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themselves."
"This seems almost too plain," said the psychologist. "But we'll see."
Well, at the worst, they'd get replies about bright children, and it would not
do any harm for Tim to get in touch with bright children, even if they were
only in the IQ 150-200 class.
Peter Welles unlocked the post-office box, and without a word began to divide
the seven letters it contained, one for Tim and one for himself, one for Tim
and one for himself, so that the odd one fell to the boy. Peter marched
quickly out of the post office, and when Tim who went slowly, examining the
outsides of the envelopes-reached the street, he found that the doctor had
flagged a taxi.
"Speed is the need of the moment," remarked Welles.
Tim smiled with his lips closed. The psychologist saw that the boy did not
dare part his lips, lest indiscreet speech burst out. It was always hard to
remember that this child, whose intelligence surpassed that of superior
adults, was still emotionally only about thirteen years old.
"Hold everything, pal," said Welles encouragingly. "It won't be long now."
When they reached the doctor's office, which was also his home, Tim leaped
from the cab and tore inside. By the time Peter got there, the first letter
had been opened and read.
"This one thinks we're looking for child stars for the radio or the movies,"
said the boy. "But she doesn't know why orphans, she says, unless there is
something wrong with our proposition."
"What shall we answer?" asked Peter, ripping open an envelope.
Tell her we don't want the child's parents to get any of the child's salary,"
said Tim. "That'll settle her, all right. What's your first grab?"
"Thinks it must be some sex stuff, because it's cryptic," said Welles, tossing
the letter into the fireplace.
Tim paid no attention; he was deep in the second letter which had fallen to
him.
"This looks possible!" cried the boy. "It's obscure& but "
"This one," interrupted Welles, "asks whether we are offering orphans for
adoption or whether we want to adopt one. That's no good. But we must answer."
He ripped open another, and cried, "Hello! This is in code!"
They read it together and laid it aside for the moment, with the other letter
which had seemed possible but obscure.
"This one collects strange ads, so he says," Tim reported after a glance over
his third letter. "Might be a possibility, but I don't think so. We can follow
it up cautiously. And the last of all& hey! this is interesting, at any rate!"
He read the letter aloud:
"Dear Sir,
Your advertisement seems to deserve a wider audience, so I am broadcasting it
over my short-wave set on the hour every hour this week. May I say that I take
a personal interest in this matter? I would appreciate hearing from you
further.
Jay Worthington."
"I think he's one," cried Tim. "That is, if there really are any more like
me."
"Could be. We must figure out a reply to him; but it must be less plain than
the ad, Tim. In fact, we'd better make some sort of reply to all the letters,
just to be on the safe side."
"All but the one you threw into the fire," said Tim. "Let's see the code
letter again."
They bent over it.
"Door-head tooth-head hand hook-tooth house-head-fish fish ox-serpent-fist
serpent "
Tim began to giggle. In many ways he was a very normal small boy.
" mouth-head-fish-sign-tooth door fish-prop ox-sign-water hand-back of the
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
head goad-camel goad-fish-goad-hand."
"Anything else?"
"Not a word except the name and address on the envelope. Marie Heath a girl!"
"There would be girls too, no doubt," said Tim, with elaborate carelessness
which might have fooled the casual observer. "But why did she use this paper?
It's folded like a greeting card. Open it all the way out flat, Peter."
Welles opened the paper to its fullest extent.
"Here's a bit of a scribble in pencil. A doodle. No, let me have a good look&
Tim, it's Hebrew!"
"I don't know Hebrew. Do you? Then I'll stop in the main library before I go
home, and transliterate it. Now for the obscure one." Timothy read it aloud
slowly:
"Dear Box Number:
It leaps to the eye that this is my cue. But perhaps you are as much in the
dark as I am and it is probably better so.
B. Burke."
"Sounds promising," said Welles.
Tim muttered a moment and then exclaimed, "Better in the dark!" and fled from
the room. By the time Peter Welles had got to his feet there was a shout from
Tim, summoning Welles to his own bedroom, and there was Tim beckoning from the
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