Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
They’recarryingmunitionsfortheWestCoastarsenals.Betterpraythatnothingstopsthemonyourdivision.Ifyouthinkwe’llcatchhellforholdingtheComet,it’snothingtowhatwe’llcatchifwetrytostopthatSpecial."
Theyremainedsilent.Thewindowswereopentothesummernightandtheycouldheartheringingofthetelephoneinthedispatcher’sofficedownstairs.Thesignallightswinkedoverthedesertedyardsthathadoncebeenabusydivisionpoint.
Mitchumlookedtowardtheroundhouse,wheretheblacksilhouettesofafewsteamenginesstoodoutlinedinadimlight.
"Thetunnel—"hesaidandstopped.
"—iseightmileslong,"saidthetrainmaster,withaharshemphasis.
"Iwasonlythinking,"snappedMitchum.
"Betternotthinkofit,"saidBrentsoftly.
"Ihaven’tsaidanything!"
"WhatwasthattalkyouhadwithDickHortonbeforehequit?"theroadforemanaskedtooinnocently,asifthesubjectwereirrelevant.
"Wasn’titsomethingabouttheventilationsystemofthetunnelbeingonthebum?Didn’thesaythatthattunnelwashardlysafenowadaysevenforDieselengines?"
"Whydoyoubringthatup?"snappedMitchum."Ihaven’tsaidanything!"DickHorton,thedivisionchiefengineer,hadquitthreedaysafterMitchum’sarrival.
