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- Айн Рэнд
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- Стр. 565/1581
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Nobody
had
known
how
to
determine
what
constituted
a
fair
share
of
what
amount
.
Then
a
bright
young
boy
just
out
of
college
had
been
sent
to
him
from
Washington
,
as
Deputy
Director
of
Distribution
.
After
many
telephone
conferences
with
the
capital
,
the
boy
announced
that
customers
would
get
five
hundred
tons
of
the
Metal
each
,
in
the
order
of
the
dates
of
their
applications
.
Nobody
had
argued
against
his
figure
.
There
was
no
way
to
form
an
argument
;
the
figure
could
have
been
one
pound
or
one
million
tons
,
with
the
same
validity
.
The
boy
had
established
an
office
at
the
Rearden
mills
,
where
four
girls
took
applications
for
shares
of
Rearden
Metal
.
At
the
present
rate
of
the
mills
’
production
,
the
applications
extended
well
into
the
next
century
.
Five
hundred
tons
of
Rearden
Metal
could
not
provide
three
miles
of
rail
for
Taggart
Transcontinental
;
it
could
not
provide
the
bracing
for
one
of
Ken
Danagger
’
s
coal
mines
.
The
largest
industries
,
Rearden
’
s
best
customers
,
were
denied
the
use
of
his
Metal
.
But
golf
clubs
made
of
Rearden
Metal
were
suddenly
appearing
on
the
market
,
as
well
as
coffee
pots
,
garden
tools
and
bathroom
faucets
.
Ken
Danagger
,
who
had
seen
the
value
of
the
Metal
and
had
dared
to
order
it
against
a
fury
of
public
opinion
,
was
not
permitted
to
obtain
it
;
his
order
had
been
left
unfilled
,
cut
off
without
warning
by
the
new
laws
.
Mr
.
Mowen
,
who
had
betrayed
Taggart
Transcontinental
in
its
most
dangerous
hour
,
was
now
making
switches
of
Rearden
Metal
and
selling
them
to
the
Atlantic
Southern
.
Rearden
looked
on
,
his
emotions
plugged
out
.
He
turned
away
,
without
a
word
,
when
anybody
mentioned
to
him
what
everybody
knew
:
the
quick
fortunes
that
were
being
made
on
Rearden
Metal
.
"
Well
,
no
,
"
people
said
in
drawing
rooms
,
"
you
mustn
’
t
call
it
a
black
market
,
because
it
isn
’
t
,
really
.
Nobody
is
selling
the
Metal
illegally
.
They
’
re
just
selling
their
right
to
it
.
Not
selling
really
,
just
pooling
their
shares
.
"
He
did
not
want
to
know
the
insect
intricacy
of
the
deals
through
which
the
"
shares
"
were
sold
and
pooled
—
nor
how
a
manufacturer
in
Virginia
had
produced
,
in
two
months
,
five
thousand
tons
of
castings
made
of
Rearden
Metal
—
nor
what
man
in
Washington
was
that
manufacturer
’
s
unlisted
partner
.
He
knew
that
their
profit
on
a
ton
of
Rearden
Metal
was
five
times
larger
than
his
own
.
He
said
nothing
.
Everybody
had
a
right
to
the
Metal
,
except
himself
.
The
young
boy
from
Washington
—
whom
the
steel
workers
had
nicknamed
the
Wet
Nurse
—
hung
around
Rearden
with
a
primitive
,
astonished
curiosity
which
,
incredibly
,
was
a
form
of
admiration
.
Rearden
watched
him
with
disgusted
amusement
.
The
boy
had
no
inkling
of
any
concept
of
morality
;
it
had
been
bred
out
of
him
by
his
college
;
this
had
left
him
an
odd
frankness
,
naive
and
cynical
at
once
,
like
the
innocence
of
a
savage
.
"
You
despise
me
,
Mr
.
Rearden
,
"
he
had
declared
once
,
suddenly
and
without
any
resentment
.
"
That
’
s
impractical
.
"
"
Why
is
it
impractical
?
"
Rearden
had
asked
.
