飘

　“Oh；　hush！”　she　hissed　at　him；　pinching　his　hand　and　not　even　looking　at　him。
　Startled；　at　first　abashed；　Charles　blushed　at　the　rebuff　and　then；　seeing　how　her　eyes　were　fastened　on　his　sister；　he　smiled。　Scarlett　was　afraid　someone　might　hear　his　words。　She　was　naturally　embarrassed　and　shy；　and　in　agony　lest　they　be　overheard。　Charles　felt　a　surge　of　masculinity　such　as　he　had　never　experienced；　for　this　was　the　first　time　in　his　life　that　he　had　ever　embarrassed　any　girl。　The　thrill　was　intoxicating。　He　arranged　his　face　in　what　he　fancied　was　an　expression　of　careless　unconcern　and　cautiously　returned　Scarlett’s　pinch　to　show　that　he　was　man　of　the　world　enough　to　understand　and　accept　her　reproof。
　She　did　not　even　feel　his　pinch；　for　she　could　hear　clearly　the　sweet　voice　that　was　Melanie’s　chief　charm：　“I　fear　I　cannot　agree　with　you　about　Mr。　Thackeray’s　works。　He　is　a　cynic。　I　fear　be　is　not　the　gentleman　Mr。　Dickens　is。”
　What　a　silly　thing　to　say　to　a　man；　thought　Scarlett；　ready　to　giggle　with　relief。　Why；　she’s　no　more　than　a　bluestocking　and　everyone　knows　what　men　think　of　bluestockings。　。。。　The　way　to　get　a　man　interested　and　to　hold　his　interest　was　to　talk　about　him；　and　then　gradually　lead　the　conversation　around　to　yourself—and　keep　it　there。　Scarlett　would　have　felt　some　cause　for　alarm　if　Melanie　had　been　saying：　“How　wonderful　you　are！”　or　“How　do　you　ever　think　of　such　things？　My　little　ole　brain　would　bust　if　I　even　tried　to　think　about　them！”　But　here　she　was；　with　a　man　at　her　feet；　talking　as　seriously　as　if　she　were　in　church。　The　prospect　looked　brighter　to　Scarlett；　so　bright　in　fact　that　she　turned　beaming　eyes　on　Charles　and　smiled　from　pure　joy。　Enraptured　at　this　evidence　of　her　affection；　he　grabbed　up　her　fan　and　plied　it　so　enthusiastically　her　hair　began　to　blow　about　untidily。
　“Ashley；　you　have　not　favored　us　with　your　opinion；”　said　Jim　Tarleton；　turning　from　the　group　of　shouting　men；　and　with　an　apology　Ashley　excused　himself　and　rose。　There　was　no　one　there　so　handsome；　thought　Scarlett；　as　she　marked　how　graceful　was　his　negligent　pose　and　how　the　sun　gleamed　on　his　gold　hair　and　mustache。　Even　the　older　men　stopped　to　listen　to　his　words。
　“Why；　gentlemen；　if　Georgia　fights。　I’ll　go　with　her。　Why　else　would　I　have　joined　the　Troop？”　he　said。　His　gray　eyes　opened　wide　and　their　drowsiness　disappeared　in　an　intensity　that　Scarlett　had　never　seen　before。　“But；　like　Father；　I　hope　the　Yankees　will　let　us　go　in　peace　and　that　there　will　be　no　fighting—”　He　held　up　his　hand　with　a　smile；　as　a　babel　of　voices　from　the　Fontaine　and　Tarleton　boys　began；　“Yes；　yes；　I　know　we’ve　been　insulted　and　lied　to—but　if　we’d　been　in　the　Yankees’　shoes　and　they　were　trying　to　leave　the　Union；　how　would　we　have　acted？　Pretty　much　the　same。　We　wouldn’t　have　liked　it。”
　“There　he　goes　again；”　thought　Scarlett。　“Always　putting　himself　in　the　other　fellow’s　shoes。”　To　her；　there　was　never　but　one　fair　side　to　an　argument。　Sometimes；　there　was　no　understanding　Ashley。
