To me those eight notes, as Bear-Tone sang them, were a sudden revelation of what music may be.
"I'll try you first, my boy," he then said, pointing to Newman Darnley, a young fellow about twenty years old who sat at the end of the front row of seats.

"Step right out here." Greatly embarrassed, Newman shambled forth and, turning, faced us.
"Now, sir," said the master, "catch the key-note from me.

Do! Now re--mi," and so forth.
Bear-Tone had great difficulty in getting Newman through the scale.
"'Fraid you never'll make a great singer, my boy," he said, "but you may be able to grumble bass a little, if you prove to have an ear that can follow.

Next on that seat." The pupil so designated was a Bagdad boy named Freeman Knights.

He hoarsely rattled off, "Do, re, mi, fa, sol," all on the same tone.