and added, pleading, “I wish we didn’t have to hurt anybody.”
“That is an anti-social attitude,” drawled Taggart. “People who are afraid to sacrifice somebody have no business talking about a common purpose.”
“But I’m a student of history,” said Larkin hastily. “I recognize historical necessity.”
“Good,” said Taggart.
“I can’t be expected to buck the trend of the whole world, can I?” Larkin seemed to plead, but the plea was not addressed to anyone. “Can I?”
“You can‘t, Mr. Larkin,” said Wesley Mouch. “You and I are not to be blamed, if we—”
Larkin jerked his head away; it was almost a shudder; he could not bear to look at Mouch.
“Did you have a good time in Mexico, Orren?” asked Taggart, his voice suddenly loud and casual. All of them seemed to know that the purpose of their meeting was accomplished and whatever they had come here to understand was understood.
“Wonderful place, Mexico,” Boyle answered cheerfully. “Very stimulating and thought-provoking. Their food rations are something awful, though. I got sick. But they’re working mighty hard to put their country on its feet.”
“How are things going down there?”
“Pretty splendid, it seems to me, pretty splendid. Right at the moment, however, they’re ... But then, what they’re aiming at is the future. The People’s State of Mexico has a great future. They’ll beat us all in a few years.”
“Did you go down to the San Sebastián Mines?”
The four figures at the table sat up straighter and tighter; all of them had invested heavily in the stock of the San Sebastián Mines.
Boyle did not answer at once, so that his voice seemed unexpected and unnaturally loud when it burst forth: “Oh, sure, certainly, that’s what I wanted to see most.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“How are things going?”
“Great. Great. They must certainly have the biggest deposits of copper on earth, down inside that mountain!”
“Did they seem to be busy?”
“Never saw such a busy place in my life.”
“What were they busy doing?”
“Well, you know, with the kind of Spic superintendent they have down there, I couldn’t understand half of what he was talking about, but they’re certainly busy.”
“Any ... trouble of any kind?”
“Trouble? Not at San Sebastián. It’s private property, the last piece of it left in Mexico, and that does seem to make a difference.”
“Orren,” Taggart asked cautiously, “what about those rumors that they’re planning to nationalize the San Sebastián Mines?”
“Slander,” said Boyle angrily, “plain, vicious slander. I know it for certain. I had dinner with the Minister of Culture and lunches with all the rest of the boys.”
“There ought to be a law against irresponsible gossip,” said Taggart sullenly. “Let’s have another drink.”
He waved irritably at a waiter. There was a small bar in a dark corner of the room, where an old, wizened bartender stood for long stretches of time without moving. When called upon, he moved with contemptuous slowness. His job was that of servant to men’s relaxation and pleasure, but his manner was that of an embittered quack minister ing to some guilty disease.
The four men sat in silence until the waiter returned with their drinks. The glasses he placed on the table were four spots of faint blue glitter in the semi-darkness, like four feeble jets of gas flame. Taggart reached for his glass and smiled suddenly.
“Let’s drink to the sacrifices to historical necessity,” he said, looking at Larkin.
There was a moment’s pause; in a lighted room, it would have been the contest of two men holding each other’s eyes; here, they were merely looking at each other’s eye sockets. Then Larkin picked up his glass.
“It’s my party, boys,” said Taggart, as they drank.
Nobody found anything else to say, until Boyle spoke up with indifferent curiosity. “Say, Jim, I meant to ask you, what in hell’s the
“That is an anti-social attitude,” drawled Taggart. “People who are afraid to sacrifice somebody have no business talking about a common purpose.”
“But I’m a student of history,” said Larkin hastily. “I recognize historical necessity.”
“Good,” said Taggart.
“I can’t be expected to buck the trend of the whole world, can I?” Larkin seemed to plead, but the plea was not addressed to anyone. “Can I?”
“You can‘t, Mr. Larkin,” said Wesley Mouch. “You and I are not to be blamed, if we—”
Larkin jerked his head away; it was almost a shudder; he could not bear to look at Mouch.
“Did you have a good time in Mexico, Orren?” asked Taggart, his voice suddenly loud and casual. All of them seemed to know that the purpose of their meeting was accomplished and whatever they had come here to understand was understood.
“Wonderful place, Mexico,” Boyle answered cheerfully. “Very stimulating and thought-provoking. Their food rations are something awful, though. I got sick. But they’re working mighty hard to put their country on its feet.”
“How are things going down there?”
“Pretty splendid, it seems to me, pretty splendid. Right at the moment, however, they’re ... But then, what they’re aiming at is the future. The People’s State of Mexico has a great future. They’ll beat us all in a few years.”
“Did you go down to the San Sebastián Mines?”
The four figures at the table sat up straighter and tighter; all of them had invested heavily in the stock of the San Sebastián Mines.
Boyle did not answer at once, so that his voice seemed unexpected and unnaturally loud when it burst forth: “Oh, sure, certainly, that’s what I wanted to see most.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“How are things going?”
“Great. Great. They must certainly have the biggest deposits of copper on earth, down inside that mountain!”
“Did they seem to be busy?”
“Never saw such a busy place in my life.”
“What were they busy doing?”
“Well, you know, with the kind of Spic superintendent they have down there, I couldn’t understand half of what he was talking about, but they’re certainly busy.”
“Any ... trouble of any kind?”
“Trouble? Not at San Sebastián. It’s private property, the last piece of it left in Mexico, and that does seem to make a difference.”
“Orren,” Taggart asked cautiously, “what about those rumors that they’re planning to nationalize the San Sebastián Mines?”
“Slander,” said Boyle angrily, “plain, vicious slander. I know it for certain. I had dinner with the Minister of Culture and lunches with all the rest of the boys.”
“There ought to be a law against irresponsible gossip,” said Taggart sullenly. “Let’s have another drink.”
He waved irritably at a waiter. There was a small bar in a dark corner of the room, where an old, wizened bartender stood for long stretches of time without moving. When called upon, he moved with contemptuous slowness. His job was that of servant to men’s relaxation and pleasure, but his manner was that of an embittered quack minister ing to some guilty disease.
The four men sat in silence until the waiter returned with their drinks. The glasses he placed on the table were four spots of faint blue glitter in the semi-darkness, like four feeble jets of gas flame. Taggart reached for his glass and smiled suddenly.
“Let’s drink to the sacrifices to historical necessity,” he said, looking at Larkin.
There was a moment’s pause; in a lighted room, it would have been the contest of two men holding each other’s eyes; here, they were merely looking at each other’s eye sockets. Then Larkin picked up his glass.
“It’s my party, boys,” said Taggart, as they drank.
Nobody found anything else to say, until Boyle spoke up with indifferent curiosity. “Say, Jim, I meant to ask you, what in hell’s the
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