Freddy lay awake listening.  He had sobbed, too, when he was first banished to the cot.  Was Florette missing him as he had missed her?  Ah, if she at last had seen that papas were not half so nice as Freddy’s, he would not be hard on her.  His heart swelled with forgiveness and love.  He stole on tiptoe to Florette’s bedside.

“Flo,” he whispered.

The sobbing ceased.  Florette held her breath and pretended to be asleep.  Freddy wriggled his little thin body under the covers and threw his arms around Florette.  With a gulp, she turned and threw her arms around him.  They clasped each other tight and clung without speaking.  They lay on the edge of the bed, holding their breath in order not to wake the papa who snored loudly.  Freddy’s cheeks and hair were wet, a cold tear trickled down his neck, his body ached from the hard edge of the bed; but he was happy, as only a child or a lover can be, and Freddy was both.

In the morning the papa was cross.  He did not seem to care for his own breakfast, but concentrated his attention on Freddy’s.  Freddy had always been accustomed to a nice breakfast of tea and toast and jam, but Howard insisted on ordering oatmeal for him.

“Naw, Freddy can’t stand oatmeal,” Florette objected.

“It’s good for him,” said Howard, staring severely at his son across the white-topped restaurant table.

“I don’ see no use forcin’ a person to eat what they can’t stomach,” said Florette.

“Yeah, tha’s the way you’ve always spoiled that kid.  Look a’ them pale cheeks!  Li’l ole pale face!” Howard taunted, stretching a teasing hand toward Freddy.  “Mamma’s boy!  Reg’lar sissy, he is!”

He gave Freddy a poke in the ribs.  Freddy shrank back, made himself as small as possible in his chair, looked mutely at Florette.

“Aw, cut it out, Howard,” she begged.  “Quit raggin’ the kid, can’t you?”

“Mamma’s blessed sugar lump!” jeered Howard, with an ugly gleam in his eye.  “Ought to wear a bib with pink ribbons, so he ought.  Gimme a nursin’ bottle for the baby, waiter!”

The impertinence of this person amazed Freddy.  He could only look at his tormentor speechlessly.  Freddy and Florette had been such great chums that she had never used the maternal prerogative of rudeness.  He had never had any home life, so he was unaware of the coolness with which members of a family can insult one another.  Howard’s tones, never low, were unusually loud this morning, and people turned around to laugh at the blushing child.  The greasy waiter grinned and set the oatmeal which Howard had ordered before Freddy.

“Now, then, young man,” commanded Howard sternly, “you eat that, and you eat it quick!”

Freddy obeyed literally, swallowing as fast as he could, with painful gasps and gulps, fighting to keep the tears back.  Florette reached under the table and silently squeezed his knee.  He flashed her a smile and swallowed a huge slimy mouthful.