me home at night； fussing affectionately about his wet feet and interminable head colds； remembering that he always liked the gizzard of the chicken and three spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee。 Yes； life was very sweet and cozy with Scarlett—as long as she had her own way。
When the marriage was two weeks old； Frank contracted the grippe and Dr。 Meade put him to bed。 In the first year of the war； Frank had spent two months in the hospital with pneumonia and he had lived in dread of another attack since that time； so he was only too glad to lie sweating under three blankets and drink the hot concoctions Mammy and Aunt Pitty brought him every hour。
The illness dragged on and Frank worried more and more about the store as each day passed。 The place was in charge of the counter boy； who came to the house every night to report on the day’s transactions； but Frank was not satisfied。 He fretted until Scarlett who had only been waiting for such an opportunity laid a cool hand on his forehead and said： “Now； sweetheart； I shall be vexed if you take on so。 I’ll go to town and see how things are。”
And she went； smiling as she smothered his feeble protests。 During the three weeks of her new marriage； she had been in a fever to see his account books and find out just how money matters stood。 What luck that he was bedridden！
The store stood near Five Points； its new roof glaring against the smoked bricks of the old walls。 Wooden awnings covered the sidewalk to the edge of the street； and at the long iron bars connecting the uprights horses and mules were hitched； their heads bowed against the cold misty rain； their backs covered with torn blankets and quilts。 The inside of the store was almost like Bullard’s store in Jonesboro； except that there were no loungers about the roaring red…hot stove； whittling and spitting streams of tobacco juice at the sand boxes。 It was bigger than Bullard’s store and much darker。 The wooden awnings cut off most of the winter daylight and the interior was dim and dingy； only a trickle of light coming in through the small fly…specked windows high up on the side walls。 The floor was covered with muddy sawdust and everywhere was dust and dirt。 There was a semblance of order in the front of the store； where tall shelves rose into the gloom stacked with bright bolts of cloth； china； cooking utensils and notions。 But in the back； behind the partition； chaos reigned。
Here there was no flooring and the assorted jumble of stock was piled helter…skelter on the hard…packed earth。 In the semi…darkness she saw boxes and bales of goods； plows and harness and saddles and cheap pine coffins。 Secondhand furniture； ranging from cheap gum to mahogany and rosewood； reared up in the gloom； and the rich but worn brocade and horsehair upholstery gleamed incongruously in the dingy surroundings。 China chambers and bowl and pitcher sets littered the floor and all around the four walls were deep bins； so dark she had to hold the lamp directly over them to discover they contained seeds； nails； bolts and carpenters’ tools。
“I’d think a man as fussy and old maidish as Frank would keep things tidier；” she thought； scrubbing her grimy hands with her handkerchief。 “This place is a pig pen。 What a way to run a store！ If he’d only dust up this stuff and put it out in front where folks could see it； he could sell things much quicker。”
And if his stock was in such condition； what mustn’t his accounts be！
I’ll look at his account book now； she thought and； picking up the lamp； she went into the front of the store。 Willie； the counter boy； was reluctant to give her the large dirty…backed ledger。 It was obvious that； young as he was； he shared Frank’s opinion that women had no place in business。 But Scarlett silenced him with a sharp word and sent him out to get his dinner。 She felt better when he was gone； for his disapproval annoyed her； and she settled herself in a split…bottomed chair by the roaring stove； tucked one foot under her and spread the book across her lap。 It was dinner time and the streets were deserted。 No customers called and she had the store to herself。
She turned the pages slowly； narrowly scanning the rows of names and figures written in Frank’s cramped copperplate hand。 It was just as she had expected； and she frowned as she saw this newest evidence of Frank’s lack of business sense。 At least five hundred dollars in debts； some of them months old； were set down against the names of people she knew well； the Merriwethers and the Elsings among other familiar names。 From Frank’s deprecatory remarks about the money “people” owed him； she had imagined the sums to be small。 But this！
“If they can’t pay； why do they keep on buying？” she thought irritably。 “And if he knows they can’t pay； why does he keep on selling them stuff？ Lots of them could pay if he’d just make them do it。 The Elsings certainly could if they could give Fanny a new satin dress and an expensive wedding。 Frank’s just too soft hearted； and people take advantage of him。 Why； if he’d collected half this money； he could have bought the sawmill and easily spared me the tax money； too。”
