He nodded drearily.
"Then we'll have them scrambled," she announced with a cheerful smile, breaking several eggs across the edge of a bowl, adding a little milk, as carefully measured off as though it were vanilla for a cake, and proceeding slightly to beat the combination. There seemed something ungraspably and very subtly characteristic in the decision to scramble them....
In no time the two were seated at breakfast.
She grew chatty. "I'm sorry there isn't any toast, Les. We can't make decent toast over an oil fire. We've tried it," she expanded with labelled significance, spreading butter on a rather dry slice of bread.
The bread that was dry today might be soggy tomorrow. It should be noted in passing that up here in the woods the supplies showed a tendency to grow either very soggy or very dry. In fact, the bread and pastry boxes were often the most infallible of barometers.
Leslie perjured himself with an assurance that the bread was delicious.
"In town," she went on, pouring the coffee, "we have an electric toaster. We have it on the table and make toast as we want it. I wish we had it up here!"
"Could you make it work with oil?" asked her companion with sweet maliciousness.
"Of course not," she sighed. "I always forget. I wish they'd run wires out here to the Point. I have an electric curler at home, too. It's such a bother sticking your iron down the chimney of a lamp."