from a bent
position of the arms to a straight position, the weight of the body
being carried entirely on the arms during the raise and drop.

"I don't know," said Frank, "never tried."

"Go on and show your speed," said Jimmy, "it will be good practice
for your pitching arm. All good pitchers have lots of muscle, you
know."

"Yes, go ahead," said David, "we'll all try."

Frank, thus urged, swung up on the end of the bars. "Count for me,"
he said, as he let himself down between the bars and straightened up;
"I'll need all the wind I've got."

Jimmy began, "One, two, three, four, five, six, good boy,
keep a-going--seven, eight,--getting pretty heavy, eh? Nine,
ten--eleven, twelve--going, going, gone;--no, he has one more in
him,--thirteen--don't stop there, it's unlucky." But Frank had stuck.
He got down all right on the fourteenth dip, but could not straighten
up. He dropped off, puffing. "Gee, that's work," he said, "Go ahead,
you try," indicating Jimmy.

"No," said that individual, "I want to see Lewis try it."

"Oh, I'm not feeling very strong to-day," said Lewis, "I'll do it
some other day."

"Here, here, no shystering," said all hands. "We all agreed to do it.
Take your turn."

So Lewis reluctantly struggled to a position on the bars. "I'll
count," said Frank. Lewis let himself down gingerly, and there he
hung. He was heavy and fat. He made desperate efforts to push himself
up again, and struggled and kicked, but although he got part of
the way up, he couldn't straighten those arms, although the blood
was almost bursting out of his cheeks in the effort. The boys were
howling with laughter.

"Kick with your left leg."

"Hold your mouth straight, and you'll make it."

"Get a step ladder."

"Give him a push."

"Get an elevator."

These and other suggestions the tormentors offered Lewis as he hung
there struggling. Finally, in despair, he let go and dropped to the
floor.

The boys were screaming with laughter, and Lewis was not any too well
pleased.

"Good work, Lewis, you did it just half a time. That's a record."

"Try it yourself," said Lewis, "I told you I didn't feel very strong
this afternoon. I've got a lame wrist, anyway." Lewis always had an
excuse.

It was Jimmy's turn and he mounted the bars. Frank counted, and
Jimmy, who was remarkably strong for his years, being a sound and
sturdy youngster, dipped down and swung back again no less than
nineteen times before he gave it up.

"Whew!" said Frank, "that beats me. I guess you're it."

"No," said Jimmy. "David hasn't tried yet."

"I guess I can't dip that many times," said David, preparing for his
trial. "Patsy says it's one of the hardest things to do and shows
actual strength. I can't measure up with much success against Jimmy."

But nevertheless he climbed to the position on the bar. "Count for
me," he said to Frank, and Frank began, while David swung up and
down with the regularity of a pendulum. He passed Jimmy's figures
without a bit of effort apparently, reached twenty, and then the boys
began to open their eyes. He did not stop at twenty, but kept it up
without fatigue until he reached the great number of forty-two times.
Then he stopped, but looked as though he might have continued for
five minutes longer.

"Hats off to David Powers," said Frank, which, seeing that they had
no hats on, was not a thing difficult of accomplishment. "Isn't he
the dandy little dipper?"

"He certainly is," agreed Jimmy. "How on earth do you do it?"

"Oh, I'm built for it," said David, looking down at his twisted legs.
"Patsy says all my strength has gone to my arms and shoulders. He
says the record for the dip is 66, made five or six years ago by one
of the football fellows."

"I'll bet you beat it before you get through," said Frank, admiringly.

"I'd like to."

"Then the record you made would go down over on the wall there to
stay until some other fellow did better."

"I don't think I can ever do it, but as it is one of the few things I
can do, I'll keep busy at it," said David.

Patsy strolled up at this moment, and they told him what they had
been at.

"You can never beat David Powers at dipping or pulling up on the
horizontal bar. Did you ever see him climbing the rope? He's been