　“Let’s　don’t　be　too　hot　headed　and　let’s　don’t　have　any　war。　Most　of　the　misery　of　the　world　has　been　caused　by　wars。　And　when　the　wars　were　over；　no　one　ever　knew　what　they　were　all　about。”
　Scarlett　sniffed。　Lucky　for　Ashley　that　he　had　an　unassailable　reputation　for　courage；　or　else　there’d　be　trouble。　As　she　thought　this；　the　clamor　of　dissenting　voices　rose　up　about　Ashley；　indignant；　fiery。
　Under　the　arbor；　the　deaf　old　gentleman　from　Fayetteville　punched　India。
　“What’s　it　all　about？　What　are　they　saying？”
　“War！”　shouted　India；　cupping　her　hand　to　his　ear。　“They　want　to　fight　the　Yankees！”
　“War；　is　it？”　he　cried；　fumbling　about　him　for　his　cane　and　heaving　himself　out　of　his　chair　with　more　energy　than　he　had　shown　in　years。　“I’ll　tell　‘um　about　war。　I’ve　been　there。”　It　was　not　often　that　Mr。　McRae　had　the　opportunity　to　talk　about　war；　the　way　his　women　folks　shushed　him。
　He　stumped　rapidly　to　the　group；　waving　his　cane　and　shouting　and；　because　he　could　not　hear　the　voices　about　him；　he　soon　had　undisputed　possession　of　the　field。
　“You　fire…eating　young　bucks；　listen　to　me。　You　don’t　want　to　fight。　I　fought　and　I　know。　Went　out　in　the　Seminole　War　and　was　a　big　enough　fool　to　go　to　the　Mexican　War；　too。　You　all　don’t　know　what　war　is。　You　think　it’s　riding　a　pretty　horse　and　having　the　girls　throw　flowers　at　you　and　coming　home　a　hero。　Well；　it　ain’t。　No；　sir！　It’s　going　hungry；　and　getting　the　measles　and　pneumonia　from　sleeping　in　the　wet。　And　if　it　ain’t　measles　and　pneumonia；　if　s　your　bowels。　Yes　sir；　what　war　does　to　a　man’s　bowels—dysentery　and　things　like　that—”
　The　ladies　were　pink　with　blushes。　Mr。　McRae　was　a　reminder　of　a　cruder　era；　like　Grandma　Fontaine　and　her　embarrassingly　loud　belches；　an　era　everyone　would　like　to　forget。
　“Run　get　your　grandpa；”　hissed　one　of　the　old　gentleman’s　daughters　to　a　young　girl　standing　near　by。　“I　declare；”　she　whispered　to　the　fluttering　matrons　about　her；　“he　gets　worse　every　day。　Would　you　believe　it；　this　very　morning　he　said　to　Mary—and　she’s　only　sixteen：　‘Now；　Missy　。。。’　”　And　the　voice　went　off　into　a　whisper　as　the　granddaughter　slipped　out　to　try　to　induce　Mr。　McRae　to　return　to　his　seat　in　the　shade。
　Of　all　the　group　that　milled　about　under　the　trees；　girls　smiling　excitedly；　men　talking　impassionedly；　there　was　only　one　who　seemed　calm。　Scarlett’s　eyes　turned　to　Rhett　Butler；　who　leaned　against　a　tree；　his　hands　shoved　deep　in　his　trouser　pockets。　He　stood　alone；　since　Mr。　Wilkes　had　left　his　side；　and　had　uttered　no　word　as　the　conversation　grew　hotter。　The　red　lips　under　the　close…clipped　black　mustache　curled　down　and　there　was　a　glint　of　amused　contempt　in　his　black　eyes—contempt；　as　if　he　listened　to　the　braggings　of　children。　A　very　disagreeable　smile；　Scarlett　thought。　He　listened　quietly　until　Stuart　Tarleton；　his　red　hair　tousled　and　his　eyes　gleaming；　repeated：　“Why；　we　could　lick　them　in　a　month！　Gentlemen　always　fight　better　than　rabble。　A　month—why；　one　battle—”
