He sat forward in his chair, rested one elbow upon his untidy desk, and for several moments of silence jabbed an inky pen rhythmically into the largest rutabaga ever grown in Slocum County.
At last he sat back and gazed upon me distantly from inspired eyes.
Then, with his characteristic enthusiasm, he exclaimed:-- "Something will have to be done!" "Wonderful!" I murmured.

"Here I've worried over the thing for two months, studied it in court, studied it in my office, studied it in bed--and couldn't make a thing out of it.

All at once I am guided to a welling fount of wisdom, and the thing is solved in a flash.

Solon, you dazzle me! Denney forever!" "Now, don't be funny, Calvin--I mean, don't try to be--" but I arose to go.
"You've solved it, Solon.

_Something must be done._ There's the difference between intuition and mere clumsy ratiocination.