David Hollis laughed and turned to his nephew. “It’s yours, Donald,” he said; “you’ve earned the right to it, I think; do with it as you wish. Perhaps you can sell it.”
“Me—sell it!” exclaimed Don.
“It’s yours. My friend in the South doesn’t want it.”
“With all that cloth you won’t have to worry about breeches now for the rest of your life, Don,” said Glen grinning.
Don did not reply; he was thinking hard.
The next morning while Glen and his uncle were with the troops he entered the cellar and spent almost an hour making a list of the supplies that were there. Then he hurried up-stairs and went out into the street.
Half an hour later he was standing in front of a lieutenant in a large hallway. “I’d like very much to see General Washington,” he said.
“Indeed,” said the lieutenant; “and what may be your business?”
“I have something to give him.”
“Indeed. You don’t look as if you had much to give.” The lieutenant smiled good-naturedly. “I’m sorry to have to turn you away, but the general is a busy man these days.”