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Crack this one, percipient reader ..

A tribal chief in the good ol' days had three sons, of whom he was very proud. He also had 17 beautiful ponies, of which he was also very proud. Sadly, he died (Aaaaah!).

In his dying breath he let it be known that he wished his 17 ponies to be divided among his three sons -- half of them to the oldest, one third of them to the second, and one ninth of them to the youngest. None of the ponies must be mutilated or otherwise harmed in any way. ( OK -- must have been a pretty long dying breath ... )

His tribe were in a quandary, as they knew that to play fast & loose with the old chief's wishes would bring ruin & everlasting misery to the tribe. Try as they would, with much cudgelling of their brains and beating of their breasts, they could find no way of dividing the ponies as laid down by old chief's word (or breath).

Now -- a traveller came by one day. They heard his approach from a distance: clip clop clip clop clip clop clip clop, gradually growing louder as he neared. A Wise Man he was, with a beard and sunken eyes, who peered deep into the heart of things; & quickly he saw that the tribe were in the throes of despond. What ails? he cried. What ails? Tell me true, my friends, for I am a Wise Man, with a beard and sunken eyes, who peers deep into the heart of things; and I may help.

So they told him. And he smiled; a mere flicker of a smile, so 'tis said. But he smiled. And instantly he untied the knot that was in all their hearts, and the ponies were divided in due proportion, in accordance with the old chief's [admittedly very long] dying breath. And the tribe rejoiced, for their village was saved; and - such is the nature of those who rejoice - they gave no thought to the strange stranger who quietly passed on his way - clip clop clip clop clip clop clip clop - and was never seen or heard of again.

Now tell me, reader, and tell me true: what was the Wise Man's solution?  
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A contribution by "HOLOFERNES"

 

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