Then she thought： “Just imagine Frank trying to operate a sawmill！ God’s nightgown！ If he runs this store like a charitable institution； how could he expect to make money on a mill？ The sheriff would have it in a month。 Why； I could run this store better than he does！ And I could run a mill better than he could； even if I don’t know anything about the lumber business！”
A startling thought this； that a woman could handle business matters as well as or better than a man； a revolutionary thought to Scarlett who had been reared in the tradition that men were omniscient and women none too bright。 Of course； she had discovered that this was not altogether true but the pleasant fiction still stuck in her mind。 Never before had she put this remarkable idea into words。 She sat quite still； with the heavy book across her lap； her mouth a little open with surprise； thinking that during the lean months at Tara she had done a man’s work and done it well。 She had been brought up to believe that a woman alone could accomplish nothing； yet she had managed the plantation without men to help her until Will came。 Why； why； her mind stuttered； I believe women could manage everything in the world without men’s help—except having babies； and God knows； no woman in her right mind would have babies if she could help it。
With the idea that she was as capable as a man came a sudden rush of pride and a violent longing to prove it； to make money for herself as men made money。 Money which would be her own； which she would neither have to ask for nor account for to any man。
“I wish I had money enough to buy that mill myself；” she said aloud and sighed。 “I’d sure make it hum。 And I wouldn’t let even one splinter go out on credit。”
She sighed again。 There was nowhere she could get any money； so the idea was out of the question。 Frank would simply have to collect this money owing him and buy the mill。 It was a sure way to make money； and when he got the mill； she would certainly find some way to make him be more businesslike in its operation than he had been with the store。
She pulled a back page out of the ledger and began copying the list of debtors who had made no payments in several months。 She’d take the matter up with Frank just as soon as she reached home。 She’d make him realize that these people had to pay their bills even if they were old friends； even if it did embarrass him to press them for money。 That would probably upset Frank； for he was timid and fond of the approbation of his friends。 He was so thin skinned he’d rather lose the money than be businesslike about collecting it。
And he’d probably tell her that no one had any money with which to pay him。 Well； perhaps that was true。 Poverty was certainly no news to her。 But nearly everybody had saved some silver or jewelry or was hanging on to a little real estate。 Frank could take them in lieu of cash。
She could imagine how Frank would moan when she broached such an idea to him。 Take the。 jewelry and property of his friends！ Well； she shrugged； he can moan all he likes。 I’m going to tell him that he may be willing to stay poor for friendship’s sake but I’m not。 Frank will never get anywhere if he doesn’t get up some gumption。 And he’s got to get somewhere！ He’s got to make money； even if I’ve got to wear the pants in the family to make him do it。
She was writing busily； her face screwed up with the effort； her tongue clamped between her teeth； when the front door opened and a great draft of cold wind swept the store。 A tall man came into the dingy room walking with a light Indian…like tread； and looking up she saw Rhett Butler。
He was resplendent in new clothes and a greatcoat with a dashing cape thrown back from his heavy shoulders。 His tall hat was off in a deep bow when her eyes met his and his hand went to the bosom of a spotless pleated shirt。 His white teeth gleamed startlingly against his brown face and his bold eyes raked her。
“My dear Mrs。 Kennedy；” he said； walking toward her。 “My very dear Mrs。 Kennedy！” and he broke into a loud merry laugh。
At first she was as startled as if a ghost had invaded the store and then； hastily removing her foot from beneath her； she stiffened her spine and gave him a cold stare。
“What are you doing here？”
“I called on Miss Pittypat and learned of your marriage and so I hastened here to congratulate you。”
The memory of her humiliation at his hands made her go crimson with shame。
“I don’t see how you have the gall to face me！” she cried。
“On the contrary！ How have you the gall to face me？”
“Oh； you are the most—”
“Shall we let the bugles sing truce？” he smiled down at her； a wide flashing smile that had impudence in it but no shame for his own actions or condemnation for hers。 In spite of herself； she had to smile too； but it was a wry； uncomfortable smile。
“What a pity they didn’t hang you！”
“Others share your feeling； I fear。 Come； Scarlett； relax。 You look like you’d swallowed a ramrod and it isn’t becoming。 Surely； you’ve had time to recover from my—er—my l