Antitrust law -- United States -- Fiction; Capitalists and financiers -- Fiction; Railroad stories
One could have guessed without seeing him that the occupant of this
room was restless, never at physical ease, and worked all over the
place, sitting here and there, lying down and walking about. On the
left side of the room was a couch and close beside it at one end a
morris chair, a reading light between them. Both the couch and chair
showed nervous wear and tear. And beyond the table in the clear space
the rug had been paced threadbare.
Most of the available wall area was covered with maps and colored
charts. I walked about looking at them. Galt removed his shoes, put on
slippers, got into a ragged lounging jacket and threw himself on the
couch, where he lay for some time watching me with the air of one who
waits only to pop open at the slightest touch in the right place.
“What is this?” I asked, staring at a large map which showed the Great
Midwestern in heavy red lines, as I fairly well knew it, but with such
ramified extensions in blue lines as to make it look like a gigantic
double-ended animal with its body lying across the continent and its
tentacles flung wide in the east and west.
“That’s crystal gazing,” he said.
“It’s what?”
“What may be,” he said, coming off the couch with a spring. As he
passed the table he snatched up a ruler to point with.
See! There was the Great Midwestern alone,--all there was of it, from
there to there. It was like a desert bridge from east to west, or,
better still, like a strait connecting two vast oceans of freight. It
was not so placed as to be able to originate traffic for itself, not
profitably, yet that is what it had always been trying to do instead of
attending exclusively to its own unique function. Its opportunity was
to become the Dardanelles of trans-continental traffic. To realize its
destiny it must control traffic at both ends. How? Why, by controlling
railroads east and west that developed and originated freight, as
a river gathers water, by a system of branches reaching up to the
springs. And those blue lines, see!--they were those other roads which
the Great Midwestern should control in its own interest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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