CLAIRE: Give up the idea of salt for your egg and I'll let him in.
(_holds up the key to _TOM_ to indicate that for her part she is quite
ready to let him in_)

HARRY: I want my egg!

CLAIRE: Then ask him to bring the salt. It's quite simple.

(HARRY _goes through another pantomime with the egg-cup and the missing
shaker._ CLAIRE, _still standing half-way down cellar, sneezes._ HARRY,
_growing all the while less amiable, explains with thermometer and
flower-pot that there can only be one opening of the door._ TOM _looks
interested, but unenlightened. But suddenly he smiles, nods, vanishes._)

HARRY: Well, thank heaven (_exhausted_) that's over.

CLAIRE: (_sitting on the top step_) It was all so queer. He locked out
on his side of the door. You locked in on yours. Looking right at each
other and--

HARRY: (_in mockery_) And me trying to tell him to kindly fetch the
salt!

CLAIRE: Yes.

HARRY: (_to_ DICK) Well, I didn't do so bad a job, did I? Quite an idea,
explaining our situation with the thermometer and the flower-pot. That
was really an apology for keeping him out there. Heaven knows--some
explanation was in order, (_he is watching, and sees_ TOM _coming_) Now
there he is, Claire. And probably pretty well fed up with the weather.