The Fountainhead Part 15

"I'll have the house by late fall?"

"Yes."

"Just like that sketch?"

"Just like that."

"Look, I have no idea what kind of a contract one makes with an architect and you must know, so draw up one and let my lawyer okay it this afternoon, will you?"

"Yes."

h.e.l.ler studied the man who sat facing him. He saw the hand lying on the table before him. h.e.l.ler's awareness became focused on that hand. He saw the long fingers, the sharp joints, the prominent veins. He had the feeling that he was not hiring this man, but surrendering himself into his employment.

"How old are you," asked h.e.l.ler, "whoever you are?"

"Twenty-six. Do you want any references?"

"h.e.l.l, no. I have them, here in my pocket. What's your name?"

"Howard Roark."

h.e.l.ler produced a checkbook, spread it open on the table and reached for his fountain pen.

"Look," he said, writing, "I'll give you five hundred dollars on account. Get yourself an office or whatever you have to get, and go ahead."

He tore off the check and handed it to Roark, between the tips of two straight fingers, leaning forward on his elbow, swinging his wrist in a sweeping curve. His eyes were narrowed, amused, watching Roark quizzically. But the gesture had the air of a salute.

The check was made out to "Howard Roark, Architect."

XI

HOWARD ROARK OPENED HIS OWN OFFICE. It was one large room on the top of an old building, with a broad window high over the roofs. He could see the distant band of the Hudson at his window sill, with the small streaks of s.h.i.+ps moving under his finger tips when he pressed them to the gla.s.s. He had a desk, two chairs, and a huge drafting table. The gla.s.s entrance door bore the words: "Howard Roark, Architect." He stood in the hall for a long time, looking at the words. Then he went in, and slammed his door; he picked up a T-square from the table and flung it down again, as if throwing an anchor.

John Erik Snyte had objected. When Roark came to the office for his drawing instruments Snyte emerged into the reception room, shook his hand warmly and said: "Well, Roark! Well, how are you? Come in, come right in, I want to speak to you!"

And with Roark seated before his desk Snyte proceeded loudly: "Look, fellow, I hope you've got sense enough not to hold it against me, anything that I might've said yesterday. You know how it is, I lost my head a little, and it wasn't what you did, but that you had to go and do it on that sketch, that sketch that sketch ... well, never mind. No hard feelings?" ... well, never mind. No hard feelings?"

"No," said Roark. "None at all."

"Of course, you're not fired. You didn't take me seriously, did you? You can go right back to work here this very minute."

"What for, Mr. Snyte?"

"What do you mean, what for? Oh, you're thinking of the h.e.l.ler house? But you're not taking h.e.l.ler seriously, are you? You saw how he is, that madman can change his mind sixty times a minute. He won't really give you that commission, you know, it isn't as simple as that, it isn't being done that way."

"We've signed the contract yesterday."

"Oh, you have? Well, that's splendid! Well, look, Roark, I'll tell you what we'll do: you bring the commission back to us and I'll let you put your name on it with mine-'John Erik Snyte & Howard Roark.' And we'll split the fee. That's in addition to your salary-and you're getting a raise, incidentally. Then we'll have the same arrangement on any other commission you bring in. And ... Lord, man, what are you laughing at?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Snyte. I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you understand," said Snyte, bewildered. "Don't you see? It's your insurance. You don't want to break loose just yet. Commissions won't fall into your lap like this. Then what will you do? This way, you'll have a steady job and you'll be building toward independent practice, if that's what you're after. In four or five years, you'll be ready to take the leap. That's the way everybody does it. You see?"

"Yes."

"Then you agree?"

"No."

"But, good Lord, man, you've lost your mind! To set up alone now? now? Without experience, without connections, without ... well, without anything at all! I never heard of such a thing. Ask anybody in the profession. See what they'll tell you. It's preposterous!" Without experience, without connections, without ... well, without anything at all! I never heard of such a thing. Ask anybody in the profession. See what they'll tell you. It's preposterous!"

"Probably."

"Listen, Roark, won't you please listen?"

