Once more I obeyed.
Then came this message:
"Doctor, have you a chair handy?"
I said a chair was at the moment within arm's reach of me.
"Excellent," said this person who professed to be in charge of the test. "Please draw the chair close up to the wall, climb upon it and, standing on tiptoe, say coo-coo clearly and distinctly and keep on saying it until I call out 'Enough.'"
"SAY COO-COO CLEARLY AND DISTINCTLY AND KEEP ON SAYING IT UNTIL I CALL OUT 'ENOUGH'"
Marvelling that such a prolonged test should be deemed necessary, I nevertheless obliged by acting as instructed. I had repeated the word for what seemed to me an interminable space of time and was rapidly becoming wearied by the exertion of maintaining the position required when the voice said "Enough." I lost no time in dismounting to terra firma, or rather the floor.
"Thank you so much," stated the unknown. "Just one more little test, doctor, and we'll be through. Have you a good singing voice?"
In proper modesty but with a due regard for the truth, I admitted that although I never enjoyed the advantages of vocal culture, friends had more than once commented upon the quality of my voice when uplifted in song.