Freddy felt himself once more a real and important human being with a place in the sun, not just a child to be shushed by a dingy landlady while his mother was out looking for a job.  He knew that he was as necessary a part of Florette’s act as her make-up box.  He believed himself to be as necessary a part of her life as the heart in her breast, for Florette lavished all her beauty, all her sweetness on him.  No Johns for Florette, pretty and blonde though she was.  To the contempt of her contemporaries Florette refused every chance for a free meal.  Freddy was her sweetheart, her man.  She had showered so many pretty love words on him, she had assured him so often that he was all in the world she wanted, that Freddy was stunned one day to hear that he was to have a papa.

“I don’ wan’ one,” said Freddy flatly.  “I ain’t never had one, an’ I ain’t got no use for one.”

Florette looked cross—­an unusual thing.

“Aw, now, Freddy, don’t be a grouch,” she said.

“I don’ wan’ one,” repeated Freddy.

“You ought to be glad to get a papa!” cried Florette.

“Why?”

“Makes you respectable.”

“What’s that?”

“Who’d believe I was a widow—­in this profession?”

Freddy still looked blank.

“Well,” said Florette, “you’re goin’ to get a nice papa, so there now!”

Then the cruel truth dawned on Freddy.  It was Florette who wanted a papa.  He had not been enough for her.  In some way Florette had found him lacking.

Tactfully, Freddy dropped the subject of papas, wooed Florette, and tried to atone for his shortcomings.  He redoubled his compliments, trotted out all the love words he knew, coaxed Florette with everything she liked best in him.  He even offered to have his nails filed.  At night, in bed, he kissed Florette’s bare back between the shoulder blades, and snuggled close to her, hugging her desperately with his little thin arms.

“Flo,” he quavered, “you—­you ain’t lonesome no more, are you?”

“Me?  Lonesome?  Whatcher talkin’ about, kid?” sleepily murmured Florette.

“You ain’t never lonesome when you got me around, are you, Flo?”

“Sure I ain’t.  Go to sleep, honey.”

“But, Florette——­”

Florette was dozing.

“Oh, Florette!  Florette!”

“Florette, if you ain’t lonesome——­”

“Sh-h-h, now, sh-h-h!  Le’s go to sleep.”

“But, Florette, you don’ wan’—­you don’ wan’—­a pop——­”

“Sh-h-h!  Sh-h-h!  I’m so tired, honey.”

Florette slept.  Freddy lay awake, but he lay still so as not to disturb her.  His arms ached, but he dared not let her go.  Finally he slept, and dreamed of a world in which there was no Florette.  He shuddered and kicked his mother.  She gave him a little impatient shove.  He woke.  Day was dawning.  It was Florette’s wedding day.  Freddy did not know it until Florette put on her best coral-velvet hat with the jet things dangling over her ears.