"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."