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316 treasures for the B.A. was a big one. Shorty Jones had brought a cannon-ball—“warranted to be from the battle of Bunker Hill”; Fatty Wilson donated a fine tin box, which, he explained, “would be a good place to keep some grub, so a fellow need n’t go hungry in the society rooms”; and Simmons produced a fine old sword that his father had presented—not one of the family heirlooms, but still a sword of Revolutionary times.

New flags and old, bullets, some Indian arrow-heads, several books on history, and a few portraits were laid on the big table, and among them “New Jersey’s Share in the War for Independence” did not feel obliged to hide its head. It looked most impressive in its cover of colonial blue linen with buff-leather back and cross-bands, and Pierson was proud to receive the congratulations of the other boys.

“You must have spent your whole summer on that, I should think,” Simmons, said, with frank envy and admiration. “There ’s a heap of work on it.”

Shorty Jones hung admiringly to the side of his hero, and gazed open-mouthed at the wonderful book, In his heart was the happy conviction that this fine gift ought to settle the question of Rob’s election as president.

Two weeks from that first evening the great election was to come off; and in the meantime the new members were chosen and invited to come in.

Electioneering of a vigorous kind was going on, but the two boys who were considered the main candidates knew little about it. Simmons and Rob were such good friends that the other bays hesitated to let them know they were definite rivals.

The great night came at last.

Just as the members were filing upstairs, followed by the envious eyes of the outsiders, the door-bell rang, and a huge pile of packages of various shapes and sizes appeared, with an expressman behind them.

“Something for you, Pierson,” called Mr. Keasby, holding up a big box, and with two bounds Rob and Shorty were on the hall floor untying the heavy cords.

“It ’s a picture,” Shorty said, lifting the contents out and tearing off the tissue-papers.

But Rob only gasped. There, framed in ebony and set between two sheets of glass, was the Washington letter! He knelt on the floor, with the letter in his hands and such a look of overwhelming joy that Shorty gulped down a queer lump in his throat as he watched his chum’s face.

When the precious letter was laid on the table in the headquarters, and the eager members gathered around to examine it, Rob's joy and pride were tremendous. He was in the midst of explaining all about the letter when he remembered the envelop that had dropped out as he opened the box. In it, he found, was only a card on which was written, in his uncle's hand, “Presented to the B. A. Society by the Discoverer.” This he held clasped in his hand as the meeting was called to order by Shorty, the chairman pro tem.

When the time for the actual election came there were but the two nominations,—Simmons and Pierson,—and Rob, who had hoped he might at least receive a nomination, was surprised by the way the boys clapped and stamped and tooted when his name was put up.

After a bit of a pause, while they got their breath, Simmons stood up and, with a flushed, eager face, exclaimed: “Say, boys, I ’m proud to be even nominated, but I ’m just going to ask that you let me back out and give Pierson a unanimous election. Any fellow who could start this club, nose out a real Washington autograph letter, and write and print and bind that history of his, ought to be the first president of the society, and no mistake!”

The catcalls and howlings of applause that followed were so vigorous that Mr. Keasby came to restore peace.

“No harm done, sir,” they assured him. “But you can come in and help count Pierson’s unanimous vote, if you like,” some one added; and Keasby went away laughing.

The happiest day that Rob Pierson has yet experienced was that one when he stood beside his famous letter and explained to all the boys the circumstances under which it was written—to all the boys of the school, invited, at Professor Richardson’s suggestion, to a reception in the headquarters on Washington’s Birthday.