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Hours
of
it
,
he
thought
,
hours
to
spend
watching
the
eyes
of
the
guests
getting
heavy
with
boredom
if
they
were
sober
or
glazing
into
an
imbecile
stare
if
they
weren
‘
t
,
and
pretend
that
he
noticed
neither
,
and
strain
to
think
of
something
to
say
to
them
,
when
he
had
nothing
to
say
-
while
he
needed
hours
of
inquiry
to
find
a
successor
for
the
superintendent
of
his
rolling
mills
who
had
resigned
suddenly
,
without
explanation
—
he
had
to
do
it
at
once
—
men
of
that
sort
were
so
hard
to
find
—
and
if
anything
happened
to
break
the
flow
of
the
rolling
mills
—
it
was
the
Taggart
rail
that
was
being
rolled
.
.
.
.
He
remembered
the
silent
reproach
,
the
look
of
accusation
,
long
-
bearing
patience
and
scorn
,
which
he
always
saw
in
the
eyes
of
his
family
when
they
caught
some
evidence
of
his
passion
for
his
business
—
and
the
futility
of
his
silence
,
of
his
hope
that
they
would
not
think
Rearden
Steel
meant
as
much
to
him
as
it
did
—
like
a
drunkard
pretending
indifference
to
liquor
,
among
people
who
watch
him
with
the
scornful
amusement
of
their
full
knowledge
of
his
shameful
weakness
.
.
.
.
"
I
heard
you
last
night
coming
home
at
two
in
the
morning
,
where
were
you
?
"
his
mother
saying
to
him
at
the
dinner
table
,
and
Lillian
answering
,
"
Why
,
at
the
mills
,
of
course
,
"
as
another
wife
would
say
,
"
At
the
corner
saloon
.
"
.
.
.
Or
Lillian
asking
him
,
the
hint
of
a
wise
half
-
smile
on
her
face
,
"
What
were
you
doing
in
New
York
yesterday
?
"
"
It
was
a
banquet
with
the
boys
.
"
"
Business
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Of
course
"
—
and
Lillian
turning
away
,
nothing
more
,
except
the
shameful
realization
that
he
had
almost
hoped
she
would
think
he
had
attended
some
sort
of
obscene
stag
party
.
.
.
.
An
ore
carrier
had
gone
down
in
a
storm
on
Lake
Michigan
,
with
thousands
of
tons
of
Rearden
ore
—
those
boats
were
falling
apart
—
if
he
didn
’
t
take
it
upon
himself
to
help
them
obtain
the
replacements
they
needed
,
the
owners
of
the
line
would
go
bankrupt
,
and
there
was
no
other
line
left
in
operation
on
Lake
Michigan
.
.
.
.
"
That
nook
?
"
said
Lillian
,
pointing
to
an
arrangement
of
settees
and
coffee
tables
in
their
drawing
room
.
"
Why
,
no
,
Henry
,
it
’
s
not
new
,
but
I
suppose
I
should
feel
flattered
that
three
weeks
is
all
it
took
you
to
notice
it
.
It
’
s
my
own
adaptation
of
the
morning
room
of
a
famous
French
palace
-
but
things
like
that
can
’
t
possibly
interest
you
,
darling
,
there
’
s
no
stock
market
quotation
on
them
,
none
whatever
.
"
.
.
.
The
order
for
copper
,
which
he
had
placed
six
months
ago
,
had
not
been
delivered
,
the
promised
date
had
been
postponed
three
times
—
"
We
can
’
t
help
it
,
Mr
.
Rearden
"
—
he
had
to
find
another
company
to
deal
with
,
the
supply
of
copper
was
becoming
increasingly
uncertain
.
.
.
.
