Атлант расправил плечи
The Sacred and the Profane
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"Whatareyougoingtodo,ifmoreofthemmoveout?"
"Waitandsee."
Mr.Mowenglancedupdubiously:hecouldnottellwhethertheanswerwasintendedtoapplytohimortotheyoungman.Buttheyoungman’sattentionwasfixedonhistask;hewasnotlookingdown.
Hemovedon,totheshroudedshapesonthenextflatcar,andMr.Mowenfollowed,lookingupathim,pleadingwithsomethingupinspace:"I’vegotrights,haven’tI?Iwasbornhere.IexpectedtheoldcompaniestobeherewhenIgrewup.Iexpectedtoruntheplantlikemyfatherdid.Amanispartofhiscommunity,he’sgotarighttocountonit,hasn’the?...Somethingoughttobedoneaboutit."
"Aboutwhat?"
"Oh,Iknow,youthinkit’sgreat,don’tyou?—thatTaggartboomandReardenMetalandthegoldrushtoColoradoandthedrunkenspreeoutthere,withWyattandhisbunchexpandingtheirproductionlikekettlesboilingover!Everybodythinksit’sgreat—that’sallyouhearanywhereyougo—peopleareslap-happy,makingplanslikesix-yearoldsonavacation—you’dthinkitwasanationalhoneymoonofsomekindorapermanentFourthofJuly!"
Theyoungmansaidnothing.
"Well,Idon’tthinkso,"saidMr.Mowen.Heloweredhisvoice."Thenewspapersdon’tsayso,either—mindyouthat—thenewspapersaren’tsayinganything."
Mr.
