Ellsworth Toohey sat in his office, looking at a newspaper spread out on his desk, at the item announcing the Aquitania contract. He smoked, holding a cigarette propped in the corner of his mouth, supported by two straight fingers; one finger tapped against the cigarette, slowly, rhythmically, for a long time.
He heard the sound of his door thrown open, and he glanced up to see Dominique standing there, leaning against the doorjamb, her arms crossed on her chest. Her face looked interested, nothing more, but it was alarming to see an expression of actual interest on her face.
"My dear," he said, rising, "this is the first time you've taken the trouble to enter my office — in the four years that we've worked in the same building. This is really an occasion."
She said nothing, but smiled gently, which was still more alarming. He added, his voice pleasant: "My little speech, of course, was the equivalent of a question. Or don't we understand each other any longer?"
"I suppose we don't — if you find it necessary to ask what brought me here. But you know it, Ellsworth, you know it; there it is on your desk." She walked to the desk and flipped a comer of the newspaper. She laughed. "Do you wish you had it hidden somewhere? Of course you didn't expect me to come. Not that it makes any difference. But I just like to see you being obvious for once. Right on your desk, like that. Open at the real-estate page, too."
"You sound as if that little piece of news had made you happy."
"It did, Ellsworth. It does."
"I thought you had worked hard to prevent that contract."
"I had."
"If you think this is an act you're putting on right now, Dominique, you're fooling yourself. This isn't an act."
"No, Ellsworth. This isn't."
"You're happy that Roark got it?"
"I'm so happy. I could sleep with this Kent Lansing, whoever he is, if I ever met him and if he asked me."
"Then the pact is off?"
"By no means. I shall try to stop any job that comes his way. I shall continue trying. It's not going to be so easy as it was, though. The Enright House, the Cord Building — and this. Not so easy for me — and for you. He's beating you, Ellsworth. Ellsworth, what if we were wrong about the world, you and I?"
"You've always been, my dear. Do forgive me. I should have known better than to be astonished. It would make you happy, of course, that he got it. I don't even mind admitting that it doesn't make me happy at all. There, you see? Now your visit to my office has been a complete success. So we shall just write the Aquitania off as a major defeat, forget all about it and continue as we were."
"Certainly, Ellsworth. Just as we were. I'm cinching a beautiful new hospital for Peter Keating at a dinner party tonight."
Ellsworth Toohey went home and spent the evening thinking about Hopton Stoddard.
Hopton Stoddard was a little man worth twenty million dollars. Three inheritances had contributed to that sum, and seventy-two years of a busy life devoted to the purpose of making money. Hopton Stoddard had a genius for investment; he invested in everything — houses of ill fame, Broadway spectacles on the grand scale, preferably of a religious nature, factories, farm mortgages and contraceptives. He was small and bent. His face was not disfigured; people merely thought it was, because it had a single expression: he smiled. His little mouth was shaped like a v in eternal good cheer; his eyebrows were tiny v's inverted over round, blue eyes; his hair, rich, white and waved, looked like a wig, but was real.
Toohey had known Hopton Stoddard for many years and exercised a strong influence upon him. Hopton Stoddard had never married, had no relatives and no friends; he distrusted people, believing that they were always after his money. But he felt a tremendous respect for Ellsworth Toohey, because Toohey represented the exact opposite of his own life; Toohey had no concern whatever for worldly wealth; by the mere fact of this contrast, he considered Toohey the personification of virtue; what this estimate implied in regard to his own life never quite occurred to him. He was not easy in his mind about his life, and the uneasiness grew with the years, with the certainty of an approaching end. He found relief in religion — in the form of a bribe. He experimented with several different creeds, attended services, donated large sums and switched to another faith. As the years passed, the tempo of his quest accelerated; it had the tone of panic.
Toohey's indifference to religion was the only flaw that disturbed him in the person of his friend and mentor. But everything Toohey preached seemed in line with God's law: charity, sacrifice, help to the poor. Hopton Stoddard felt safe whenever he followed Toohey's advice. He donated handsomely to the institutions recommended by Toohey, without much prompting. In matters of the spirit he regarded Toohey upon earth somewhat as he expected to regard God in heaven.
But this summer Toohey met defeat with Hopton Stoddard for the first time.
Hopton Stoddard decided to realize a dream which he had been planning slyly and cautiously, like all his other investments, for several years: he decided to build a temple. It was not to be the temple of any particular creed, but an interdenominational, non-sectarian monument to religion, a cathedral of faith, open to all. Hopton Stoddard wanted to play safe.
He felt crushed when Ellsworth Toohey advised him against the project. Toohey wanted a building to house a new home for subnormal children; he had an organization set up, a distinguished committee of sponsors, an endowment for operating expenses — but no building and no funds to erect one. If Hopton Stoddard wished a worthy memorial to his name, a grand climax of his generosity, to what nobler purpose could he dedicate his money than to the Hopton Stoddard Home for Subnormal Children, Toohey pointed out to him emphatically; to the poor little blighted ones for whom nobody cared. But Hopton Stoddard could not be aroused to any enthusiasm for a Home nor for any mundane institution. It had to be "The Hopton Stoddard Temple of the Human Spirit."
He could offer no arguments against Toohey's brilliant array; he could say nothing except: "No, Ellsworth, no, it's not right, not right." The matter was left unsettled. Hopton Stoddard would not budge, but Toohey's disapproval made him uncomfortable and he postponed his decision from day to day. He knew only that he would have to decide by the end of summer, because in the fall he was to depart on a long journey, a world tour of the holy shrines of all faiths, from Lourdes to Jerusalem to Mecca to Benares.
A few days after the announcement of the Aquitania contract Toohey came to see Hopton Stoddard, in the evening, in the privacy of Stoddard's vast, overstuffed apartment on Riverside Drive.
"Hopton," he said cheerfully, "I was wrong. You were right about that temple."
"No!" said Hopton Stoddard, aghast.
"Yes," said Toohey, "you were right. Nothing else would be quite fitting. You must build a temple. A Temple of the Human Spirit."
Hopton Stoddard swallowed, and his blue eyes became moist. He felt that he must have progressed far upon the path of righteousness if he had been able to teach a point of virtue to his teacher. After that, nothing else mattered; he sat, like a meek, wrinkled baby, listening to Ellsworth Toohey, nodding, agreeing to everything.
"It's an ambitious undertaking, Hopton, and if you do it, you must do it right. It's a little presumptuous, you know — offering a present to God — and unless you do it in the best way possible, it will be offensive, not reverent."
"Yes, of course. It must be right. It must be right. It must be the best. You'll help me, won't you, Ellsworth? You know all about buildings and art and everything — it must be right."
"I'll be glad to help you, if you really want me to."
"If I want you to! What do you mean — if I want ... ! Goodness gracious, what would I do without you? I don't know anything about ... about anything like that. And it must be right."