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.
[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."