The Early Ayn Rand

"It will be all right," said Roark. "You'll take these down to Huston Street when I finish, Loomis."

"Yes," said Loomis, his mouth hanging open.

That afternoon, Trager came into the drafting room, his glance directed, fixed upon a definite object.

"There's a Mr. Mead outside," he said. "He had an appointment with Mr. Cameron about that hotel down in Connecticut. What shall I tell him, Mr. Roark?"

Roark jerked his thumb at the door of Cameron's office.

"Send him in," said Roark. "I'll see him."

On a day when the [Heller] house was nearing completion, Roark noticed, driving

towards it one morning, an old, hunched figure standing at the foot of the hill, alone on the rocky shore, ignored by the cars flying past and by the noisy activity of the workers above. He knew the broad, bent back of that figure, but what it appeared to be was incredible. He stopped his car with a violent screech of brakes, and leaped out, and ran forward, frightened. He saw the heavy cane and the two hands leaning agonizingly upon its handle, the old body braced in supreme effort against one steady shaft, grinding its tip into the earth.

Roark stood before him and opened his mouth and said nothing.

"Well?" asked Cameron. "What are you staring at?"

Roark couldn't answer.

"Now you're not going to say anything," Cameron snapped. "Why the hell did you have to come here today? I didn't want you to know."

"How... how could Miss Cameron let you..."

"She didn't let me," said Cameron triumphantly. "I escaped." His eyes twinkled slyly, with the boasting of a boy playing hookey. "I just sneaked out of the house when she went to church. I can hire taxis and get on trains just like anybody else. I'll slap your face if you go on standing there with that stupid look proclaiming to the world that it's so unusual for me to crawl out of the grave. Really, you know, you're more of a fool than I thought you were. You should have expected me here someday." The cane staggered and he caught at Roark's arm for support. He added softly: "Do you know what Victor Hugo said? Victor Hugo said that there may be indifferent fathers, but there can't be indifferent grandfathers. Help me up the hill."

"No!" said Roark. "You can't!"

"I said help me up the hill," Cameron pronounced slowly, icily, with the tone of addressing an insolent draftsman.

Roark had to obey. His hands closed about Cameron's elbows, and he pulled the old body gently, tightly against his own, and they went forward slowly. Cameron's feet stepped with long, deliberate precision, each step — a purpose begun and carried on and completed consciously, his mind concentrated upon each step. The cane left a long, zigzagging string of dots stamped on the earth behind them. Cameron barely felt the pressure of Roark's hands on his elbows, but the hands led him, held him in tight safety, as if some fluid energy of motion flowed from these hands through his body, as if Cameron were carried forward not by his feet, but by Roark's hands. They stopped frequently, upon each ledge they reached, and stood silently, Cameron trying to hide the gasps of his breath, and looked up. Then they went on.

When they reached the top, they sat down on the steps of the entrance and rested for a long time. Then they walked slowly through all the rooms of the house. The workers looked with indifferent curiosity upon the old cripple whom it pleased the architect to drag through the building. No one knew Cameron. Cameron made no comments, beyond snapping briefly, once in a while: "That's a bum job of plastering here. Don't let them get away with it. Have it done over... Watch out for air currents in this hall. Adjust the ventilation... You'll want another electric outlet on these stairs..." Then they came out again and Cameron stood, without help, leaning on his cane, his back to the house, looking over the vast spread of the countryside for a long time. When he turned his head to Roark, he said nothing, but nodded slowly in a great, silent affirmation.

After a while, Roark said: "I'll drive you back now."

"No," said Cameron. "I'll stay here till evening — while I'm here. You go ahead with whatever you have to do. I'll just sit here. Don't make such a fuss about me."

Roark brought the leather seats from his car, and spread them on the ground in the shade of a tree, and helped Cameron to settle down comfortably upon them. Then he went back to his work in the house. Cameron sat looking at the sea and at the walls before him. His cane, stretched limply forward between his hands, tapped softly against a stone, once in a while, two brief little thumps, then two more a long time later, as if punctuating the course of his thoughts.