Galt stopped eating and looked at her slowly.
“Why of course, that’s it,” he said. “I’ve been wondering what it was we didn’t have, ... looking at it all the time, like the man at the giraffe.... Huh!”
He approached it in a characteristic manner at once. There was somewhere a topographic map of New Jersey. It was searched for and found and he and Natalie lay on the floor with their heads together exploring it. First he explained to her how one got the elevations by following the brown contour lines and what the signs and figures meant.
“Then this must be a mountain,” she exclaimed.
“Right,” he said. “You get the idea. Here’s a better one. Look here.”
“Oh, but see this one,” she said. “Look! All by itself.”
He examined her discovery thoughtfully. It was a mountain in northern New Jersey, the tallest one, two small rivers flowing at its feet, a view unobstructed in all directions.
“You’ve found the button,” he said. “I believe you have ... wild country ... not much built up.... What’s that railroad, can you see?... All right. We can get anything at all we want from them.”
The whole family went the next day on a voyage of verification and discovery. It was all they had hoped for. Natalie was ecstatic in the rôle of Columbus. Fancy! She had found it on a map, no bigger than that!—and here it was. Mrs. Galt was acquiescent and a little bewildered. Vera was conservative. They imagined a large house on top of the mountain, with a road up, more or less following the trail they had ascended to get the view, which took the breath out of you, Natalie said. You could see the Hudson River for many miles up, New York City, the Catskills possibly on a very clear day,—most of the world, in fact. Mrs. Galt and Vera perceived the difficulties and had no sense of how they were to be overcome. Galt imagined an estate of fifty thousand acres of which this mountain should be the paramount feature; miles of concrete roads, a power dam and electric light plant large enough to serve a town, a branch railroad to the base of the mountain, a private station to be named Galt, and finally,—the most impossible thing he could conceive,—a swift electric elevator up the mountain.
The business of acquiring the land began at once. The mountain itself was easy to buy. Many old farm holders in the valley were obstinate. But he got the heart of what he wanted to begin with, the rest would come in time, and construction plans of great magnitude were soon under way. The house in Fifth Avenue was in one sense a failure. It had not reduced Mrs. Valentine. It only made her worse. The social feud was unending. Well, now he would show them a country place.