One Christmas Eve I was travelling by rail to a little place in one of
the southern counties. The compartment was very full, and the passengers
were wedged in very tightly. My neighbour in one of the corner seats was
closely studying a position set up on one of those little folding
chessboards that can be carried conveniently in the pocket, and I could
scarcely avoid looking at it myself. Here is the position:--
[Illustration]
My fellow-passenger suddenly turned his head and caught the look of
bewilderment on my face.
"Do you play chess?" he asked.
"Yes, a little. What is that? A problem?"
"Problem? No; a game."
"Impossible!" I exclaimed rather rudely. "The position is a perfect
monstrosity!"
He took from his pocket a postcard and handed it to me. It bore an
address at one side and on the other the words "43. K to Kt 8."
"It is a correspondence game." he exclaimed. "That is my friend's last
move, and I am considering my reply."
"But you really must excuse me; the position seems utterly impossible.
How on earth, for example--"
"Ah!" he broke in smilingly. "I see; you are a beginner; you play to
win."
"Of course you wouldn't play to lose or draw!"
He laughed aloud.
"You have much to learn. My friend and myself do not play for results of
that antiquated kind. We seek in chess the wonderful, the whimsical, the
weird. Did you ever see a position like that?"