Welles gave the boy the usual intelligence tests. Tim seemed willing, but his replies were slow in coming. Perhaps, Welles thought, I’m imagining this, but he is too careful—too cautious. Without taking time to figure exactly, Welles knew what Tim’s I.Q. would be—about 120.
“What do you do outside of school?” asked the psychiatrist.
“I play with the other boys. After supper, I study my lessons.”
“What did you do yesterday?”
“We played ball on the school playground.”
Welles waited a while to see whether Tim would say anything of his own accord. The seconds stretched into minutes.
“Is that all?” said the boy finally. “May I go now?”
“No; there’s one more test I’d like to give you today. A game, really. How’s your imagination?”
“I don’t know.”
“Cracks on the ceiling—like those over there—do they look like anything to you? Faces, animals, or anything?”