remember something he had said when he was three.
"Dog."

"Biffy." Richie sat up straight. "Daddy, did you know Biffy had
puppies? Steve's mother showed me. Biffy had four puppies, Daddy.
_Four_!"

Jonathan nodded. He supposed Richie's next statement would be an
appeal to go next door and negotiate for one of the pups, and he
hurried on with, "Carooms."

"Friends," said Richie, eyes still shining. "Daddy, do you suppose we
could have a pup--" He broke off at the look on Jonathan's face.
"Huh?"

"Friends," repeated Jonathan, writing the word slowly and unsteadily.
"Uh--vacation."

"Beach," said Richie cautiously, still looking scared.

Jonathan went on with more familiar terms and Richie slowly relaxed
again in the big chair. From somewhere in the back of his mind,
Jonathan heard Margery say, "Sometimes I think they're a different
species altogether." He kept his voice low and casual, uncertain of
what he was thinking, but aware of the fact that Richie was hiding
something. The little mantel clock ticked drowsily, and Richie began
to look sleepy and bored as they went through things like "car" and
"school" and "book." Then--

"Friend," said Jonathan.

"Allavarg," yawned Richie. "No!" He snapped to, alert and wary. "I
mean _Steve_."

His father looked up sharply. "What's that?"

"What?" asked Richie.

"Richie," said Jonathan, "what's a Caroom?"

The boy shrugged and muttered, "_I_ dunno."

"Oh, yes, you do!" Jonathan lit a cigarette. "What's an Allavarg?" He
watched the boy bite his lips and stare out the window. "He's a
friend, isn't he?" coaxed Jonathan. "_Your_ friend? Does he play with
you?"

The blond head nodded slowly and uncertainly.

"Where does he live?" persisted Jonathan. "Does he come over here and
play in your yard? Does he, Richie?"

The boy stared at his father, worried and unhappy. "Sometimes," he
whispered. "Sometimes he does, if I call him."

"How do you call him?" asked Jonathan. He was beginning to feel
foolish.

"Why," said Richie, "I just say 'Here, Allavarg!' and he comes, if
he's not too busy."

"What keeps him busy?" Such nonsense! Allavarg was undoubtedly an
imaginary playmate. This whole hunch of his was utter nonsense. He
should be at work on Easton instead of--

"The nursery keeps him busy," said Richie. "Real busy."

* * * * *

Jonathan frowned. Did Richie mean the greenhouse down the road? Was
there a Mr. Allavarg who worked t