He bought a copy of The Commercial Appeal and dropped onto one of the sofas nearby to read the headlines. As he had suspected, the story in which he was involved took top play.
SOUTHERN GOVERNORS
GATHER HERE TODAY TO
DISCUSS 'REVOLT.'
It was a three-column head at the right of the page. The Commercial wasn't as conservative as it had been when he was a boy, but it still didn't go in for the bold black streamers, he thought approvingly.
He glanced at the other front page headlines: MERIDIAN QUIET UNDER FEDERAL REGIME ... NEHRU BLASTS RACE UNREST IN MISSISSIPPI ... PRESIDENT URGES SOUTH: 'ABIDE BY LAW'....
Beauregard sighed. He was caught up in the vortex of great events.
He arose, folding his paper, and walked toward the stairs leading down to the grill. The governors' meeting was not until eleven o'clock. After breakfast, he would talk with some of the Memphis political leaders and telephone Governor Gentry. He was in a delicate position here, representing a state that did not think exactly as he did.
As he reached the steps, a dark-haired woman, dressed in misty blue for the morning, approached from the elevators. He stepped aside to let her precede him. Then they recognized each other.
"Piquette!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know you were in Memphis."
The quadroon flashed a smile and a sparkle of black eyes at him.
"I knew you were here," she said, gesturing at his newspaper.