Atlas Shrugged [266]
"What danger are you talking about?"
"Mr. Rearden, you do not know these people's way of doing business or how they interpret your presence here. In your code, but not in theirs, accepting a man's hospitality is a token of good will, a declaration that you and your host stand on terms of a civilized relationship.
Don't give them that kind of sanction."
"Then why did you come here?"
Francisco shrugged gaily. "Oh, I-it doesn't matter what I do. I'm only a party hound."
"What are you doing at this party?"
"Just looking for conquests."
"Found any?"
His face suddenly earnest, Francisco answered gravely, almost solemnly, "Yes-what I think is going to be my best and greatest."
Rearden's anger was involuntary, the cry, not of reproach, but of despair: "How can you waste yourself that way?"
The faint suggestion of a smile, like the rise of a distant light, came into Francisco's eyes as he asked, "Do you care to admit that you care about it?"
"You're going to hear a few more admissions, if that's what you're after. Before I met you, I used to wonder how you could waste a fortune such as yours. Now it's worse, because I can't despise you as I did, as I'd like to, yet the question is much more terrible: How can you waste a mind such as yours?"
"I don't think I'm wasting it right now."
"I don't know whether there's ever been anything that meant a damn to you-but I'm going to tell you what I've never said to anyone before. When I met you, do you remember that you said you wanted to offer me your gratitude?"
There was no trace of amusement left in Francisco's eyes; Rearden had never faced so solemn a look of respect, "Yes, Mr. Rearden," he answered quietly.
"I told you that I didn't need it and I insulted you for it. All right, you've won. That speech you made tonight-that was what you were offering me, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Mr. Rearden."
"It was more than gratitude, and I needed the gratitude; it was more than admiration, and I needed that, too; it was much more than any word I can find, it will take me days to think of all that it's given me-but one thing I do know: I needed it. I've never made an admission of this kind, because I've never cried for anyone's help. If it amused you to guess that I was glad to see you, you have something real to laugh about now, if you wish."
"It might take me a few years, but I will prove to you that these are the things I do not laugh about."
"Prove it now-by answering one question: Why don't you practice what you preach?"
"Are you sure that I don't?"
"If the things you said are true, if you have the greatness to know it, you should have been the leading industrialist of the world by now."
Francisco said gravely, as he had said to the portly man, but with an odd note of gentleness in his voice, "I suggest that you think twice, Mr. Rearden."
"I've thought about you more than I care to admit. I have found no answer."
"Let me give you a hint: If the things I said are true, who is the guiltiest man in this room tonight?"
"I suppose-James Taggart?"
"No, Mr. Rearden, it is not James Taggart. But you must define the guilt and choose the man yourself."
"A few years ago, I would have said that it's you. I still think that that's what I ought to say. But I'm almost in the position of that fool woman who spoke to you: every reason I know tells me that you're guilty-and yet I can't feel it."
"You are making the same mistake as that woman, Mr. Rearden, though in a nobler form."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean much more than just your judgment of me. That woman and all those like her keep evading the thoughts which they know to be good. You keep pushing out of your mind the thoughts which you believe to be evil. They do it, because they want to avoid effort. You do it, because you won't permit yourself to consider anything that would spare y6u. They indulge their emotions at any cost. You sacrifice your emotions as the first cost of any problem. They are willing to bear nothing. You are willing to bear anything. They keep evading responsibility. You keep assuming