Irritably that they were too old for such goings on, they wanted to

fight him.

Belle Watling herself answered Captain Jaffery's summons, and

before he could make known his mission she shouted that the house

was closed for the night. A passel of quarrelsome drunks had

called in the early part of the evening and had fought one another,

torn the place up, broken her finest mirrors and so alarmed the

young ladies that all business had been suspended for the night.

But if Captain Jaffery wanted a drink; the bar was still open--

Captain Jaffery, acutely conscious of the grins of his men and

feeling helplessly that he was fighting a mist, declared angrily

that he wanted neither the young ladies nor a drink and demanded if

Belle knew the names of her destructive customers. Oh, yes, Belle

knew them. They were her regulars. They came every Wednesday

night and called themselves the Wednesday Democrats, though what

they meant by that she neither knew or cared. And if they didn't

pay for the damage to the mirrors in the upper hall, she was going

to have the law on them. She kept a respectable house and-- Oh,

their names? Belle unhesitatingly reeled off the names of twelve

under suspicion, Captain Jaffery smiled sourly.

"These damned Rebels are as efficiently organized as our Secret

Service," he said. "You and your girls will have to appear before

the provost marshal tomorrow."

"Will the provost make them pay for my mirrors?"

"To hell with your mirrors! Make Rhett Butler pay for them. He

owns the place, doesn't he?"

Before dawn, every ex-Confederate family in town knew everything.

And their negroes, who had been told nothing, knew everything too,

by that black grapevine telegraph system which defies white

understanding. Everyone knew the details of the raid, the killing

of Frank Kennedy and crippled Tommy Wellburn and how Ashley was

wounded in carrying Frank's body away.

Some of the feeling of bitter hatred the women bore Scarlett for

her share in the tragedy was mitigated by the knowledge that her

husband was dead and she knew it and could not admit it and have

the poor comfort of claiming his body. Until morning light

disclosed the bodies and the authorities notified her, she must

know nothing. Frank and Tommy, pistols in cold hands, lay

stiffening among the dead weeds in a vacant lot. And the Yankees

would say they killed each other in a common drunken brawl over a

girl in Belle's house. Sympathy ran high for Fanny, Tommy's wife,

who had just had a baby, but no one could slip through the darkness

to see her and comfort her because a squad of Yankees surrounded

the house, waiting for Tommy to return. And there was another

squad about Aunt Pitty's house, waiting for Frank.

Before dawn the news had trickled about that the military inquiry

would take place that day. The townspeople, heavy eyed from

sleeplessness and anxious waiting, knew that the safety of some of

their most prominent citizens rested on three things--the ability

of Ashley Wilkes to stand on his feet and appear before the

military board, as though he suffered nothing more serious than a

morning-after headache, the word of Belle Watling that these men

had been in her house all evening and the word of Rhett Butler that

he had been with them.

The town writhed at these last two! Belle Watling! To owe their

men's lives to her! It was intolerable! Women who had

ostentatiously crossed the street when they saw Belle coming,

wondered if she remembered and trembled for fear she did. The men

felt less humiliation at taking their lives from Belle than the

women did, for many of them thought her a good sort. But they were

stung that they must owe lives and freedom to Rhett Butler, a

speculator and a Scallawag. Belle and Rhett, the town's best-known

fancy woman and the town's most hated man. And they must be under

obligation to them.

Another thought that stung them to impotent wrath was the knowledge

that the Yankees and Carpetbaggers would laugh. Oh, how they would

laugh! Twelve of the town's most prominent citizens revealed as

habitual frequenters of Belle Watling's sporting house! Two of

them killed in a fight over a cheap little girl, others ejected

from the place as too drunk to be tolerated even by Belle and some

under arrest, refusing to admit they were there when everyone knew

they were there!

Atlanta was right in fearing that the Yankees would laugh. They

had squirmed too long beneath Southern coldness and contempt and

now they exploded with hilarity. Officers woke comrades and

retailed the news. Husbands roused wives at dawn and told them as

much as could be decently told to women. And the women, dressing

hastily, knocked on their neighbors' doors and spread the story.

The Yankee ladies were charmed with it all and laughed until tears

ran down their faces. This was Southern chivalry and gallantry for

you! Maybe those women who carried their heads so high and snubbed

all attempts at friendliness wouldn't be so uppity, now that

everyone knew where their husbands spent their time when they were

supposed to be at political meetings. Political meetings! Well,

that was funny!

