Tim looked.
“Sometimes. And clouds, too. Bob saw a cloud last week that was like a hippo.” Again the last sentence sounded like something tacked on at the last moment, a careful addition made for a reason.
Welles got out the Rorschach cards. But at the sight of them, his patient’s tension increased, his wariness became unmistakably evident. The first time they went through the cards, the boy could scarcely be persuaded to say anything but, “I don’t know.”
“You can do better than this,” said Welles. “We’re going through them again. If you don’t see anything in these pictures, I’ll have to mark you a failure,” he explained. “That won’t do. You did all right on the other things. And maybe next time we’ll do a game you’ll like better.”
“I don’t feel like playing this game now. Can’t we do it again next time?”
“May as well get it done now. It’s not only a game, you know, Tim; it’s a test. Try harder, and be a good sport.”
So Tim, this time, told what he saw in the ink blots. They went through the cards slowly, and the test showed Tim’s fear, and that there was something he was hiding; it showed his caution, a lack of trust, and an unnaturally high emotional self-control.
Miss Page had been right; the boy needed help.
“Now,” said Welles cheerfully, “that’s all over. We’ll just run through them again quickly and I’ll tell you what other people have seen in them.”
A flash of genuine interest appeared on the boy’s face for a moment.