Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand [148]
A group that called itself “Committee of Disinterested Citizens” collected signatures on a petition demanding a year’s study of the John Galt Line by government experts before the first train were allowed to run. The petition stated that its signers had no motive other than “a sense of civic duty.” The first signatures were those of Balph Eubank and Mort Liddy. The petition was given a great deal of space and comment in all the newspapers. The consideration it received was respectful, because it came from people who were disinterested.
No space was given by the newspapers to the progress of the construction of the John Galt Line. No reporter was sent to look at the scene. The general policy of the press had been stated by a famous editor five years ago. “There are no objective facts,” he had said. “Every report on facts is only somebody’s opinion. It is, therefore, useless to write about facts.”
A few businessmen thought that one should think about the possibility that there might be commercial value in Rearden Metal. They undertock a survey of the question. They did not hire metallurgists to examine samples, nor engineers to visit the site of construction. They took a public poll. Ten thousand people, guaranteed to represent every existing kind of brain, were asked the question: “Would you ride on the John Galt Line?” The answer, overwhelmingly, was: “No, sir-ree!”
No voices were heard in public in defense of Rearden Metal. And nobody attached significance to the fact that the stock of Taggart Transcontinental was rising on the market, very slowly, almost furtively. There were men who watched and played safe. Mr. Mowen bought Taggart stock in the name of his sister. Ben Nealy bought it in the name of a cousin. Paul Larkin bought it under an alias. “I don’t believe in raising controversial issues,” said one of these men.
“Oh yes, of course, the construction is moving on schedule,” said James Taggart, shrugging, to his Board of Directors. “Oh yes, you may feel full confidence. My dear sister does not happen to be a human being, but just an internal combustion engine, so one must not wonder at her success.”
When James Taggart heard a rumor that some bridge girders had split and crashed, killing three workmen, he leaped to his feet and ran to his secretary’s office, ordering him to call Colorado. He waited, pressed against the secretary’s desk, as if seeking protection; his eyes had the unfocused look of panic. Yet his mouth moved suddenly into almost a smile and he said, “I’d give anything to see Henry Rearden’s face right now.” When he heard that the rumor was false, he said, “Thank God!” But his voice had a note of disappointment.
“Oh well!” said Philip Rearden to his friends, hearing the same rumor. “Maybe he can fail, too, once in a while. Maybe my great brother isn’t as great as he thinks.”
“Darling,” said Lillian Rearden to her husband, “I fought for you yesterday, at a tea where the women were saying that Dagny Taggart is your mistress.... Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t look at me like that! I know it’s preposterous and I gave them hell for it. It’s just that those silly bitches can’t imagine any other reason why a woman would take such a stand against everybody for the sake of your Metal. Of course, I know better than that. I know that the Taggart woman is perfectly sexless and doesn’t give a damn about you—and, darling, I know that if you ever had the courage for anything of the sort, which you haven‘t, you wouldn’t go for an adding machine in tailored suits, you’d go for some blond, feminine chorus girl who—oh, but Henry, I’m only joking! -don’t look