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"
The
boys
had
friends
in
Washington
,
Looking
at
the
Taggart
rail
from
the
platform
of
some
country
station
,
she
had
found
herself
feeling
,
not
the
brilliant
pride
she
had
once
felt
,
but
a
foggy
,
guilty
shame
,
as
if
some
foul
kind
of
rust
had
grown
on
the
metal
,
and
worse
:
as
if
the
rust
had
a
tinge
of
blood
.
But
then
,
in
the
concourse
of
the
Terminal
,
she
looked
at
the
statue
of
Nat
Taggart
and
thought
:
It
was
your
rail
,
you
made
it
,
you
fought
for
it
,
you
were
not
stopped
by
fear
or
by
loathing
—
I
won
’
t
surrender
it
to
the
men
of
blood
and
rust
—
and
I
’
m
the
only
one
left
to
guard
it
.
She
had
not
given
up
her
quest
for
the
man
who
invented
the
motor
.
It
was
the
only
part
of
her
work
that
made
her
able
to
bear
the
rest
.
It
was
the
only
goal
in
sight
that
gave
meaning
to
her
struggle
.
There
were
times
when
she
wondered
why
she
wanted
to
rebuild
that
motor
.
What
for
?
—
some
voice
seemed
to
ask
her
.
Because
I
’
m
still
alive
,
she
answered
.
But
her
quest
had
remained
futile
.
Her
two
engineers
had
found
nothing
in
Wisconsin
.
She
had
sent
them
to
search
through
the
country
for
men
who
had
worked
for
Twentieth
Century
,
to
learn
the
name
of
the
inventor
.
They
had
learned
nothing
.
She
had
sent
them
to
search
through
the
files
of
the
Patent
Office
;
no
patent
for
the
motor
had
ever
been
registered
.
The
only
remnant
of
her
personal
quest
was
the
stub
of
the
cigarette
with
the
dollar
sign
.
She
had
forgotten
it
,
until
a
recent
evening
,
when
she
had
found
it
in
a
drawer
of
her
desk
and
given
it
to
her
friend
at
the
cigar
counter
of
the
concourse
.
The
old
man
had
been
very
astonished
,
as
he
examined
the
stub
,
holding
it
cautiously
between
two
fingers
;
he
had
never
heard
of
such
a
brand
and
wondered
how
he
could
have
missed
it
.
"
Was
it
of
good
quality
,
Miss
Taggart
?
"
"
The
best
I
’
ve
ever
smoked
.
"
He
had
shaken
his
head
,
puzzled
.
He
had
promised
to
discover
where
those
cigarettes
were
made
and
to
get
her
a
carton
.
She
had
tried
to
find
a
scientist
able
to
attempt
the
reconstruction
of
the
motor
.
She
had
interviewed
the
men
recommended
to
her
as
the
best
in
their
field
.
The
first
one
,
after
studying
the
remnants
of
the
motor
and
of
the
manuscript
,
had
declared
,
in
the
tone
of
a
drill
sergeant
,
that
the
thing
could
not
work
,
had
never
worked
and
he
would
prove
that
no
such
motor
could
ever
be
made
to
work
.
The
second
one
had
drawled
,
in
the
tone
of
an
answer
to
a
boring
imposition
,
that
he
did
not
know
whether
it
could
be
done
or
not
and
did
not
care
to
find
out
.
The
third
had
said
,
his
voice
belligerently
insolent
,
that
he
would
attempt
the
task
on
a
ten
-
year
contract
at
twenty
-
five
thousand
dollars
a
year
—
"
After
all
,
Miss
Taggart
,
if
you
expect
to
make
huge
profits
on
that
motor
,
it
’
s
you
who
should
pay
for
the
gamble
of
my
time
.
"
The
fourth
,
who
was
the
youngest
,
had
looked
at
her
silently
for
a
moment
and
the
lines
of
his
face
had
slithered
from
blankness
into
a
suggestion
of
contempt
.
"
You
know
,
Miss
Taggart
,
I
don
’
t
think
that
such
a
motor
should
ever
be
made
,
even
if
somebody
did
learn
how
to
make
it
.
It
would
be
so
superior
to
anything
we
’
ve
got
that
it
would
be
unfair
to
lesser
scientists
,
because
it
would
leave
no
field
for
their
achievements
and
abilities
.
I
don
’
t
think
that
the
strong
should
have
the
right
to
wound
the
self
esteem
of
the
weak
.
"
She
had
ordered
him
out
of
her
office
,
and
had
sat
in
incredulous
horror
before
the
fact
that
the
most
vicious
statement
she
had
ever
heard
had
been
uttered
in
a
tone
of
moral
righteousness
.
The
decision
to
speak
to
Dr
.
Robert
Stadler
had
been
her
last
recourse
.
