thing, Eaton found the Southern Congressman’s appearance repulsive. Not that Miller was technically ugly, Eaton conceded, but his aspect was that of the bigot incarnate. Miller was not quite short, was wiry, and was perpetually in motion. There was something meanly threatening about him, like a coiled spring ready to tear loose, explode, and shred anyone within range.
Miller was semibald, with a long, thin, veiny nose, tiny gray eyes, and an almost lipless mouth that continually worked over discolored teeth. His small frame, like his small mind, was tough and supple. His suits were expensive but garish. Neither his father’s textile money nor his inheritance from his mother had given him polish. His years away from the Deep South had modified his Dixie accent which, it was said in the cloakrooms, he turned on at will during electioneering years.
When taking to the hustings down home, traveling the red clay roads and magnolia groves, Zeke Miller reverted to being the complete “Southroner,” and the voice that twanged away like the plucked strings of a banjo on the floor of the House became softer, rounder, as its rich mellifluousness inveighed against the Communist- African conspiracy “to undermine America by reducing us to one mongrelized family, and thereby bringing on the Biblical Armageddon which will wipe our Christian government from the earth.” America’s hope, Miller often said, was in containing the spread of the Black Plague through strict segregation, and ultimately shipping off the carriers and spreaders of destruction to their native Africa. In his infrequent cheerier moments of oratory, Miller was given to attributing his jokes to his father’s decrepit green parrot, or to revising suitable quotations from the Old Testament. He would not forget that his grandpappy, Braxton Z. Miller, had owned slaves, and they had been peaceable and grateful, and “the Nigra’s lot” had been the better for this paternal segregation. “As the Prophets have told us,” Miller often liked to say, “ ‘Thou shalt not plow with an ox and an ass together.’ ”
Now Zeke Miller had finished drying himself, and was folding his handkerchief and returning it to his hip pocket. “I tell you,” he muttered, “those reporters out there sure downright bugged me. Trying to make me out a Bilbo or worse. Anything for a story. They sure can be mighty rough boys.”
“You should know, Zeke,” Talley said cheerfully, “you own half of them.”
“Aw, no, that’s not true, Governor,” Miller said. “The few newspapers my Dad and I control, they don’t amount to a hill of beans.” For the first time Miller became conscious of Eaton’s stare. He half faced Eaton. “I’ve got too many more serious matters on my head than to bother about my newspapers. Just for the record, Mr. Secretary, I had no part in what that goldarn fool, Reb Blaser, put in our papers. It got me sore as could be, and I told Reb off good, and said if he picks on my friends once more with goldarn scandal rumors, I’ll see that he winds up on one of those nigger newspapers. Just so there’s no misunderstanding, Mr. Secretary, I’ve got nothing against you and your lady. I’m for you. I’m for all of T. C.’s team and everyone in our constitutional government. Fact is, I’m closer on your side than I’ve ever been before. No, sir, you’ve got my word, no more subverting rumors.”
“You’re protesting too much, Congressman,” said Eaton, “and it’s not necessary. I take your word it was a mistake. I accept your promise that it won’t happen again. I’ve quite forgotten the whole incident. You’re right, there are more important matters to contend with now.”
Miller’s mouth cracked into a smile, and his nicotine-stained teeth were revealed. “There’s more important things on my mind, too. If you sit down, I’ll be quick, I’ll give you a report on what’s been going on up on the Hill to save this poor country.”
Eaton and Talley eased themselves down on the sofa, but Zeke Miller stayed on his feet, snapping open his briefcase, extracting a wad of clipped papers. “Know what this is?” he asked, holding up the papers while dropping his briefcase. “This is the American people joined and united in one voice of protest against the greatest humiliation and danger of our century-against having an ignorant nig possum politician dirtying the White House and shoving us around.”
Eaton did not suppress his displeasure. He knew that Miller used the words “nigger” and “nig” when trumpeting for white votes in the South, but, like most of his colleagues, he confined himself to Negro (“Nigra,” his accent made it) in the public arena of the House. Now he had slipped back to “nigger,” and this, Eaton decided, came from inner fury. “Congressman Miller,” Eaton found himself saying, “President Dilman is not shoving anyone around. He hasn’t had the time to do so, even if he had the desire.”
