"Why, here is the Professor!" exclaimed Grigsby. "We'll make him show us
some new puzzles."
It was Christmas Eve, and the club was nearly deserted. Only Grigsby,
Hawkhurst, and myself, of all the members, seemed to be detained in town
over the season of mirth and mince-pies. The man, however, who had just
entered was a welcome addition to our number. "The Professor of Puzzles,"
as we had nicknamed him, was very popular at the club, and when, as on
the present occasion, things got a little slow, his arrival was a
positive blessing.
He was a man of middle age, cheery and kind-hearted, but inclined to be
cynical. He had all his life dabbled in puzzles, problems, and enigmas of
every kind, and what the Professor didn't know about these matters was
admittedly not worth knowing. His puzzles always had a charm of their
own, and this was mainly because he was so happy in dishing them up in
palatable form.
"You are the man of all others that we were hoping would drop in," said
Hawkhurst. "Have you got anything new?"
"I have always something new," was the reply, uttered with feigned
conceit--for the Professor was really a modest man--"I'm simply glutted
with ideas."
"Where do you get all your notions?" I asked.
"Everywhere, anywhere, during all my waking moments. Indeed, two or three
of my best puzzles have come to me in my dreams."
"Then all the good ideas are not used up?"
"Certainly not. And all the old puzzles are capable of improvement,
embellishment, and extension. Take, for example, magic squares. These
were constructed in India before the Christian era, and introduced into
Europe about the fourteenth century, when they were supposed to possess
certain magical properties that I am afraid they have since lost. Any
child can arrange the numbers one to nine in a square that will add up
fifteen in eight ways; but you will see it can be developed into quite a
new problem if you use coins instead of numbers."
[Illustration]