Atlas Shrugged [258]
"We arc at the dawn of a new age," said James Taggart, from above the rim of his champagne glass. "We are breaking up the vicious tyranny of economic power. We will set men free of the rule of the dollar. We will release our spiritual aims from dependence on the owners of material means. We will liberate our culture from the stranglehold of the profit-chasers. We will build a society dedicated to higher ideals, and we will replace the aristocracy of money by-"
"-the aristocracy of pull," said a voice beyond the group.
They whirled around. The man who stood facing them was Francisco d'Anconia.
His face looked tanned by a summer sun, and his eyes were the exact color of the sky on the kind of day when he had acquired his tan.
His smile suggested a summer morning. The way he wore his formal clothes made the rest of the crowd look as if they were masquerading in borrowed costumes.
"What's the matter?" he asked in the midst of their silence. "Did I say something that somebody here didn't know?"
"How did you get here?" was the first thing James Taggart found himself able to utter.
"By plane to Newark, by taxi from there, then by elevator from my suite fifty-three floors above you."
"I didn't mean . . . that is, what I meant was-"
"Don't look so startled, James. If I land in New York and hear that there's a party going on, I wouldn't miss it, would I? You've always said that I'm just a party hound."
The group was watching them.
"I'm delighted to see you, of course," Taggart said cautiously, then added belligerently, to balance it, "But if you think you're going to-"
Francisco would not pick up the threat; he let Taggart's sentence slide into mid-air and stop, then asked politely, "If I think what?"
"You understand me very well."
"Yes. I do. Shall I tell you what I think?"
"This is hardly the moment for any-"
"I think you should present me to your bride, James. Your manners have never been glued to you too solidly-you always lose them in an emergency, and that's the time when one needs them most."
Turning to escort him toward Cherryl, Taggart caught the faint sound that came from Bertram Scudder; it was an unborn chuckle. Taggart knew that the men who had crawled at his feet a moment ago, whose hatred for Francisco d'Anconia was, perhaps, greater than his own, were enjoying the spectacle none the less. The implications of this knowledge were among the things he did not care to name.
Francisco bowed to Cherryl and offered his best wishes, as if she were the bride of a royal heir. Watching nervously, Taggart felt relief-
and a touch of nameless resentment, which, if named, would have told him he wished the occasion deserved the grandeur that Francisco's manner gave it for a moment.
He was afraid to remain by Francisco's side and afraid to let him loose among the guests, He backed a few tentative steps away, but Francisco followed him, smiling.
"You didn't think I'd want to miss your wedding, James-when you're my childhood friend and best stockholder?"
"What?" gasped Taggart, and regretted it: the sound was a confession of panic.
Francisco did not seem to take note of it; he said, his voice gaily innocent, "Oh, but of course I know it. I know the stooge behind the stooge behind every name on the list of the stockholders of d'Anconia Copper. It's surprising how many men by the name of Smith and Gomez are rich enough to own big chunks of the richest corporation in the world-so you can't blame me if I was curious to learn what distinguished persons I actually have among my minority stockholders. I seem to be popular with an astonishing collection of public figures from all over the world-from People's States where you wouldn't think there's any money left at all."
Taggart said dryly, frowning, "There are many reasons-business reasons-why it is sometimes advisable not to make one's investments directly."
"One reason is that a man doesn't want people to know he's rich.