“No one asked Mrs. Downey to come here in the first place,” replied Peter Jasko. “Or them other hotel people either. Pine Top can get along without the lot of ’em. The sooner they all clear out the better I’ll like it.”
“I’m sure of that,” said Penny. “You don’t care how much trouble you cause other folks. Because of your own son’s death you have taken an unnatural attitude toward skiing. You hate everything remotely connected with the sport. But it isn’t fair. Your granddaughter has a right to a certain amount of freedom.”
Peter Jasko listened to the girl’s words in silence. When she had finished he said in a strangely shaken voice:
“My son met his death going on ten years ago. It was on this trail—”
“I’m sorry,” Penny said contritely. “I shouldn’t have spoken the way I did. Actually, I was on my way down the mountain to tell you I deeply regret helping Sara to go against your will.”
“My granddaughter is headstrong,” the old man replied slowly. “I want what’s best for her. That’s why I’ve tried to protect her.”
“I’m sure you’ve done what you thought was right,” Penny returned. “Why don’t you see Mrs. Downey again and—”
“No!” said the old man stubbornly. “You can’t say anything which will make me change my mind. Take my arm and see if you can walk!”
Penny struggled forward, supported by Jasko’s strong arm. Although each step sent a wracking pain through her leg she made no sound of protest.
“You can’t make it that way,” the old man declared, pausing. “I’ll have to fix up a sled and pull you.”