“Huh!”
“You see, sir, if we had it we’d have a decent baseball field and a better football field and we could build a running track so that we wouldn’t always get beaten at the track and field meets.”
“Want to build a road, you mean, through my meadow?”
Jack explained. “And if you didn’t want to sell the land to us outright, sir, you could lease it for ten years or so. And if you did that we’d agree to put the land back in just the shape we found it when the lease ran out. Wouldn’t that be all right?”
“Maybe. Well, here’s where you live. Whoa, Dick!”
“You’ll think it over, won’t you, Mr. Finkler?” asked Jack as he got out of the buggy. The farmer shook his head.
“Don’t need to,” he answered.
“You mean that you—that you won’t do it?” asked Jack disappointedly.
“Exactly. Tell those friends of yours that they can get all the exercise they need with a saw and a pile o’ cord wood. And they won’t need any more land than they’ve got now.”
“I think—you’re a little bit unreasonable,” replied Jack, stifling his exasperation.