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"
It
all
depends
,
"
James
Taggart
answered
slowly
,
"
on
knowing
the
people
who
make
it
possible
.
.
.
.
That
’
s
what
has
to
be
known
—
who
makes
it
possible
.
"
Dagny
Taggart
was
nine
years
old
when
she
decided
that
she
would
run
the
Taggart
Transcontinental
Railroad
some
day
.
She
stated
it
to
herself
when
she
stood
alone
between
the
rails
,
looking
at
the
two
straight
lines
of
steel
that
went
off
into
the
distance
and
met
in
a
single
point
.
What
she
felt
was
an
arrogant
pleasure
at
the
way
the
track
cut
through
the
woods
:
it
did
not
belong
in
the
midst
of
ancient
trees
,
among
green
branches
that
hung
down
to
meet
green
brush
and
the
lonely
spears
of
wild
nowers
—
but
there
it
was
.
The
two
steel
lines
were
brilliant
in
the
sun
,
and
the
black
ties
were
like
the
rungs
of
a
ladder
which
she
had
to
climb
.
It
was
not
a
sudden
decision
,
but
only
the
final
seal
of
words
upon
something
she
had
known
long
ago
.
In
unspoken
understanding
,
as
if
bound
by
a
vow
it
had
never
been
necessary
to
take
,
she
and
Eddie
Willers
had
given
themselves
to
the
railroad
from
the
first
conscious
days
of
their
childhood
.
She
felt
a
bored
indifference
toward
the
immediate
world
around
her
,
toward
other
children
and
adults
alike
.
She
took
it
as
a
regrettable
accident
,
to
be
borne
patiently
for
a
while
,
that
she
happened
to
be
imprisoned
among
people
who
were
dull
.
She
had
caught
a
glimpse
of
another
world
and
she
knew
that
it
existed
somewhere
,
the
world
that
had
created
trains
,
bridges
,
telegraph
wires
and
signal
lights
winking
in
the
night
.
She
had
to
wait
,
she
thought
,
and
grow
up
to
that
world
.
She
never
tried
to
explain
why
she
liked
the
railroad
.
Whatever
it
was
that
others
felt
,
she
knew
that
this
was
one
emotion
for
which
they
had
no
equivalent
and
no
response
.
She
felt
the
same
emotion
in
school
,
in
classes
of
mathematics
,
the
only
lessons
she
liked
.
She
felt
the
excitement
of
solving
problems
,
the
insolent
delight
of
taking
up
a
challenge
and
disposing
of
it
without
effort
,
the
eagerness
to
meet
another
,
harder
test
.
She
felt
,
at
the
same
time
,
a
growing
respect
for
the
adversary
,
for
a
science
that
was
so
clean
,
so
strict
,
so
luminously
rational
.
Studying
mathematics
,
she
felt
,
quite
simply
and
at
once
:
"
How
great
that
men
have
done
this
"
and
"
How
wonderful
that
I
’
m
so
good
at
it
.
"
It
was
the
joy
of
admiration
and
of
one
’
s
own
ability
,
growing
together
.
Her
feeling
for
the
railroad
was
the
same
:
worship
of
the
skill
that
had
gone
to
make
it
,
of
the
ingenuity
of
someone
’
s
clean
,
reasoning
mind
,
worship
with
a
secret
smile
that
said
she
would
know
how
to
make
it
better
some
day
.
She
hung
around
the
tracks
and
the
roundhouses
like
a
humble
student
,
but
the
humility
had
a
touch
of
future
pride
,
a
pride
to
be
earned
.
"
You
’
re
unbearably
conceited
,
"
was
one
of
the
two
sentences
she
heard
throughout
her
childhood
,
even
though
she
never
spoke
of
her
own
ability
.
The
other
sentence
was
:
"
You
’
re
selfish
.
"
She
asked
what
was
meant
,
but
never
received
an
answer
.
She
looked
at
the
adults
,
wondering
how
they
could
imagine
that
she
would
feel
guilt
from
an
undefined
accusation
.
She
was
twelve
years
old
when
she
told
Eddie
Willers
that
she
would
run
the
railroad
when
they
grew
up
.
She
was
fifteen
when
it
occurred
to
her
for
the
first
time
that
women
did
not
run
railroads
and
that
people
might
object
.
To
hell
with
that
,
she
thought
—
and
never
worried
about
it
again
.
She
went
to
work
for
Taggart
Transcontinental
at
the
age
of
sixteen
.
Her
father
permitted
it
:
he
was
amused
and
a
little
curious
.
She
started
as
night
operator
at
a
small
country
station
.
She
had
to
work
nights
for
the
first
few
years
,
while
attending
a
college
of
engineering
.
