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The Jordans never spoke of the exam, not until their son Dick was 12 years old.

It was on his birthday that Mrs. Jordan first mentioned the subject in his presence,

and the anxious manner of his speech caused her husband to answer sharply.

Forget about it, he said. He'll do all right. They were at the breakfast table and the boy looked up

from his plate curiously. He was an alert-eyed youngster with flat blonde hair and a quick nervous manner.

He didn't understand what the sudden tension was about, but he did know that today was his

birthday, and he wanted harmony above all. Somewhere in the little apartment, there was

wrapped, be-ribboned packages waiting to be opened.

In the tiny wall kitchen, something warm and sweet was being prepared in the automatic stove.

He wanted the day to be happy, and the moistness of his mother's eyes, the scowl of his father's face, spoiled the mood of expectation,

with which he greeted the morning.

"'What exam?' he asked.

His mother looked at the tablecloth.

"'It's just sort of a government intelligence test. They give children at the age of 12.

You'll be taking it next week. It's nothing to worry about.

You mean like a test in school? Something like that, his father said, getting up from the table.

...