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.