“You’re wastin’ your time and mine,” said Peter Jasko. “I ain’t leasing my land to anybody.”
“We’re only asking you to sign a three-year lease—” Mr. Fergus argued.
“Can’t you understand plain language?” the old man cried. “You think money will buy everything, but you got another guess coming. I’ve seen enough skiing at Pine Top and I aim to put a stop to it!”
“It’s no use,” said Harvey Maxwell resignedly to his companion.
Ralph Fergus picked up the paper and thrust it into his overcoat pocket. “You’re an old fool, Jasko!” he muttered.
“Don’t you dare speak that way to my grandfather!” Sara cried, her eyes stormy. “You had your nerve coming here anyway, after that trick you tried!”
“Trick?”
“You deliberately weakened the brake rod of our bob-sled.”
Ralph Fergus laughed in the girl’s face. “You’re as touched as your grandfather,” he said.
“Perhaps you can explain what became of the top button of your overcoat,” suggested Penny coming to Sara’s support. “And don’t try to tell us it’s home in your sewing basket!”