ichie 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—"