Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand [110]
“Hank,” she asked, “did you invent this in two days?”
“Hell, no. I ‘invented’ it long before I had Rearden Metal. I figured it out while making steel for bridges. I wanted a metal with which one would be able to do this, among other things. I came here just to see your particular problem for myself.”
He chuckled, when he saw the slow movement of her hand across her eyes and the line of bitterness in the set of her mouth, as if she were trying to wipe out the things against which she had fought such an exhausting, cheerless battle.
“This is only a rough scheme,” he said, “but I believe you see what can be done?”
“I can’t tell you all that I see, Hank.”
“Don’t bother. I know it.”
“You’re saving Taggart Transcontinental for the second time.”
“You used to be a better psychologist than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why should I give a damn about saving Taggart Transcontinental? Don’t you know that I want to have a bridge of Rearden Metal to show the country?”
“Yes, Hank. I know it.”
“There are too many people yelping that rails of Rearden Metal are unsafe. So I thought I’d give them something real to yelp about. Let them see a bridge of Rearden Metal.”
She looked at him and laughed aloud in simple delight.
“Now what’s that?” he asked.
“Hank, I don’t know anyone, not anyone in the world, who’d think of such an answer to people, in such circumstances—except you.”
“What about you? Would you want to make the answer with me and face the same screaming?”
“You knew I would.”
“Yes. I knew it.”
He glanced at her, his eyes narrowed; he did not laugh as she had, but the glance was an equivalent.
She remembered suddenly their last meeting, at the party. The memory seemed incredible. Their ease with each other—the strange, light-headed feeling, which included the knowledge that it was the only sense of ease either of them found anywhere—made the thought of hostility impossible. Yet she knew that the party had taken place; he acted as if it had not.
They walked to the edge of the canyon. Together, they looked at the dark drop, at the rise of rock beyond it, at the sun high on the derricks of Wyatt Oil. She stood, her feet apart on the frozen stones, braced firmly against the wind. She could feel, without touching it, the line of his chest behind her shoulder. The wind beat her coat against his legs.
“Hank, do you think we can build it in time? There are only six months left.”
“Sure. It will take less time and labor than any other type of bridge. Let me have my engineers work out the basic scheme and submit it to you. No obligation on your part. Just take a look at it and see for yourself whether you’ll be able to afford it. You will. Then you can let your college boys work out the details.”
“What about the Metal?”
“I’ll get the Metal rolled if I have to throw every other order out of the mills.”
“You’ll get it rolled on so short a notice?”
“Have I ever held you up on an order?”
“No. But the way things are going nowadays, you might not be able to help it.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to—Orren Boyle?”
She laughed. “All right. Let me have the drawings as soon as possible. I’ll take a look and let you know within forty-eight hours. As to my college boys, they—” She stopped, frowning. “Hank, why is it so hard to find good men for any job nowadays?”
“I don’t know ...”
He looked at the lines of the mountains cut across the sky. A thin jet of smoke was rising from a distant valley.
“Have you seen the new towns of Colorado and the factories?