Part 17

"No, it is not chess. You see these two snails. They are Romeo and Juliet. Juliet is on her balcony, waiting the arrival of her love; but Romeo has been dining, and forgets, for the life of him, the number of her house. The squares represent sixty-four houses, and the amorous swain visits every house once and only once before reaching his beloved. Now, make him do this with the fewest possible turnings. The snail can move up, down, and across the board and through the diagonals. Mark his track with this piece of chalk."

"Seems easy enough," said Grigsby, running the chalk along the squares. "Look! that does it."

"Yes," said the Professor: "Romeo has got there, it is true, and visited every square once, and only once; but you have made him turn nineteen times, and that is not doing the trick in the fewest turns possible."

Hawkhurst, curiously enough, hit on the solution at once, and the Professor remarked that this was just one of those puzzles that a person might solve at a glance or not master in six months.

71.--Romeo's Second Journey.

"It was a sheer stroke of luck on your part, Hawkhurst," he added. "Here is a much easier puzzle, because it is capable of more systematic analysis; yet it may just happen that you will not do it in an hour. Put Romeo on a white square and make him crawl into every other white square once with the fewest possible turnings. This time a white square may be visited twice, but the snail must never pass a second time through the same corner of a square nor ever enter the black squares."

"May he leave the board for refreshments?" asked Grigsby.

"No; he is not allowed out until he has performed his feat."

72.--The Frogs who would a-wooing go.

While we were vainly attempting to solve this puzzle, the Professor arranged on the table ten of the frogs in two rows, as they will be found in the illustration.

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"That seems entertaining," I said. "What is it?"

"It is a little puzzle I made a year ago, and a favourite with the few people who have seen it. It is called 'The Frogs who would a-wooing go.' Four of them are supposed to go a-wooing, and after the four have each made a jump upon the table, they are in such a position that they form five straight rows with four frogs in every row."

"What's that?" asked Hawkhurst. "I think I can do that." A few minutes later he exclaimed, "How's this?"

"They form only four rows instead of five, and you have moved six of them," explained the Professor.

"Hawkhurst," said Grigsby severely, "you are a duffer. I see the solution at a glance. Here you are! These two jump on their comrades' backs."

"No, no," admonished the Professor; "that is not allowed. I distinctly said that the jumps were to be made upon the table. Sometimes it passes the wit of man so to word the conditions of a problem that the quibbler will not persuade himself that he has found a flaw through which the solution may be mastered by a child of five."

After we had been vainly puzzling with these batrachian lovers for some time, the Professor revealed his secret.

The Professor gathered up his Japanese reptiles and wished us good-night with the usual seasonable compliments. We three who remained had one more pipe together, and then also left for our respective homes. Each believes that the other two racked their brains over Christmas in the determined attempt to master the Professor's puzzles; but when we next met at the club we were all unanimous in declaring that those puzzles which we had failed to solve "we really had not had time to look at," while those we had mastered after an enormous amount of labour "we had seen at the first glance directly we got home."

MISCELLANEOUS PUZZLES

73.--The Game of Kayles.

Nearly all of our most popular games are of very ancient origin, though in many cases they have been considerably developed and improved. Kayles--derived from the French word quilles--was a great favourite in the fourteenth century, and was undoubtedly the parent of our modern game of ninepins. Kayle-pins were not confined in those days to any particular number, and they were generally made of a conical shape and set up in a straight row.

At first they were knocked down by a club that was thrown at them from a distance, which at once suggests the origin of the pastime of "shying for cocoanuts" that is to-day so popular on Bank Holidays on Hampstead Heath and elsewhere. Then the players introduced balls, as an improvement on the club.

In the illustration we get a picture of some of our fourteenth-century ancestors playing at kayle-pins in this manner.

Now, I will introduce to my readers a new game of parlour kayle-pins, that can be played across the table without any preparation whatever. You simply place in a straight row thirteen dominoes, chess-pawns, draughtsmen, counters, coins, or beans--anything will do--all close together, and then remove the second one as shown in the picture.

It is assumed that the ancient players had become so expert that they could always knock down any single kayle-pin, or any two kayle-pins that stood close together. They therefore altered the game, and it was agreed that the player who knocked down the last pin was the winner.

Therefore, in playing our table-game, all you have to do is to knock down with your fingers, or take away, any single kayle-pin or two adjoining kayle-pins, playing alternately until one of the two players makes the last capture, and so wins. I think it will be found a fascinating little game, and I will show the secret of winning.

Remember that the second kayle-pin must be removed before you begin to play, and that if you knock down two at once those two must be close together, because in the real game the ball could not do more than this.