Nine Or Eight Hopes

Only three holes.

And twelve carrot circles.

Terence places three sad-faced carrot circles over each of the three holes.

Sorry about the rest of you, says Terence. 

What's the problem? asks Gaius, from the other end of the kitchen, where he is stirring his Ancient Roman Carrot Stew.

The other eight, says Terence.

Shouldn't that be nine? asks Gaius. Twelve take three. What does that make?

Eight, says Terence. I told you.

You need a lesson in mathematics, says Gaius. 

No, you do, says Terence.

Mathematics is, or should I say are, not debatable, says Gauius. Take those three off and start again.

Terence takes three carrot circles off the holes over which he had placed them.

Now set them out in a row, says Gaius.

Terence sets them out in a row,

Three of the carrot circles are hoping that Terence will remember that they were the ones that were previously chosen for strategic positions.

Nine (or eight) hope for a re-shuffle.

One two three four five six seven eight ten eleven twelve thirteen, counts Terence. Now there's one extra!

Gaius sighs.

You left out nine. No wonder.

Nine? says Terence. I only had twelve!

I don't have time for this, says Gaius. 

Don't worry, says Terence. I've got a great idea. I just need a knife.

A knife!

What's that for?

Luckily Gaius isn't listening. His Ancient Roman Carrot Stew is at a crucial stage of development.

Terence hops down from his chair.

He goes to the cutlery drawer and opens it.

Setting the table? says Gaius. What a splendid idea.

Terence thinks it is too. He takes three more knives out to add to the one he has taken already.

He goes back to the chair and the table.

The carrot circles are waiting.

What will Terence do?

Will he make nine (or eight) more holes in the table cloth?

One for everyone.

But even carrot circles know this is almost impossible to do with a dinner knife.

As Terence is about to discover.