Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker — Text and Context

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In Category - School Stories

Authors: Colton, Matthew M., 1859-1925, Scott, A. O. (Arthur Orange), 1882?-1946 [Illustrator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2015 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Football -- Juvenile fiction; School sports -- Juvenile fiction; Students -- Juvenile fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 62,419

Reading time 272 min

Text sections 7

The source record for Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker — Text and Context measures this digital text at 62,419 words, 4 hr 32 min estimated reading time, and 7 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 15.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Football -- Juvenile fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #48849

An editorial note on Matthew M. Colton's Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker, focusing on the narrative's shifts between leisurely summer scenes and intense football instruction, the use of dialogue and physical comedy in teaching sequences, and the contrast between descriptive calm and energetic action.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

How this score is calculated

Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg48849

Read the Text

On a certain warm afternoon in the early part of July any one passing along the main street of the little summer resort of Seawall might have observed, had he chanced to glance seaward, a trim sloop riding easily at anchor, her milk-white mainsail swaying idly in the scarce-moving breeze. The water was like glass, excepting that here and there it was wrinkled for a moment by a puff of wind which passed instantly, leaving the mirror-like surface as before. Midway of the sloop's cockpit sat the Ancient Mariner himself, nodding. His back was braced against the gunwale and his pipe hung on his chest--a gentle-looking old man with a long, grizzled beard, taking his siesta as even Nature seemed to be taking hers that afternoon. His toil-worn hand hung over the gunwale, and, had one been near enough, the old man might have been heard to snore softly.

A quarter of a mile up the bay there appeared three black specks in the water. They might have been corks merely, but as they came steadily along you could have imagined them to be seals. They came nearer, swimming noiselessly, scarcely making a ripple. Now they were right alongside the sloop. Two of the seals, or whatever the dark forms were, glued themselves close under the sweep of the stern. The third swam cautiously toward the outstretched hand of the Ancient Mariner, and tweaked one of the fingers which hung within reach of any fish that might be bold enough to try a bite at the tempting morsel. Instantly the Ancient was in motion and the "seal" disappeared below the surface in a twinkling.

"Shiver my bloomin' timbers, what was that?" yelled the Mariner as he jumped to his feet. "Some ding-busted dog-fish trying to make a meal?" and he reached for his pike-pole to do execution to the attacking dog-fish.

At this burst from the Ancient there came from under the stern an answering burst of laughter. Another and still another joyful chuckle followed, and in an instant there bobbed up three heads to the astonished gaze of the occupant of the boat.

"You young rapscallions, so it wasn't a dog-fish after all," said the Ancient. And then, rubbing his eyes, he looked again. "Bust my bulkhead, if it isn't little Frank Armstrong!"

"Surest thing you know, Captain Silas," shouted Frank, treading water and keeping his hands going at the same time with a fin-like motion that held him out of the water to his shoulders. "Come on out, Jimmy; come out, Lewis; no use hiding now."

"Well, I swan!" was all Captain Silas could say, for it was indeed the old captain himself. "What are you doin' away out here in the bay? You're worse nor a parcel of fish."

"Oh, Captain," cried Jimmy Turner, shooting out from the boat on his back and splashing water in Lewis Carroll's face, "we expected to have a lot of fun, but this galoot of a Lewis had to snigger out loud, and that spoiled everything."

"You sniggered yourself," retorted Lewis.

"We couldn't help it," said Frank. "Did it scare you much, Captain?"

"Well, I reckon it wouldn't have scared me so much if I hadn't been dreaming I was hauling in a big sword-fish, and just as I was going to grab him with my gaff, up he jumps and grabs my hand. I give such a jump that I near fell out the other side o' the boat."

The boys laughed again and splashed water.

"Come on into the boat," said the captain, grinning at the joke that had been played on him. "Come on in and let's see how you look," and he held out a gnarled hand to Frank, who seized it and was soon over the side. Jimmy followed easily, but it took two of them to get Lewis aboard, who, in spite of all his athletic endeavors, continued to grow more like an ordinary washtub every day. But finally, after much tugging, they landed Lewis safely. The three swimmers sat and dripped water over Captain Silas' seats.

"Must have come into a fortune, Captain," exclaimed Frank, looking over the trim boat and aloft at the white sail, which was now swinging a little more widely with the land breeze.