“You wait, you just wait and see,” Miller shot back. “Before you can turn around, you’ll find yourself staring down at a nigger Cabinet, with every administrative aide and every ambassador a black jigaboo, and you can be sure he’ll be hiring white men for his servants and white girls for his secretaries. That’s what all of them have been waiting for.”
Miller belched, strutted in a tight circle, and came to roost before Eaton and Talley once more. “For a minute, forget about the side issues. I’m worried sick about the big issues. See here in my hand, tallies of the telegrams that have come flooding in to Hankins and myself and the rest of us, and not all from the South, either. I’ll leave them for you to read. Over two thousand telegrams since last night, demanding we keep that Dilman out of office and protect our country. Now, don’t give me any cool racist and segregationist back talk, because this is bigger than that. Almost three years ago the people of this glorious country heard the issues and elected the man they wanted to represent them, and suddenly they find themselves saddled with someone they never wanted who plumb hates their guts. I call that legal crime. I tell you here and now, and I’m willing to shout it from the rooftops, if that Nigra Dilman is allowed to sit in T. C.’s chair, we’re in for rebellion. Inside a month we’ll be wading through blood from white and nigger bodies. Letting this stranger be foisted upon us disrupts our unity and progress, degrades us in the eyes of the world, and promises corruption and ruin.”
He paused, his pinpoint eyes darting from Eaton to Talley, and then he hiccuped and went on. “I know what you’re both thinking, or maybe I don’t, but I’m no red-neck, I tell you. I’m an educated, progressive legislator who wants what is right. Sure I was raised to believe that we have our place, and the niggers have their place, and that’s the way Jehovah arranged it. But I’m a Party man, and always will be, so help me. When the Party had to bow to the Supreme Court and force us to give in to niggers, I went along. And that’s what I’ll still do. I eat with niggers, and ride with them, and let my youngsters enter the same school with them, because that’s the law. Good enough. I’ve done everything with niggers, like it or not, but goldarn it, there’s sure one thing I won’t do-I won’t let an African black man sit in the chair where General Washington sat, and try to rule me. Maybe if one day it was the wish of the electorate out there, black and white, I’d go along. If he was voted in by popular vote, I’d live with it. But the way it is now-no, never!”
Miller had the blue handkerchief out again, and angrily mopped his wet face.
Talley wrung his hands nervously. “Zeke, he was voted into the Senate-”
“By damn Northern Communists,” interrupted Miller.
“Nevertheless, he was voted into the Senate, and the Senate voted him President pro tempore, and legally he was in the line of succession. I don’t see what you can do about it.”
“Aha!” exclaimed Miller. “That’s why I brought Casper Wine over here. He knows the Constitution so thoroughly, he could’ve signed it with Hancock. A group of us who are concerned about what’s happening to our country, who believe in justice, we met most of the night and this morning, and we brought Casper in with us, to find out what could be done before Dilman becomes President.”
“He is already President,” said Eaton calmly. “I saw him sworn in last night.”
“Illegal procedure’s what you saw,” said Miller. “Casper and the rest of us have covered that point. There are plenty of loopholes in the Succession Act. We’re fixing to have the whole thing nullified. We’re getting up this preliminary challenge for the House Judiciary Committee. I’m here because I’m of the mind that you should be the first to know what we’re doing, Mr. Secretary. After all, if we win, you’re the one person directly affected. If we can disqualify Dilman, then you’re the one to replace him, by special election, if necessary. We’re only trying to make you President, Mr. Secretary.”
“I should be grateful,” said Eaton coldly, “but I am only interested in upholding the law.”
Miller had spun away. “Casper, read them our findings.”
Casper Wine was already tugging a massive legal brief out of his brown case.
Eaton shook his head. “We don’t have time to hear a reading of any brief. President Dilman is on his way here, and there is a good deal of business to transact… Mr. Wine, forget any reading. Tell us in your own words what you have in that appeal.”
Casper Wine squinted despairingly through his convex spectacle lenses at Miller.
Miller shrugged, then said, “Okay, give it to them in a capsule, Casper.”
The myopic constitutional attorney brought the legal brief up high, close to his eyes, until it all but obscured his face. Slowly he peeled the pages, reading to himself, and at last he lowered the brief to his lap. He began to speak
