He sings an octave, and is about to exhibit his beautiful tenor notes, when he is again interrupted by the question:
“How low can you go?”
He climbs down, and with some difficulty manages an A.
“Is that as deep as you can get?”
“Yes, but I’m a tenor. Shall I sing my high notes?”
A voice from the front calls out, “Your name.”
All this is abruptly disconcerting, and the lad peers into Cimmerian darkness. In the stalls he sees two ghost-like figures, as “in a glass dimly.” These are the manager and the composer of the new piece, while a few rows behind, two or three more spirits may be noted flitting restlessly about in the light thrown from the stage.
“Mr. A——” again says that voice from the front.
“Yes, sir.”