Atlas Shrugged [34]
She did not think of what she would do with the rest of her life. To face leaving Taggart Transcontinental was like waiting to have her legs amputated; she thought she would let it happen, then take up the load of whatever was left.
She never understood why the Board of Directors voted unanimously to make her Vice-President in Charge of Operation.
It was she who finally gave them their San Sebastian Line. When she took over, the construction had been under way for three years; one third of its track was laid; the cost to date was beyond the authorized total. She fired Jim's friends and found a contractor who completed the job in one year.
The San Sebastian Line was now in operation. No surge of trade had come across the border, nor any trains loaded with copper. A few carloads came clattering down the mountains from San Sebastian, at long intervals. The mines, said Francisco d'Anconia, were still in the process of development. The drain on Taggart Transcontinental had not stopped.
Now she sat at the desk in her office, as she had sat for many evenings, trying to work out the problem of what branches could save the system and in how many years.
The Rio Norte Line, when rebuilt, would redeem the rest. As she looked at the sheets of figures announcing losses and more losses, she did not think of the long, senseless agony of the Mexican venture. She thought of a telephone call. "Hank, can you save us? Can you give us rail on the shortest notice and the longest credit possible?" A quiet, steady voice had answered, "Sure."
The thought was a point of support. She leaned over the sheets of paper on her desk, finding it suddenly easier to concentrate. There was one thing, at least, that could be counted upon not to crumble when needed.
James Taggart crossed the anteroom of Dagny's office, still holding the kind of confidence he had felt among his companions at the barroom half an hour ago. When he opened her door, the confidence vanished. He crossed the room to her desk like a child being dragged to punishment, storing the resentment for all his future years.
He saw a head bent over sheets of paper, the light of the desk lamp glistening on strands of disheveled hair, a white shirt clinging to her shoulders, its loose folds suggesting the thinness of her body.
"What is it, Jim?"
"What are you trying to pull on the San Sebastian Line?"
She raised her head. "Pull? Why?"
"What sort of schedule are we running down there and what kind of trains?"
She laughed; the sound was gay and a little weary. "You really ought to read the reports sent to the president's office, Jim, once in a while."
"What do you mean?"
"We've been running that schedule and those trains on the San Sebastian for the last three months."
"One passenger train a day?"
"-in the morning. And one freight train every other night."
"Good God! On an important branch like that?"
"The important branch can't pay even for those two trams."
"But the Mexican people expect real service from us!"
"I'm sure they do."
"They need trains!"
"For what?"
"For . . . To help them develop local industries. How do you expect them to develop if we don't give them transportation?"
"I don't expect them to develop,"
"That's just your personal opinion. I don't see what right you had to take it upon yourself to cut our schedules. Why, the copper traffic alone will pay for everything."
"When?"
He looked at her; his face assumed the satisfaction of a person about to utter something that has the power to hurt. "You don't doubt the success of those copper mines, do you?-when it's Francisco d'Anconia who's running them?" He stressed the name, watching her.
She said, "He may be your friend, but-"
"My friend? I thought he