The Potato Chip Puzzles_ The Puzzling World of Winston Breen - Eric Berlin [60]
“He said they were almost done with this puzzle.”
Mr. Garvey looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. He tore pages out of his memo pad and handed them to the three boys. “Okay. We’re separating again. Go back to the same area you covered before. Run and write down every riddle these people have to say. Don’t worry about answering them. Don’t even think. Just write down the riddles. And write down what each person has on their back. Write it all down and get back here fast. Do you hear me? Fast!” He looked at them, trying to drill his intensity into them with his stare. Winston, for one, got the message. “Do you each have a pen?” They all did. “Then go!”
It took a while, and toward the end, Winston could feel Mr. Garvey’s agitation like radio waves from across the green. But the college kids in the colored T-shirts kept walking around, and it was hard to keep track of which ones he had spoken to and which ones he had not. He went up to the same bland-faced, sandy-haired kid three times in ten minutes.
Mr. Garvey was again the first back at the park bench they were using as a home base. When Winston returned, he was slumped over, frowning deeply and looking at the mini computer. “West Meadow has solved this,” Mr. Garvey said. “That’s your friend, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Brendan Root’s team.”
“They’re almost done. All they need now is the sixth answer.” Mr. Garvey looked up. He looked like he had aged ten years since this morning. “We’re running out of time,” he said. “We could have won this whole thing if hadn’t been for the cheater. We caught up, but it wasn’t enough.” He shook his head, too tired to be angry.
Mal and Jake got back within thirty seconds of each other. “Did you get all the riddles?” Mr. Garvey asked. “And all the pictures on the back of their shirts?”
“I think so,” Mal said.
“Let’s see.”
They sat together on the bench and compared notes. Winston could see that Jake was still sore about Mr. Garvey’s sports comment—their teacher had practically called him a dumb jock. But he was willing to put aside his disgust for the sake of the team. He wondered if Mr. Garvey noticed that.
• I have one eye and a sharp toe. What am I?
• Sometimes I have two eyes, and sometimes I have four, and my life often hangs by a thread. What am I?
• Most people put me out at night yet do not lock me out. What am I?
• My coat is very thin indeed, but you wear me around the house. What am I?
• I get shorter the longer I stand. What am I?
• You must break me before you can use me. What am I?
• My legs are strong, but I will not run and play. You sit upon my lap for hours every day. What am I?
• Scratch my head and it’s no longer red. What am I?
• I’m round in the daytime and long at night. What am I?
• If you beat me, I will yell. What am I?
• I will not burn in a fire, and I will not drown in the water. What am I?
• Sometimes you can’t make a move without me. What am I?
• I’m the end of time and space. In fact, I’m the end of everyplace. What am I?
• If you turn me around, I can no longer see. What am I?
• Throw away the outside, cook the inside. Then eat the outside and throw away the inside. What am I?
• I’m full all day but empty at night. What am I?
• I may be small, but I fill my house from top to bottom. What am I?
• I am full of holes, but I can still hold water. What am I?
(Answer, page 243.)
They matched up all the answers, with only the occasional stumble. (“Does a sponge grow shorter the longer it stands?” Mal asked.) After they had solved all the riddles, there were high fives all around . . . until they realized that they still needed to turn all these answers into something they could type into the mini computer.
“All right,” said Mr. Garvey, a distant expression on his face. “We have eighteen answers. They’re