Gone With the Wind

"Thanks for the crumbs from your table, Mrs. Dives. Scarlett, I want you to say to yourself every morning when you wake up: 'I can't ever be hungry again and nothing can ever touch me so long as Rhett is here and the United States government holds out."

"The United States government?" she questioned, sitting up, startled, tears still on her cheeks.

"The ex-Confederate money has now become an honest woman. I invested most of it in government bonds."

"God's nightgown!" cried Scarlett, sitting up in his lap, forgetful of her recent terro

r. "Do you mean to tell me you've loaned your money to the Yankees?"

"At a fair per cent."

"I don't care if it's a hundred percent! You must sell them immediately. The idea of letting the Yankees have the use of your money!"

"And what must I do with it?" he questioned with a smile, noting that her eyes were no longer wide with fright.

"Why -- why buy property at Five Points. I'll bet you could buy all of Five Points with the money you have."

"Thank you, but I wouldn't have Five Points. Now that the Carpetbagger government has really gotten control of Georgia, there's no telling what may happen, I wouldn't put anything beyond the swarm of buzzards that's swooping down on Georgia now from north, east, south and west. I'm playing along with them, you understand, as a good Scalawag should do, but I don't trust them. And I'm not putting my money in real estate. I prefer bonds. You can hide them. You can't hide real estate very easily."

"Do you think --" she began, paling as she thought of the mills and store.

"I don't know. But don't look so frightened, Scarlett. Our charming new governor is a good friend of mine. It's just that times are too uncertain now and I don't want much of my money tied up in real estate."

He shifted her to one knee and, leaning back, reached for a cigar and lit it. She sat with her bare feet dangling, watching the play of muscles on his brown chest, her terrors forgotten.

"And while we are on the subject of real estate, Scarlett," he said, "I am going to build a house. You might have bullied Frank into living in Miss Pitty's house, but not me. I don't believe I could bear her vaporings three times a day and, moreover, I believe Uncle Peter would assassinate me before he would let me live under the sacred Hamilton roof. Miss Pitty can get Miss India Wilkes to stay with her and keep the bogyman away. When we get back to Atlanta we are going to stay in the bridal suite of the National Hotel until our house is finished. Before we left Atlanta I was dickering for that big lot on Peachtree, the one near the Leyden house. You know the one I mean?"

"Oh, Rhett, how lovely! I do so want a house of my own. A great big one!"

"Then at last we are agreed on something. What about a white stucco with wrought-iron work like these Creole houses here?"

"Oh, no, Rhett. Not anything old fashioned like these New Orleans houses. I know just what I want. It's the newest thing because I saw a picture of it in -- let me see -- it was in that Harper's Weekly I was looking at. It was modeled after a Swiss chalet."

"A Swiss what?"

"A chalet."

"Spell it."

She complied.

"Oh," he said and stroked his mustache.

"It was lovely. It had a high mansard roof with a picket fence on top and a tower made of fancy shingles at each end. And the towers had windows with red and blue glass in them. It was so stylish looking."

"I suppose it had jigsaw work on the porch banisters?"

"Yes."

"And a fringe of wooden scrollwork hanging from the roof of the porch?"

"Yes. You must have seen one like it."

"I have -- but not in Switzerland. The Swiss are a very intelligent race and keenly alive to architectural beauty. Do you really want a house like that?"

"Oh, yes!"

"I had hoped that association with me might Improve your taste. Why not a Creole house or a Colonial with six white columns?"