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- Стр. 83/927
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"
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
do
n'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
do
n'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
ai
n't
.
No
,
sir
!
It
's
going
hungry
,
and
getting
the
measles
and
pneumonia
from
sleeping
in
the
wet
.
And
if
it
ai
n't
measles
and
pneumonia
,
it
'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
.
