Jasper cradled the phone and stared at it pensively. He had worked hard on the Smokey Robinson piece and he felt the Beatles connection made it special. But he had been wrong, and all he could do was try again.

He returned to the dining room. “I must go,” he said. “I’m meeting Senator Peshkov at the Willard Hotel.”

Woody said: “The Willard is where Martin Luther King stays.”

Jasper brightened. “Maybe I could get an interview.” The Echo would surely be interested in that.

Woody smiled. “There will be several hundred reporters hoping for an interview with King today.”

Jasper turned to Beep. “Will I see you later?”

“We’re meeting at the Washington Monument at ten,” she said. “There’s a rumor that Joan Baez is going to sing.”

“I’ll look for you there.”

Woody said: “Did you say you’re meeting Greg Peshkov?”

“Yes. He’s the half brother of Daisy Williams.”

“I know. The domestic arrangements of Greg’s father, Lev Peshkov, were hot gossip when your mother and I were teenagers in Buffalo. Please give Greg my regards.”

“Of course,” said Jasper, and he went out.

• • •

George Jakes entered the coffee shop at the Willard and looked around for Verena, but she had not yet arrived. However, he saw his father, Greg Peshkov, having breakfast with a good-looking man of about twenty who had a blond Beatle haircut. George sat at their table and said: “Good morning.”

Greg said: “This is Jasper Murray, a student from London, England. He’s the son of an old friend. Jasper, meet George Jakes.”

They shook hands. Jasper looked faintly startled, as people often did when they saw Greg and George together; but, like most people, he was too polite to ask for an explanation.

Greg said to George: “Jasper’s mother was a refugee from Nazi Germany.”

Jasper said: “My mother has never forgotten how the American people welcomed her that summer.”

George said to Jasper: “So the subject of racial discrimination is familiar to you, I guess.”

“Not really. My mother doesn’t like to talk about the old days too much.” He smiled engagingly. “At school in England I was called Jasper Jewboy for a while, but it didn’t stick. Are you involved in today’s march, George?”

“Kind of. I work for Bobby Kennedy. Our concern is to make sure the day goes smoothly.”

Jasper was interested. “How are you able to do that?”

“The Mall is full of temporary drinking fountains, first aid stations, portable toilets, and even a check-cashing facility. A church in New York has made eighty thousand sandwich lunches for the organizers to distribute free. All speeches are limited to seven minutes, so that the event will end on time and visitors can leave town well before dark. And Washington has banned the sale of liquor for the day.”

“Will it work?”

George did not know. “Frankly, everything depends on the white people. It only takes a few cops to start throwing their weight around, using billy clubs or fire hoses or attack dogs, to turn a prayer meeting into a riot.”