Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
Ohhell,Idon’tknow,getthechiefengineer,speaktohim!"
ThechiefengineeroftheCentralRegionansweredimpatiently,"Yes?What?Whatisit?"—andMitchumrusheddesperatelytoexplain.WhenthechiefengineerheardthattherewasnoDiesel,hesnapped,"Thenholdthetrain,ofcourse!"WhenheheardaboutMr.Chalmers,hesaid,hisvoicesuddenlysubdued,"Hm...KipChalmers?OfWashington?...Well,Idon’tknow.ThatwouldbeamatterforMr.Loceytodecide."WhenMitchumsaid,"Mr.Loceyorderedmetoarrangeit,but—"thechiefengineersnappedingreatrelief,"ThendoexactlyasMr.Loceysays!"andhungup.
DaveMitchumreplacedthetelephonereceivercautiously.Hedidnotscreamanylonger.Instead,he-tiptoedtoachair,almostasifheweresneaking.HesatlookingatMr.Locey’sorderforalongtime.
Thenhesnatchedaglanceabouttheroom.Thedispatcherwasbusyathistelephone.Thetrainmasterandtheroadforemanwerethere,buttheypretendedthattheywerenotwaiting.HewishedBillBrent,thechiefdispatcher,wouldgohome;BillBrentstoodinacorner,watchinghim.
Brentwasashort,thinmanwithbroadshoulders;hewasforty,butlookedyounger;hehadthepalefaceofanofficeworkerandthehard,leanfeaturesofacowboy.Hewasthebestdispatcheronthesystem.
Mitchumroseabruptlyandwalkedupstairstohisoffice,clutchingLocey’sorderinhishand.
