A boiled egg was frequently a part of our lunch. Dunc Galbraith, an eighth grader and the largest boy in school, was constantly parading his strength, asking us to feel his muscle. He delighted in turning down two boys on a broomstick and breaking and mashing up our luncheon egg. If you put the ends of an egg in the palms of your hands and press the egg, it is difficult to break the egg; but if you work the egg a bit sideways, it will break- surprisingly easy. Dunc claimed he could break an egg endways and ruined our luncheon eggs several times, including one of mine. He not only broke the egg but mashed it up in his hands so it could not be eaten. He would not play the game fair- he would maneuver the egg a bit sidewise- it was then easy to break.
One day I found a hen's nest in a fence corner, all the eggs but three had been hatched. The three were old and explosive and I knew would smell about as badly as what a skunk can produce. I knew, for I had broken some that had failed to hatch. I took one of the three infertile eggs from the nest, washed it and put it in my lunch box. As we ate our lunch back of the school house that day, as I expected, Dunc asked me if I wanted to let him try my egg. I consented, if he would play fair. He took my egg and wham, it exploded like a firecracker and Dunc went home for the day.