"If you can," the Professor replied, cautiously.
"Let me try," said the Other Professor, seating himself at the pianoforte.
"For the sake of argument, let us assume that it begins on A flat."
And he struck the note in question. "La, la, la! I think that's
within an octave of it." He struck the note again, and appealed to Bruno,
who was standing at his side. "Did I sing it like that, my child?"
"No, oo didn't," Bruno replied with great decision. "It were more like
a duck."
"Single notes are apt to have that effect," the Other Professor said
with a sigh. "Let me try a whole verse.
There was a Pig, that sat alone,
Beside a ruined Pump.
By day and night he made his moan:
It would have stirred a heart of stone
To see him wring his hoofs and groan,
Because he could not jump.
Would you call that a tune, Professor?" he asked, when he had finished.
The Professor considered a little. "Well," he said at last, "some of
the notes are the same as others and some are different but I should
hardly call it a tune."
"Let me try it a bit by myself," said the Other Professor.
And he began touching the notes here and there, and humming to himself
like an angry bluebottle.
"How do you like his singing?" the Professor asked the children in a
low voice.
"It isn't very beautiful," Sylvie said, hesitatingly.
"It's very extremely ugly!" Bruno said, without any hesitation at all.
"All extremes are bad," the Professor said, very gravely.
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