If it sees that you are waiting for it and are anxious, it will never even sing.
You have to go away and begin your meal, as if you were not going to have any tea at all.

You must not even look round at it.

Then you will soon hear it sputtering away, mad to be made into tea.
It is a good plan, too, if you are in a great hurry, to talk very loudly to each other about how you don't need any tea, and are not going to have any.

You get near the kettle, so that it can overhear you, and then you shout out, "I don't want any tea; do you, George ?" to which George shouts back, "Oh, no, I don't like tea; we'll have lemonade instead--tea's so indigestible." Upon which the kettle boils over, and puts the stove out.
We adopted this harmless bit of trickery, and the result was that, by the time everything else was ready, the tea was waiting.

Then we lit the lantern, and squatted down to supper.
We wanted that supper.
For five-and-thirty minutes not a sound was heard throughout the length and breadth of that boat, save the clank of cutlery and crockery, and the steady grinding of four sets of molars.