“Not till it’s cooked,” Sammy put in, promptly. “Let’s have it fried.”
“Oh! I like eggs soft-boiled,” Dot exclaimed.
“Why! then we can’t divide it even after it’s cooked,” cried Tess; “for I like my eggs hard-boiled.”
“It can’t be done, then,” said Neale O’Neil, solemnly, but vastly amused. “You can’t first boil an egg hard, and then soft, and then fry it.”
“She—she ought to have laid three eggs,” growled Sammy.
“You should speak to her about that,” Neale returned. Then he added, as a suggestion: “Why don’t you cast lots for it?”
“Cast lots for what, Neale O’Neil!” demanded Dot, wonderingly.
“Is—isn’t that wicked—like gambling?” asked Tess, slowly, “or playing marbles for keeps?”
“No,” Neale told her, “I don’t believe it is. You can take three straws of different lengths. I’ll hold ’em. The one that draws the longest straw takes the egg—and can have it cooked any way she or he pleases.”
“But then the others won’t get any,” wailed Dot, whose appetite was evidently sharpened by the morning air.