But even as they laughed, they expressed regret for Scarlett and

her tragedy. After all, Scarlett was a lady and one of the few

ladies in Atlanta who were nice to Yankees. She had already won

their sympathy by the fact that she had to work because her husband

couldn't or wouldn't support her properly. Even though her husband

was a sorry one, it was dreadful that the poor thing should

discover he had been untrue to her. And it was doubly dreadful

that his death should occur simultaneously with the discovery of

his infidelity. After all, a poor husband was better than no

husband at all, and the Yankee ladies decided they'd be extra nice

to Scarlett. But the others, Mrs. Meade, Mrs. Merriwether, Mrs.

Elsing, Tommy Wellburn's widow and most of all, Mrs. Ashley Wilkes,

they'd laugh in their faces every time they saw them. That would

teach them a little courtesy.

Much of the whispering that went on in the dark rooms on the north

side of town that night was on this same subject. Atlanta ladies

vehemently told their husbands that they did not care a rap what

the Yankees thought. But inwardly they felt that running an Indian

gantlet would be infinitely preferable to suffering the ordeal of

Yankee grins and not being able to tell the truth about their

husbands.

Dr. Meade, beside himself with outraged dignity at the position

into which Rhett had jockeyed him and the others, told Mrs. Meade

that, but for the fact that it would implicate the others, he would

rather confess and be hanged than say he had been at Belle's house.

"It is an insult to you, Mrs. Meade," he fumed.

"But everyone will know you weren't there for--for--"

"The Yankees won't know. They'll have to believe it if we save our

necks. And they'll laugh. The very thought that anyone will

believe it and laugh infuriates me. And it insults you because--my

dear, I have always been faithful to you."

"I know that," and in the darkness Mrs. Meade smiled and slipped a

thin hand into the doctor's. "But I'd rather it were really true

than have one hair of your head in danger."

"Mrs. Meade, do you know what you are saying?" cried the doctor,

aghast at the unsuspected realism of his wife.

"Yes, I know. I've lost Darcy and I've lost Phil and you are all I

have and, rather than lose you, I'd have you take up your permanent

abode at that place."

"You are distrait! You cannot know what you are saying."

"You old fool," said Mrs. Meade tenderly and laid her head against

his sleeve.

Dr. Meade fumed into silence and stroked her cheek and then

exploded again. "And to be under obligation to that Butler man!

Hanging would be easy compared to that. No, not even if I owe him

my life, can I be polite to him. His insolence is monumental and

his shamelessness about his profiteering makes me boil. To owe my

life to a man who never went in the army--"

"Melly said he enlisted after Atlanta fell."

"It's a lie. Miss Melly will believe any plausible scoundrel. And

what I can't understand is why he is doing all this--going to all

this trouble. I hate to say it but--well, there's always been talk

about him and Mrs. Kennedy. I've seen them coming in from rides

together too often this last year. He must have done it because of

her."

"If it was because of Scarlett, he wouldn't have lifted his hand.

He'd have been glad to see Frank Kennedy hanged. I think it's

because of Melly--"

"Mrs. Meade, you can't be insinuating that there's ever been

anything between those two!"

"Oh, don't be silly! But she's always been unaccountably fond of

him ever since he tried to get Ashley exchanged during the war.

And I must say this for him, he never smiles in that nasty-nice way

when he's with her. He's just as pleasant and thoughtful as can

be--really a different man. You can tell by the way he acts with

Melly that he could be decent if he wanted to. Now, my idea of why

he's doing all this is--" She paused. "Doctor, you won't like my

idea."

"I don't like anything about this whole affair!"

"Well, I think he did it partly for Melly's sake but mostly because

he thought it would be a huge joke on us all. We've hated him so

much and showed it so plainly and now he's got us in a fix where

all of you have your choice of saying you were at that Watling

woman's house and shaming yourself and wives before the Yankees--or

telling the truth and getting hanged. And he knows we'll all be

under obligation to him and his--mistress and that we'd almost

rather be hanged than be obliged to them. Oh, I'll wager he's

enjoying it."

The doctor groaned. "He did look amused when he took us upstairs