Atlas Shrugged [113]
If you have anything else to say, please say it and leave."
The man leaned back, looked at Rearden incredulously and asked, "What are you after?"
"I? What do you mean?"
"You're in business to make money, aren't you?"
"I am."
"You want to make as big a profit as possible, don't you?"
"I do."
"Then why do you want to struggle for years, squeezing out your gains in the form of pennies per ton-rather than accept a fortune for Rearden Metal? Why?"
"Because it's mine. Do you understand the word?"
The man sighed and rose to his feet. "I hope you will not have cause to regret your decision, Mr. Rearden," he said; the tone of his voice was suggesting the opposite.
"Good day," said Rearden.
"I think I must tell you that the State Science Institute may issue an official statement condemning Rearden Metal."
'That is their privilege."
"Such a statement would make things more difficult for you."
"Undoubtedly."
"As to further consequences . . ." The man shrugged. "This is not the day for people who refuse to co-operate. In this age, one needs friends. You are not a popular man, Mr. Rearden."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Surely, you understand."
"I don't."
"Society is a complex structure. There are so many different issues awaiting decision, hanging by a thin thread. We can never tell when one such issue may he decided and what may be the decisive factor in a delicate balance. Do I make myself clear?"
"No."
The red flame of poured steel shot through the twilight. An orange glow, the color of deep gold, hit the wall behind Rearden's desk.
The glow moved gently across his forehead. His face had an unmoving serenity.
"The State Science Institute is a government organization, Mr.
Rearden. There are certain bills pending in the Legislature, which may be passed at any moment. Businessmen are peculiarly vulnerable these days. I am sure you understand me."
Rearden rose to his feet. He was smiling. He looked as if all tension had left him.
"No, Dr. Potter," he said, "I don't understand. If I did, I'd have to kill you."
The man walked to the door, then stopped and looked at Rearden in a way which, for once, was simple human curiosity. Rearden stood motionless against the moving glow on the wall; he stood casually, his hands in his pockets.
"Would you tell me," the man asked, "just between us, it's only my personal curiosity-why are you doing this?"
Rearden answered quietly, "I'll tell you. You won't understand. You see, it's because Rearden Metal is good."
Dagny could not understand Mr. Mowen's motive. The Amalgamated Switch and Signal Company had suddenly given notice that they would not complete her order. Nothing had happened, she could find no cause for it and they would give no explanation.
She had hurried to Connecticut, to see Mr. Mowen in person, but the sole result of the interview was a heavier, grayer weight of bewilderment in her mind. Mr. Mowen stated that he would not continue to make switches of Rearden Metal. For sole explanation, he said, avoiding her eyes, "Too many people don't like it."
"What? Rearden Metal or your making the switches?"
"Both, I guess . . . People don't like it . . . I don't want any trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Any kind."
"Have you heard a single thing against Rearden Metal that's true?"
"Aw, who knows what's true? . . . That resolution of the National Council of Metal Industries said-"
"Look, you've worked with metals all your life. For the last four months, you've worked with Rearden Metal. Don't you know that it's the greatest thing you've ever handled?" He did not answer. "Don't you know it?" He looked away. "Don't you know what's true?"
"Hell, Miss Taggart, I'm in business, I'm only a little guy. I just want to make money."
"How do you think one makes it?"
But she knew that it was useless. Looking at Mr. Mowen's face, at the eyes which she could not catch, she felt as she had felt once on a lonely section of track, when a storm blew down the telephone wires: that communications were cut and that words had become sounds