A lanky country youth entered the crossroads general store to order some groceries. He was seventeen years old and was passing through that stage of adolescence during which a boy seems all hands and feet, and his vocal organs, rapidly developing, are wont to cause his voice to undergo sudden and involuntary changes from high treble to low bass.
In an authoritative rumbling bass voice he demanded of the busy clerk, "Give me a can of corn" (then, his voice suddenly changing to a shrill falsetto, he continued) "and a sack of flour."
"Well, don't be in a hurry. I can't wait on both of you at once," snapped the clerk.
ASPIRING VOCALIST—"Professor, do you think I will ever be able to do anything with my voice?"
PERSPIRING TEACHER—"Well it might come in handy in case of fire or shipwreck."—Cornell Widow.
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
—Byron.
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