Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand [131]
“I never accept favors,” he answered coldly.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t ask people to take greater chances on my ventures than I take myself. If it’s a gamble, I’ll match anybody’s gambling. Didn’t you say that that track was my first showcase?”
She inclined her head and said gravely, “All right. Thank you.”
“Incidentally, I don’t expect to lose this money. I am aware of the conditions under which these bonds can be converted into stock at my option. I therefore expect to make an inordinate profit—and you’re going to earn it for me.”
She laughed. “God, Hank, I’ve spoken to so many yellow fools that they’ve almost infected me into thinking of the Line as of a hopeless loss! Thanks for reminding me. Yes, I think I’ll earn your inordinate profit for you.”
“If it weren’t for the yellow fools, there wouldn’t be any risk in it at all. But we have to beat them. We will.” He reached for two telegrams from among the papers on his desk. “There are still a few men in existence.” He extended the telegrams. “I think you’d like to see these.”
One of them read: “I had intended to undertake it in two years, but the statement of the State Science Institute compels me to proceed at once. Consider this a commitment for the construction of a 12-inch pipe line of Rearden Metal, 600 miles, Colorado to Kansas City. Details follow. Ellis Wyatt.”
The other read: “Re our discussion of my order. Go ahead. Ken Danagger.”
He added, in explanation, “He wasn’t prepared to proceed at once, either. It’s eight thousand tons of Rearden Metal. Structural metal. For coal mines.”
They glanced at each other and smiled. They needed no further comment.
He glanced down, as she handed the telegrams back to him. The skin of her hand looked transparent in the light, on the edge of his desk, a young girl’s hand with long, thin fingers, relaxed for a moment, defenseless.
“The Stockton Foundry in Colorado,” she said, “is going to finish that order for me—the one that the Amalgamated Switch and Signal Company ran out on. They’re going to get in touch with you about the Metal.”
“They have already. What have you done about the construction crews?”
“Nealy’s engineers are staying on, the best ones, those I need. And most of the foremen, too. It won’t be too hard to keep them going. Nealy wasn’t of much use, anyway.”
“What about labor?”
“More applicants than I can hire. I don’t think the union is going to interfere. Most of the applicants are giving phony names. They’re union members. They need the work desperately. I’ll have a few guards on the Line, but I don’t expect any trouble.”
“What about your brother Jim’s Board of Directors?”
“They’re all scrambling to get statements into the newspapers to the effect that they have no connection whatever with the John Galt Line and how reprehensible an undertaking they think it is. They agreed to everything I asked.”
The line of her shoulders looked taut, yet thrown back easily, as if poised for flight. Tension seemed natural to her, not a sign of anxiety, but a sign of enjoyment; the tension of her whole body, under the gray suit, half-visible in the darkness.
“Eddie Willers has taken over the office of Operating Vice-President,” she said. “If you need anything, get in touch with him. I’m leaving for Colorado tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. We have to make up time. We’ve lost a week.”
“Flying your own plane?”
“Yes. I’ll be back in about ten days. I intend to be in New York once or twice a month.”
“Where will you live out there?”
“On the site. In my own railway car—that is, Eddie’s car, which I’m borrowing.”
“Will you be safe?”
“Safe from what?” Then she laughed, startled. “Why, Hank, it’s the first time you’ve ever thought that I wasn’t a man. Of course I’ll be safe.”
He was not looking at her; he was looking at a sheet of figures on his desk. “I’ve had my engineers prepare a breakdown of the cost of the bridge,” he said, “and an approximate schedule of the construction time required. That is what I wanted to discuss with you.” He extended the papers. She settled back to read