“You can’t,” said Munn.
A terrible shock struck through Sprowl; he saw through a mist; he laid his hand on a tree-trunk for support, mechanically facing Munn all the while.
“Can’t!” he repeated, with dry lips.
“No, you can’t buy it.”
“Why?”
“O’Hara’s daughter has it.”
“But—she will sell! Won’t she sell? Where is she?” burst out Sprowl.
“She won’t sell,” said Munn, studying the ghastly face of the president.
“You can make her sell,” said Sprowl. “What is your price?”
“I can’t make her sell the title to your club property,” said Munn. “She’ll sell this land here. Take it or leave it.”