Scarlett rushed in to the room when she heard the news. She did not understand all this talk of war, she only understood that Ashley would be in trouble. She found Peter Beinart, editor of the New Southern Republic sitting on the couch, non-chalantly smoking a cigar.
"Oh Peter, oh Peter," Scarlett wailed, "they are going to war. It is a fool thing to do."
Peter took a long puff on his cigar. "No Scarlett, we must go to this war. It is imperative. If we do not go to war they will think that the South is week."
"But you call yourself a liberal," Scarlett said. "How can you possibly be in favor of the war?"
"I am the good type of liberal Scarlett," Peter said. "I am the kind of liberal who understands the good men must die for a just cause, for a cause a man must believe in if he is a true man. And you see Scarlett, I am a true man, even more than that. And I hope you will understand that as time goes on."
Some men in uniform passed in front of Peter and Scarlett. "They look scared," Scarlett said. "They are just boys."
"They go to war boys," Peter said, "but they come back as men. Not quite a man like I am a man - which I hope you will find out shortly Scarlett - but men indeed. For it is fighting for a just cause, in a right minded war that shows you to be a true patriot and a true man." Peter turned to the men who had passed. "To war my friend, to glory. You go on to greatness," he shouted after them, raising his cigar in the air.
"So I suppose you will be going soon as well Peter," Scarlett said sadly.
Peter dropped his cigar. "What? Go where?"
"To war of course," Scarlett said, "wish Ashley and the other boys. I will pray for you."
"You can pray for me sweetheart." Peter said, "but I'm not going anywhere."
"But you said it was a just war," Scarlett said.
"Yeah, sure," Peter said, picking up his cigar, "one of the best. I envy those guys who are going. Fight on brave soldiers! I envy you your glory."
"But don't you want glory?" Scarlett asked.
"Uhm, yeah, glory's good," Peter said, "and I would get some glory, you betcha, except you see - I've got this appointment. Yeah, yeah, that's the ticket. I've got a doctor's appointment next month."
"You would let a little old doctor's appointment stand in the way of you and glory?" Scarlett asked.
"It's really hard to get in to see this doctor. And he's going to be real busy with the injured soldiers coming back from the war and all," Peter said.
"I am not impressed," Scarlett said.
"And, and," Peter fumbled around with his cigar. "I've got tickets to a concert. Old Joe and the banjo playing foes. They were really hard to get. By the way, I was thinking if you weren't doing anything that night you might want to..."
"But what about the glory of the South?" Scarlett asked.
"Yeah, yeah, that's really important. That's what I've been saying. That's why my newspaper, "The New Republic of the South" has been saying we have got to get in to this war, and we've got to throw everything we've got at them."
"But what about you?" Scarlett asked.
Peter snapped his fingers. "Oh, and oh, I've got this book contract. And if I get killed or something and miss my deadline, I'll never get another contract. I can't risk that. I mean people need to hear what I have to say about how great it is to go to war much more than they need me to fight for the glorious South."
"Oh but Peter," Scarlett said. "What about all the dear young boys who will lose their lives because of what you have written and said."
"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."