"I will tell you how," I said with a great deal of dignity, "and
since you want to help, you may make it yourself."

He was delighted.

"Fine!" he said. "Suppose you give me the idea first. Then we'll
go over it slowly, bit by bit. We'll make a big fluffy omelet,
and if the others aren't around, we'll eat it ourselves."

"Well," I said, trying to remember exactly, "you take two eggs--"

"Two!" he repeated. "Two eggs for ten people!"

"Don't interrupt me," I said irritably. "If--if two isn't enough
we can make several omelets, one after the other."

He looked at me with admiration.

"Who else but you would have thought of that!" he remarked.
"Well, here are two eggs. What next?"

"Separate them," I said easily. No, I didn't know what it meant.
I hoped he would; I said it as casually as I could, and I did not
look at him. I knew he was staring at me, puzzled.

"Separate them!" he said. "Why, they aren't fastened together!"
Then he laughed. "Oh, yes, of course!" When I looked he had put
one at each end of the table. "Afraid they'll quarrel, I
suppose," he said. "Well, now they're separated."