“Uncle Rhett,” he began, “do people like girls better than boys?”
Rhett set down his glass and looked sharply into the small face and instant comprehension came into his eyes.
“No, I can’t say they do,” he answered seriously, as though giving the matter due thought. “It’s just that girls are more trouble than boys and people are apt to worry more about troublesome people than those who aren’t.”
“Mammy just said boys were troublesome.”
“Well, Mammy was upset. She didn’t mean it.”
“Uncle Rhett, wouldn’t you rather have had a little boy than a little girl?” questioned Wade hopefully.
“No,” answered Rhett swiftly and, seeing the boy’s face fall, he continued: “Now, why should I want a boy when I’ve already got one?”
“You have?” cried Wade, his month falling open at this information. “Where is he?”
“Right here,” answered Rhett and, picking the child up, drew him to his knee. “You are boy enough for me, son.”
For a moment, the security and happiness of being wanted was so great that Wade almost cried again. His throat worked and he ducked his head against Rhett’s waistcoat.
“You are my boy, aren’t you?”
“Can you be—well, two men’s boy?” questioned Wade, loyalty to the father he had never known struggling with love for the man who held him so understandingly.
“Yes,” said Rhett firmly. “Just like you can be your mother’s boy and Aunt Melly’s, too.”
Wade digested this statement. It made sense to him and he smiled and wriggled against Rhett’s arm shyly.
“You understand little boys, don’t you, Uncle Rhett?”
Rhett’s dark face fell into its old harsh lines and his lip twisted.
“Yes,” he said bitterly, “I understand little boys.”
For a moment, fear came back to Wade, fear and a sudden sense of jealousy. Uncle Rhett was not thinking of him but of some one else.
“You haven’t got any other—” began Wade and then Rhett set him on his feet.
“I’m going to have a drink and so are you, Wade, your first drink, a toast to your new sister.”
“You haven’t got any other—” began Wade and then seeing Rhett reach for the decanter of claret, the excitement at being included in this grown-up ceremony diverted him.
“Oh, I can’t, Uncle Rhett! I promised Aunt Melly I wouldn’t drink till I graduated from the university and she’s going to give me a watch, if I don’t.
“And I’ll give you a chain for it—this one I’m wearing now, if you want it,” said Rhett and he was smiling again. “Aunt Melly’s quite right But she was talking about spirits, not wine. You must learn to drink, wine like a gentleman, son, and there’s no time like the present to learn.”
Skillfully, he diluted the claret with water from the carafe until the liquid was barely pink and handed the glass to Wade. At that moment, Mammy entered the dining room. She had changed to her best Sunday black and her apron and head rag were fresh and crisp. As she waddled, she switched herself and from her skirts came the whisper and rustle of silk. The worried look had gone from her face and her almost toothless gums showed in a wide smile.
“Burfday gif, Mist’ Rhett!” she said.
Wade stopped with his glass at his lips. He knew Mammy had never liked his stepfather. He had never heard her call him anything except “Cap’n Butler,” and her conduct toward him had been dignified but cold. And here she was beaming and sidling and calling him “Mist’ Rhett!” What a topsy-turvy day!
“You’d rather have rum than claret, I suppose,” said Rhett, reaching into the cellaret and producing a squat bottle. “She is a beautiful baby, isn’t she, Mammy?”
“She sho is,” answered Mammy, smacking her lips as she took the glass.
“Did you ever see a prettier one?”
“Well, suh, Miss Scarlett wuz mout nigh as pretty w’en she come but not quite.”
“Have another glass, Mammy. And Mammy,” his tone was stern but his eyes twinkled, “what’s that rustling noise I hear?”
“Lawd, Mist’ Rhett, dat ain’ nuthin’ but mah red silk petticoat!” Mammy giggled and switched till her huge bulk shook.
“Nothing but your petticoat! I don’t believe it. You sound like a peck of dried leaves rubbing together. Let me see. Pull up your skirt.”
“Mist’ Rhett, you is bad! Yeah-O, Lawd!”
Mammy gave a little shriek and retreated and from a distance of a yard, modestly elevated her dress a few inches and showed the ruffle of a red taffeta petticoat.
“You took long enough about wearing it,” grumbled Rhett but his black eyes laughed and danced.
“Yassuh, too long.”
Then Rhett said something that Wade did not understand.
“No more mule in horse harness?”
“Mist’ Rhett, Miss Scarlett wuz bad ter tell you dat! You ain’ holin’ dat again’ dis ole nigger?”
“No. I’m not holding it. I just wanted to know. Have another drink, Mammy. Have the whole bottle. Drink up, Wade! Give us a toast.”
To Sissy,” cried Wade and gulped the liquid down. Choking he began to cough and hiccough and the other two laughed and beat him on the back.
From the moment his daughter was born, Rhett’s conduct was puzzling to all observers and he upset many settled notions about himself, notions which both the town and Scarlett were loath to surrender. Whoever would have thought that he of all people would be so shamelessly, so openly proud of fatherhood? Especially in view of the embarrassing circumstance that his first-born was a girl and not a boy.
