THE PROFESSOR'S PUZZLES

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 improve-