White. I believe it's the custom of all music-masters to first sing the song they wish to teach. (Aside to Gray.) He can't sing a note.
Gray. (Aside to White.) He can't? good! Let's plague him. (Aloud.) Come, singing-master, proceed.
Fred. No matter about me. You two can sing, and when you make a mistake I will correct it.
Gray. You'll correct it! That's good. With what, pray?
Fred. With this. (Producing a ratten from under his jacket.)
White. O, dear, I don't like that sort of tuning-fork.
Fred. You'll get it if you don't hurry. Come, boys, "The Battle-cry of Freedom."
Gray. (Aside to White.) Ned, do you know the song?
White. (Aside.) I know just one line.
Gray. (Aside.) O, dear, we're in a scrape. (Aloud.) Master Fred, will you please give me the first line? I've forgotten it.