He pressed his momentary advantage. "Allavarg takes care of little boys and girls, doesn't he? He plays with them and he looks after them, I'll bet." Richie nodded uncertainly. "And," continued Jonathan, smiling what he hoped was a winning, comradely smile at his son, "I'll bet that Allavarg came from some place far, far away, didn't he?" "Yes," said Richie softly. "And it's his job to be here and look after the--the nursery?" Jonathan bit his lip. Nursery? Earth? Carooms--Martians? His head began to ache. "Son, you've got to help me understand. Do you--do you murv me?" * * * * * Richie shook his head. "No. But I _will_ after--" "After what?" "After I grow up." "Why not now?" asked Jonathan. The blond head sank lower. "Because you framish, Daddy." His father nodded, trying to look wise, wincing inwardly as he pictured his colleagues listening in on this conversation. "Well--why don't you help me so I _don't_ framish?" "I can't." Richie glanced up, his eyes stricken. "Some day, Allavarg says, _I'm_ going to framish, too!" "Grow up, you mean?" hazarded Jonathan, and this time his smile was real as he looked at the smudged eyes and soft round cheeks. "Why, Richie," he went on, his voice suddenly husky, "it's fun to be a little boy, but there'll be lots to do when you grow up. You--" "I wish I was Mr. Easton!" Richie said fiercely. Jonathan held his breath. "What about Mr. Easton?" Richie squirmed out of the chair and clutched Jonathan's arm. "Please, Daddy! If you let Mr. Easton go back, can I go, too? Please? Can I?" Jonathan put his hands on his son's shoulders. "Richie! What do you know about Mr. Easton?" "Please? Can I go with him?" The shining blue eyes pleaded up at him. "If you don't let him go back pretty soon, he's going to framish again! Please! Can I?" "He's going to framish," nodded Jonathan. "And what then?" he coaxed. "What'll happen after he framishes? Will he be able to tell me about his trip?" "_I_ dunno," said Richie. "I dunno how he _could_. After you framish, you don't remember lots of things. I don't think he's even gonna remember he _went_ on a trip." The boy's hands shook Jonathan's arm eagerly. "Please, Daddy! Can I go with him?" "No!" Jonathan glared and released his hold on Richie. Didn't he have troubles enough without Richie suggesting--"About the nursery," he said briskly. "Why is there a nursery?" "To take care of us." Richie looked worried. "Why can't I go?" "Because you can't! Why don't they have the nursery back where Allavarg came from?" "There isn't any room." The blue eyes studied the man, looking for a way to get permission to go with Mr. Easton. "No room? What do you mean?" Richie sighed. Obviously he'd have to explain first and coax later. "Well, you know my school? You know my teacher in school? You know when my teacher was different?" He peered anxiously at Jonathan, and suddenly the man caught on.