"Speaking of Christmas puddings," said the host, as he glanced at the imposing delicacy at the other end of the table. "I am reminded of the fact that a friend gave me a new puzzle the other day respecting one. Here it is," he added, diving into his breast pocket.
"'Problem: To find the contents,' I suppose," said the Eton boy.
"No; the proof of that is in the eating. I will read you the conditions."
"'Cut the pudding into two parts, each of exactly the same size and shape, without touching any of the plums. The pudding is to be regarded as a flat disc, not as a sphere.'"
"Why should you regard a Christmas pudding as a disc? And why should any reasonable person ever wish to make such an accurate division?" asked the cynic.
"It is just a puzzle—a problem in dissection." All in turn had a look at the puzzle, but nobody succeeded in solving it. It is a little difficult unless you are acquainted with the principle involved in the making of such puddings, but easy enough when you know how it is done.
Many pastimes of great antiquity, such as chess, have so developed and changed down the centuries that their original inventors would scarcely recognize them. This is not the case with Tangrams, a recreation that appears to be at least four thousand years old, that has apparently never been dormant, and that has not been altered or "improved upon" since the legendary Chinaman Tan first cut out the seven pieces shown in Diagram I. If you mark the point B, midway between A and C, on one side of a square of any size, and D, midway between C and E, on an adjoining side, the direction of the cuts is too obvious to need further explanation. Every design in this article is built up from the seven pieces of blackened cardboard. It will at once be understood that the possible combinations are infinite.