"I'll listen if you want me to, Mr. Snyte. But I think I should tell you now that nothing you can say will make any difference. If you don't mind that, I don't mind listening."

Snyte went on speaking for a long time and Roark listened, without objecting, explaining or answering.

"Well, if that's how you are, don't expect me to take you back when you find yourself on the pavement."

"I don't expect it, Mr. Snyte."

"Don't expect anyone else in the profession to take you in, after they hear what you've done to me."

"I don't expect that either."

For a few days Snyte thought of suing Roark and h.e.l.ler. But he decided against it, because there was no precedent to follow under the circ.u.mstances; because h.e.l.ler had paid him for his efforts, and the house had been actually designed by Roark; and because no one ever sued Austen h.e.l.ler.

The first visitor to Roark's office was Peter Keating.

He walked in, without warning, one noon, walked straight across the room and sat down on Roark's desk, smiling gaily, spreading his arms wide in a sweeping gesture: "Well, Howard!" he said. "Well, fancy that!"

He had not seen Roark for a year.

"h.e.l.lo, Peter," said Roark.

"You're own office, your own name and everything! Already! Just imagine!"

"Who told you, Peter?"

"Oh, one hears things. You wouldn't expect me not to keep track of your career, now would you? You know what I've always thought of you. And I don't have to tell you that I congratulate you and wish you the very best."

"No, you don't have to."

"Nice place you got here. Light and roomy. Not quite as imposing as it should be, perhaps, but what can one expect at the beginning? And then, the prospects are uncertain, aren't they, Howard?"

"Quite."

"It's an awful chance you've taken."

"Probably."

"Are you really going to go through with it? I mean, on your own?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's not too late, you know. I thought, when I heard the story, that you'd surely turn it over to Snyte and make a smart deal with him. "

"I didn't."

"Aren't you really going to?"

"No."

Keating wondered why he should experience that sickening feeling of resentment; why he had come here hoping to find the story untrue, hoping to find Roark uncertain and willing to surrender. That feeling had haunted him ever since he'd heard the news about Roark; the sensation of something unpleasant that remained after he'd forgotten the cause. The feeling would come back to him, without reason, a blank wave of anger, and he would ask himself: now what the h.e.l.l?-what was it I heard today? Then he would remember: Oh, yes, Roark-Roark's opened his own office. He would ask himself impatiently: So what?-and know at the same time that the words were painful to face, and humiliating like an insult.

"You know, Howard, I admire your courage. Really, you know, I've had much more experience and I've got more of a standing in the profession, don't mind saying it-I'm only speaking objectively-but I wouldn't dare take such a step."

"No, you wouldn't."

"So you've made the jump first. Well, well. Who would have thought it? ... I wish you all the luck in the world."

"Thank you, Peter."

"I know you'll succeed. I'm sure of it."

"Are you?"

"Of course! Of course, I am. Aren't you?"

"I haven't thought of it."

"You haven't thought of it?"

"Not much."

"Then you're not sure, Howard? You aren't?"

"Why do you ask that so eagerly?"

"What? Why ... no, not eagerly, but of course, I'm concerned. Howard, it's bad psychology not to be certain now, in your position. So you have doubts?"

"None at all."

"But you said ..."

"I'm quite sure of things, Peter."

"Have you thought about getting your registration?"

"I've applied for it."

"You've got no college degree, you know. They'll make it difficult for you at the examination."

"Probably."

"What are you going to do if you don't get the license?"

"I'll get it."

"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you now at the A.G.A., if you don't go high hat on me, because you'll be a full-fledged member and I'm only a junior."

"I'm not joining the A.G.A."

"What do you mean, you're not joining? You're eligible now."

"Possibly."

"You'll be invited to join."

"Tell them not to bother."

"What!"

"You know, Peter, we had a conversation just like this seven years ago, when you tried to talk me into joining your fraternity at Stanton. Don't start it again."

"You won't join the A.G.A. when you have a chance to?"

"I won't join anything, Peter, at any time."

"But don't you realize how it helps?"

"In what?"

"In being an architect."

"I don't like to be helped in being an architect."

"You're just making things harder for yourself."