It's
paper that business is run on. I lose my paper, or I lose my
life, it's all the same; it won't alter one grain of sand in all
that land, or twist one blade of grass around sideways.
"Nothing is going to be lost--not one pile out of the docks, not
one railroad spike, not one ounce of steam out of the gauge of a
ferry-boat. The cars will go on running, whether I hold the
paper or somebody else holds it. The tide has set toward
Oakland. People are beginning to pour in. We're selling
building lots again. There is no stopping that tide. No matter
what happens to me or the paper, them three hundred thousand
folks are coming in the same. And there'll be cars to carry them
around, and houses to hold them, and good water for them to drink
and electricity to give them light, and all the rest."
By this time Hegan had arrived in an automobile. The honk of it
came in through the open window, and they saw, it stop alongside
the big red machine. In the car were Unwin and Harrison, while
Jones sat with the chauffeur.
"I'll see Hegan," Daylight told Dede. "There's no need for the
rest. They can wait in the machine."
"Is he drunk?" Hegan whispered to Dede at the door.
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