Atlas Shrugged [457]
"Is that what you learned from Dr. Akston?" she asked, pointing at the stove.
"That, among other things."
"Did he teach you to spend your time-your time!-" she could not keep the shudder of indignation out of her voice-"on this sort of work?"
"I've spent time on work of much lesser importance."
When he put her plate before her, she asked, "Where did you get that food? Do they have a grocery store here?"
"The best one in the world. It's run by Lawrence Hammond."
"What?"
"Lawrence Hammond, of Hammond Cars. The bacon is from the farm of Dwight Sanders-of Sanders Aircraft. The eggs and the butter from Judge Narragansett-of the Superior Court of the State of Illinois."
She looked at her plate, bitterly, almost as if she were afraid to touch it. "It's the most expensive breakfast I'll ever eat, considering the value of the cook's time and of all those others."
"Yes-from one aspect. But from another, it's the cheapest breakfast you'll ever eat-because no part of it has gone to feed the looters who'll make you pay for it through year after year and leave you to starve in the end."
After a long silence, she asked simply, almost wistfully, "What is it that you're all doing here?"
"Living."
She had never heard that word sound so real, "What is your job?" she asked. "Midas Mulligan said that you work here."
"I'm the handy man, I guess."
"The what?"
"I'm on call whenever anything goes wrong with any of the installations-with the power system, for instance."
She looked at him-and suddenly she tore forward, staring at the electric stove, but fell back on her chair, stopped by pain.
He chuckled. "Yes, that's true-but take it easy or Dr. Hendricks will order you back to bed."
"The power system . . ." she said, choking, "the power system here . . . it's run by means of your motor?"
"Yes."
"It's built? It's working? It's functioning?"
"It has cooked your breakfast."
"I want to see it!"
"Don't bother crippling yourself to look at that stove. It's just a plain electric stove like any other, only about a hundred times cheaper to run.
And that's all you'll have a chance to see, Miss Taggart."
"You promised to show me this valley."
"I'll show it to you. But not the power generator."
"Will you take me to see the place now, as soon as we finish?"
"If you wish-and if you're able to move."
"I am."
He got up, went to the telephone and dialed a number. "Hello, Midas? . . . Yes. . . . He did? Yes, she's all right. . . . Will you rent me your car for the day? . . . Thanks. At the usual rate-
twenty-five cents, . . . . Can you send it over? . . . Do you happen to have some sort of cane? She'll need it. . . . Tonight? Yes, I think so.
We will. Thanks."
He hung up. She was staring at him incredulously.
"Did I understand you to say that Mr. Mulligan-who's worth about two hundred million dollars, I believe-is going to charge you
twenty-five cents for the use of his car?"
"That's right."
"Good heavens, couldn't he give it to you as a courtesy?"
He sat looking at her for a moment, studying her face, as if deliberately letting her see the amusement in his. "Miss Taggart," he said, "we have no laws in this valley, no rules, no formal organization of any kind. We come here because we want to rest. But we have certain customs, which we all observe, because they pertain to the things we need to rest from. So I'll warn you now that there is one word which is forbidden in this valley: the word 'give,' "
"I'm sorry," she said. "You're right."
He refilled her cup of coffee and extended a package of cigarettes.
She smiled, as she took a cigarette: it bore the sign of the dollar.
"If you're not too tired by evening," he said, "Mulligan has invited us for dinner. He'll have some guests there whom, I think, you'll want to meet."
"Oh, of course! I won't be too tired. I don't think I'll ever feel tired