“And if they had their way， I think Ashley’s kind would prefer to be dead. Dead with neat stones above them， saying： ‘Here lies a soldier of the Confederacy， dead for the Southland’ or ‘Dulce et decorum est—‘ or any of the other popular epitaphs.”
“I don’t see why！”
“You never see anything that isn’t written in letters a foot high and then shoved under your nose， do you？ If they were dead， their troubles would be over， there’d be no problems to face， problems that have no solutions. Moreover， their families would be proud of them through countless generations. And I’ve heard the dead are happy. Do you suppose Ashley Wilkes is happy？”
“Why， of course—” she began and then she remembered the look in Ashley’s eyes recently and stopped.
“Is he happy or Hugh Elsing or Dr. Meade？ Any more than my father and your father were happy？”
“Well， perhaps not as happy as they might be， because they’ve all lost their money.”
He laughed.
“It isn’t losing their money， my pet. I tell you it’s losing their world—the world they were raised in. They’re like fish out of water or cats with wings. They were raised to be certain persons， to do certain things， to occupy certain niches. And those persons and things and niches disappeared forever when General Lee arrived at Appomattox. Oh， Scarlett， don’t look so stupid！ What is there for Ashley Wilkes to do， now that his home is gone and his plantation taken up for taxes and fine gentlemen are going twenty for a penny？ Can he work with his head or his hands？ I’ll bet you’ve lost money hand over fist since he took over that mill.”
“I have not！”
“How nice. May I look over your books some Sunday evening when you are at leisure？”
“You can go to the devil and not at your leisure. You can go now， for all I care.”
“My pet， I’ve been to the devil and he’s a very dull fellow. I won’t go there again， even for you. ... You took my money when you needed it desperately and you used it. We had an agreement as to how it should be used and you have broken that agreement. Just remember， my precious little cheat， the time will come when you win want to borrow more money from me. You’ll want me to bank you， at some incredibly low interest， so you can buy more mills and more mules and build more saloons. And you can whistle for the money.”
“When I need money I’ll borrow it from the bank， thank you，” she said coldly， but her breast was heaving with rage.
“Will you？ Try to do it. I own plenty of stock in the bank.”
“You do？”
“Yes， I am interested in some honest enterprises.”
“There are other banks—”
“Plenty of them. And if I can manage it， you’ll play hell getting a cent from any of them. You can go to the Carpetbag usurers if you want money.”
“I’ll go to them with pleasure.”
“You’ll go but with little pleasure when you learn their rates of interest. My pretty， there are penalties in the business world for crooked dealing. You should have played straight with me.”
“You’re a fine man， aren’t you？ So rich and powerful yet picking on people who are down， like Ashley and me！”
“Don’t put yourself in his class. You aren’t down. Nothing will down you. But he is down and he’ll stay there unless there’s some energetic person behind him， guiding and protecting him as long as he lives. I’m of no mind to have my money used for the benefit of such a person.”
“You didn’t mind helping me and I was down and—”
“You were a good risk， my dear， an interesting risk. Why？ Because you didn’t plump yourself down on your male relatives and sob for the old days. You got out and hustled and now your fortunes are firmly planted on money stolen from a dead man’s wallet and money stolen from the Confederacy. You’ve got murder to your credit， and husband stealing， attempted fornication， lying and sharp dealing and any amount of chicanery that won’t bear close inspection. Admirable things， all of them. They show you to be a person of energy and determination and a good money risk. It’s entertaining， helping people who help themselves. I’d lend ten thousand dollars without even a note to that old Roman matron， Mrs. Merriwether. She started with a basket of pies and look at her now！ A bakery employing half a dozen people， old Grandpa happy with his delivery wagon and that lazy little Creole， René， working hard and liking it. ... Or that poor devil， Tommy Wellburn， who does two men’s work with half a man’s body and does it well or—well， I won’t go on and bore you.”
“You do bore me. You bore me to distraction，” said Scarlett coldly， hoping to annoy him and divert him from the ever-unfortunate subject of Ashley. But he only laughed shortly and refused to take up the gauntlet.
“People like them are worth helping. But Ashley Wilkes—bah！ His breed is of no use or value in an upside-down world like ours. Whenever the world up-ends， his kind is the first to perish. And why not？ They don’t deserve to survive because they won’t fight—don’t know how to fight. This isn’t the first time the world’s been upside down and it won’t be the last. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. And when it does happen， everyone loses everything and everyone is equal. And then they all start again at taw， with nothing at all. That is， nothing except the cunning of their brains and strength of their hands. But some people， like Ashley， have neither cunning nor strength or， having them， scruple to use them. And so they go under and they should go under. It’s a natural law and the world is better off without them. But there are always a hardy few who come through and given time， they are right back where they were before the world turned over.”
“You’ve been poor！ You just said that your father turned you out without a penny！” said Scarlett， furious. “I should think you’d understand and sympathize with Ashley！”
“I do understand；” said Rhett， “but I’m damned if I sympathize. After the surrender Ashley had much more than I had when I was thrown out. At least， he had friends who took him in， whereas I was Ishmael. But what has Ashley done with himself？”