"And what will it mean if I wear it?"
"Only," said Sharlee, "that you love the South."
Vaguely Queed saw in her blue-spar eyes the same kind of softness that
he noticed in people's voices this afternoon, a softness which somehow
reminded him of a funeral, Fifi's or Colonel Cowles's.
"Oh, very well, if you like."
Sharlee put the flag in his buttonhole under her mother's watchful gaze.
Then she got cushions and straw-mats, and explained their uses in
connection with steps. Next, she gave a practical demonstration of the
same by seating the young man, and sitting down beside him.
"One thing I have noticed about loving the South. Everybody does it, who
takes the trouble to know us. Look at the people!--millions and
millions...."
"Colonel Cowles would have liked this."
"Yes--dear old man." Sharlee paused a moment, and then went on. "He was
in the parade last year--on the beautifullest black horse--You never saw
anything so handsome as he looked that day. It was in Savannah, and I
went. I was a maid of honor, but my real duties were to keep him from
marching around in the hot sun all day.
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