　“Gentlemen；”　said　Rhett　Butler；　in　a　flat　drawl　that　bespoke　his　Charleston　birth；　not　moving　from　his　position　against　the　tree　or　taking　his　hands　from　his　pockets；　“may　I　say　a　word？”
　There　was　contempt　in　his　manner　as　in　his　eyes；　contempt　overlaid　with　an　air　of　courtesy　that　somehow　burlesqued　their　own　manners。
　The　group　turned　toward　him　and　accorded　him　the　politeness　always　due　an　outsider。
　“Has　any　one　of　you　gentlemen　ever　thought　that　there’s　not　a　cannon　factory　south　of　the　Mason…Dixon　Line？　Or　how　few　iron　foundries　there　are　in　the　South？　Or　woolen　mills　or　cotton　factories　or　tanneries？　Have　you　thought　that　we　would　not　have　a　single　warship　and　that　the　Yankee　fleet　could　bottle　up　our　harbors　in　a　week；　so　that　we　could　not　sell　our　cotton　abroad？　But—of　course—you　gentlemen　have　thought　of　these　things。”
　“Why；　he　means　the　boys　are　a　passel　of　fools！”　thought　Scarlett　indignantly；　the　hot　blood　coming　to　her　cheeks。
　Evidently；　she　was　not　the　only　one　to　whom　this　idea　occurred；　for　several　of　the　boys　were　beginning　to　stick　out　their　chins。　John　Wilkes　casually　but　swiftly　came　back　to　his　place　beside　the　speaker；　as　if　to　impress　on　all　present　that　this　man　was　his　guest　and　that；　moreover；　there　were　ladies　present。
　“The　trouble　with　most　of　us　Southerners；”　continued　Rhett　Butler；　“is　that　we　either　don’t　travel　enough　or　we　don’t　profit　enough　by　our　travels。　Now；　of　course；　all　you　gentlemen　are　well　traveled。　But　what　have　you　seen？　Europe　and　New　York　and　Philadelphia　and；　of　course；　the　ladies　have　been　to　Saratoga”　（he　bowed　slightly　to　the　group　under　the　arbor）。　“You’ve　seen　the　hotels　and　the　museums　and　the　balls　and　the　gambling　houses。　And　you’ve　come　home　believing　that　there’s　no　place　like　the　South。　As　for　me；　I　was　Charleston　born；　but　I　have　spent　the　last　few　years　in　the　North。”　His　white　teeth　showed　in　a　grin；　as　though　he　realized　that　everyone　present　knew　just　why　he　no　longer　lived　in　Charleston；　and　cared　not　at　all　if　they　did　know。　“I　have　seen　many　things　that　you　all　have　not　seen。　The　thousands　of　immigrants　who’d　be　glad　to　fight　for　the　Yankees　for　food　and　a　few　dollars；　the　factories；　the　foundries；　the　shipyards；　the　iron　and　coal　mines—all　the　things　we　haven’t　got。　Why；　all　we　have　is　cotton　and　slaves　and　arrogance。　They’d　lick　us　in　a　month。”
　For　a　tense　moment；　there　was　silence。　Rhett　Butler　removed　a　fine　linen　handkerchief　from　his　coat　pocket　and　idly　flicked　dust　from　his　sleeve。　Then　an　ominous　murmuring　arose　in　the　crowd　and　from　under　the　arbor　came　a　humming　as　unmistakable　as　that　of　a　hive　of　newly　disturbed　bees。　Even　while　she　felt　the　hot　blood　of　wrath　still　in　her　cheeks；　something　in　Scarlett’s　practical　mind　prompted　the　thought　that　what　this　man　said　was　right；　and　it　sounded　like　common　sense。　Why；　she’d　never　even　seen　a　factory；　or　known　anyone　who　had　seen　a　factory。　But；　even　if　it　were　true；　he　was　no　gentleman　to　make　such　a　statement—and　at　a　party；　too；　where　everyone　was　having　a　good　time。
　Stuart　Tarleton；　brows　lowering；　came　forw