Atlas Shrugged

"He thinks he owns the place, doesn't he?"

She turned, startled. Ben Nealy had approached her; his thumb was pointing at Ellis Wyatt.

"What place?"

"The railroad, Miss Taggart. Your railroad. Or the whole world maybe. That's what he thinks."

Ben Nealy was a bulky man with a soft, sullen face. His eyes were stubborn and blank. In die bluish light of the snow, his skin had the tinge of butter.

"What does he keep hanging around here for?" he said. "As if nobody knew their business but him. The snooty show-off. Who does he think he is?"

"God damn you," said Dagny evenly, not raising her voice.

Nealy could never know what had made her say it. But some part of him, in some way of his own, knew it: the shocking thing to her was that he was not shocked. He said nothing.

"Let's go to your quarters," she said wearily, pointing to an old railway coach on a spur in the distance. "Have somebody there to take notes."

"Now about those crossties, Miss Taggart," he said hastily as they started. "Mr. Coleman of your office okayed them. He didn't say anything about too much bark. I don't see why you think they're—"

"I said you're going to replace them."

When she came out of the coach, exhausted by two hours of effort to be patient, to instruct, to explain—she saw an automobile parked on the torn dirt road below, a black two-seater, sparkling and new. A new car was an astonishing sight anywhere; one did not see them often.

She glanced around and gasped at the sight of the tall figure standing at the foot of the bridge. It was Hank Rearden; she had not expected to find him in Colorado. He seemed absorbed in calculations, pencil and notebook in hand. His clothes attracted attention, like his car and for the same reason; he wore a simple trenchcoat and a hat with a slanting brim, but they were of such good quality, so flagrantly expensive that they appeared ostentatious among the seedy garments of the crowds everywhere, the more ostentatious because worn so naturally.

She noticed suddenly that she was running toward him; she had lost all trace of exhaustion. Then she remembered that she had not seen him since the party. She stopped.

He saw her, he waved to her in a gesture of pleased, astonished greeting, and he walked forward to meet her. He was smiling.

"Hello," he said. "Your first trip to the job?"

"My fifth, in three months."

"I didn't know you were here. Nobody told me."

"I thought you'd break down some day."

"Break down?"

"Enough to come and see this. There's your Metal. How do you like it?"

He glanced around. "If you ever decide to quit the railroad business, let me know."

"You'd give me a job?"

"Any time."

She looked at him for a moment. "You're only half-kidding, Hank.

I think you'd like it—having me ask you for a job. Having me for an employee instead of a customer. Giving me orders to obey."

"Yes. I would."

She said, her face hard, "Don't quit the steel business, I won't promise you a job on the railroad."

He laughed. "Don't try it."

"What?"

"To win any battle when I set the terms."

She did not answer. She was struck by what the words made her feel; it was not an emotion, but a physical sensation of pleasure, which she could not name or understand.

"incidentally," he said, "this is not my first trip. I was here yesterday."

"You were? Why?"

"Oh, I came to Colorado on some business of my own, so I thought I'd take a look at this."

"What are you after?"

"Why do you assume that I'm after anything?"

"You wouldn't waste time coming here just to look. Not twice."

He laughed. "True." He pointed at the bridge. "I'm after that."

"What about it?"

"It's ready for the scrap heap."

"Do you suppose that I don't know it?"

"I saw the specifications of your order for Rearden Metal members for that bridge. You're wasting your money. The difference between what you're planning to spend on a makeshift that will last a couple of years, and the cost of a new Rearden Metal bridge, is comparatively so little that I don't see why you want to bother preserving this museum piece."

"I've thought of a new Rearden Metal bridge, I've had my engineers give me an estimate."

"What did they tell you?"

"Two million dollars."

"Good God!"

"What would you say?"

"Eight hundred thousand."

She looked at him. She knew that he never spoke idly. She asked, trying to sound calm, "How?"

"Like this."