"Oh, no," was the reply. "Couldn't make much outen my old fishing job, so I took my little nest-egg outen the bank and put it in this here boat."

"Going pirating?" inquired Jimmy.

"Not 'xactly that, kinder social piratin' maybe. I carry the city swells that want to go fer a sail. It pays better nor lobsters."

"Just a different kind of lobster, eh?" broke in Lewis.

Continue Reading →

The opening chapter of Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker establishes a deliberate, almost drowsy pace. The narrative lingers on a July afternoon at Seawall, describing a sloop at anchor, a motionless sea, and the Ancient Mariner nodding with his pipe hanging on his chest. The prose itself seems to take a siesta, with long sentences and gentle verbs like “swaying idly” and “wrinkled for a moment.” This calm is abruptly punctured when three swimmers approach the boat and one tweaks the old man’s finger. The shift from stillness to sudden motion—the Ancient “instantly” in motion, the “seal” disappearing—introduces a pattern of alternating quiet and action that recurs throughout the excerpts.

From Stillness to Sudden Action

The narrative voice in the opening chapter is unhurried, almost painterly, as it sets the scene. Details accumulate: the “milk-white mainsail,” the “mirror-like surface,” the old man’s “toil-worn hand.” The pace is languid until the moment of tweaking, when the prose snaps into short, quick clauses: “Instantly the Ancient was in motion and the ‘seal’ disappeared below the surface in a twinkling.” This technique of building a static tableau and then shattering it with a burst of movement recurs later. In the football practice scene, the description of Jimmy’s playing style is similarly compact and energetic: “Wherever the ball was, there might be found Jimmy’s flaming top-knot.” The contrast between the opening’s descriptive calm and the later instructional scenes—where dialogue and physical comedy accelerate the rhythm—shows Colton’s willingness to modulate pace for effect.

Dialogue and Physical Comedy in Instruction

The football lesson in the study is a set piece that relies on rapid-fire dialogue and slapstick. Jimmy’s commands are terse and urgent: “Now, Lewis, you are the opposing guard. Stand here.” The responses from Lewis and the Codfish are comic deflations: “It’s a pleasant job, how much do I get?” and “Where’s the automobile that hit me?” The action is described in a series of short, kinetic sentences: “Over they went like nine pins, Lewis fetching up in the fireplace and the Codfish under the window seat!” The humor arises from the contrast between Jimmy’s earnestness and the players’ physical indignities. The Codfish’s complaint about his “immaculate clothes” being “mussed up” reinforces the class-consciousness of the setting. This scene demonstrates how Colton uses dialogue not just to advance the plot but to characterize through voice—Jimmy’s focused intensity, the Codfish’s dandyish irritation, Lewis’s deadpan groan.

Recurring Details and Structural Echoes

Several details recur across the excerpts, suggesting deliberate structural patterning. The motif of hands appears: the Ancient Mariner’s “toil-worn hand” hanging over the gunwale, and later Frank’s need to learn “to handle the ball quickly without fumbling it.” The image of a hand as a point of contact—tweaked, then trained—links the opening’s idle moment to the later disciplined practice. Water also recurs: the swimmers in the bay, the “swim for life” chapter title, and the water carnival. Even the football drill is framed as a kind of aquatic movement—the Codfish “edging away” like a swimmer. The narrative voice itself shifts between a detached, almost omniscient observer in the opening and a more intimate, dialogue-driven presence in the study. These echoes suggest that Colton is consciously weaving a fabric of repeated imagery, even if the excerpts do not reveal the full pattern.

Readers attentive to shifts in tempo will find that Colton’s prose rewards close attention to its rhythms. The opening’s leisurely description gives way to the staccato of football drills, and the comic dialogue of the study scene contrasts with the more straightforward action of later chapters. The excerpts hint at a work that balances pastoral calm with athletic intensity, and that uses recurring motifs—hands, water, sudden motion—to unify its episodes. Approach the text as a series of carefully paced scenes rather than a continuous narrative, and note how the voice adapts to each new setting.

There’s a particular quiet in the drop-kicker’s summer pages—that hush before the snap—that always reminds me of Fairview Boys and Their Rivals; or, Bob Bouncer's Schooldays — Background and Themes, where the same sunlit patience hides a sharper lesson underneath. Funny how those slow afternoons stay with us longer than the touchdowns ever do.