“Exactly. How else can one explain your fanatical hatred of skiing, your blind rages, your antagonism to the more progressive interests? While it will be a pity to bring disgrace upon your charming granddaughter, there is no other way.”
“Not unless you decide to sign,” added Ralph Fergus. “We’re more than reasonable. We’re willing to pay you a fair price for the lease, more than the land is worth. But we want it, see? And what we want we take.”
“You’re a couple of thievin’, stealin’ crooks!” Peter Jasko shouted.
“Not so loud, and be careful of your words,” Harvey Maxwell warned. “Or the gag goes on again.”
“Which do you prefer,” Fergus went on. “A tidy little sum of money, or the asylum?”
Peter Jasko maintained a sullen silence, glaring at the two hotel men.
“The doctor will be here at ten-thirty,” said Harvey Maxwell, looking at his watch. “You will have less than a half hour to decide.”
“My mind’s made up now! You won’t get anyone to believe your cock and bull story. I’ll tell ’em you brought me here and held me prisoner—”
“And no one will believe you,” smiled Maxwell. “We’ll give out that you came to the hotel and started running amuck. Dozens of employes will confirm the story.”
“For that matter, I’m not sure you don’t belong in an asylum,” muttered Fergus. “Only a man who isn’t in his right mind would turn down the liberal proposition we’ve made you.”