Philip
did
not
smile
,
when
he
looked
up
in
the
midst
of
a
speech
he
was
making
to
some
friend
of
their
mother
’
s
,
about
some
organization
he
had
joined
,
but
there
was
something
that
suggested
a
smile
of
superiority
in
the
loose
muscles
of
his
face
when
he
said
,
"
No
,
you
wouldn
’
t
care
for
this
,
it
’
s
not
business
,
Henry
,
not
business
at
all
,
it
’
s
a
strictly
non
-
commercial
endeavor
.
"
.
.
.
That
contractor
in
Detroit
,
with
the
job
of
rebuilding
a
large
factory
,
was
considering
structural
shapes
of
Rearden
Metal
-
he
should
fly
to
Detroit
and
speak
to
him
in
person
—
he
should
have
done
it
a
week
ago
—
he
could
have
done
it
tonight
.
.
.
.
"
You
’
re
not
listening
,
"
said
his
mother
at
the
breakfast
table
,
when
his
mind
wandered
to
the
current
coal
price
index
,
while
she
was
telling
him
about
the
dream
she
’
d
had
last
night
.
"
You
’
ve
never
listened
to
a
living
soul
.
You
’
re
not
interested
in
anything
but
yourself
.
You
don
’
t
give
a
damn
about
people
,
not
about
a
single
human
creature
on
God
’
s
earth
.
"
.
.
.
The
typed
pages
lying
on
the
desk
in
his
office
were
a
report
on
the
tests
of
an
airplane
motor
made
of
Rearden
Metal
—
perhaps
of
all
things
on
earth
,
the
one
he
wanted
most
at
this
moment
was
to
read
it
—
it
had
lain
on
his
desk
,
untouched
,
for
three
days
,
he
had
had
no
time
for
it
—
why
didn
’
t
he
do
it
now
and
—
He
shook
his
head
violently
,
opening
his
eyes
,
stepping
back
from
the
mirror
.
He
tried
to
reach
for
the
shirt
studs
.
He
saw
his
hand
reaching
,
instead
,
for
the
pile
of
mail
on
his
dresser
.
It
was
mail
picked
as
urgent
,
it
had
to
be
read
tonight
,
but
he
had
had
no
time
to
read
it
in
the
office
.
His
secretary
had
stuffed
it
into
his
pocket
on
his
way
out
.
He
had
thrown
it
there
while
undressing
.
A
newspaper
clipping
fluttered
down
to
the
floor
.
It
was
an
editorial
which
his
secretary
had
marked
with
an
angry
slash
in
red
pencil
.
It
was
entitled
"
Equalization
of
Opportunity
.
"
He
had
to
read
it
:
there
had
been
too
much
talk
about
this
issue
in
the
last
three
months
,
ominously
too
much
.
He
read
it
,
with
the
sound
of
voices
and
forced
laughter
coming
from
downstairs
,
reminding
him
that
the
guests
were
arriving
,
that
the
party
had
started
and
that
he
would
face
the
bitter
,
reproachful
glances
of
his
family
when
he
came
down
.
The
editorial
said
that
at
a
time
of
dwindling
production
,
shrinking
markets
and
vanishing
opportunities
to
make
a
living
,
it
was
unfair
to
let
one
man
hoard
several
business
enterprises
,
while
others
had
none
;
it
was
destructive
to
let
a
few
corner
all
the
resources
,
leaving
others
no
chance
;
competition
was
essential
to
society
,
and
it
was
society
’
s
duty
to
see
that
no
competitor
ever
rose
beyond
the
range
of
anybody
who
wanted
to
compete
with
him
.
The
editorial
predicted
the
passage
of
a
bill
which
had
been
proposed
,
a
bill
forbidding
any
person
or
corporation
to
own
more
than
one
business
concern
.
Wesley
Mouch
,
his
Washington
man
,
had
told
Rearden
not
to
worry
;
the
fight
would
be
stiff
,
he
had
said
,
but
the
bill
would
be
defeated
.
Rearden
understood
nothing
about
that
kind
of
fight
.
He
left
it
to
Mouch
and
his
staff
.
