But there is also art in articulation, gesticulation and mastication. Let's take articulation, which covers all brands of neckromancy from race course whispering to bar-room “shouting.” The voice of the people is one voice—until they talk, and then they produce more varieties of tonal topography than the zoological zone. There are people whose speech is unspeakable and others who disarrange the air like a train travelling through a tunnel. But the artist in articulation gets it off his gazooker with the precision and decision of a slow-motion gatlin gun, making every word do its duty to its platoon, every platoon co-operate with its company, and every company respect the regiment, the whole welter of words being thus welded into a composite compendium of conversational conciseness, instead of a sort of stampede of stumbling sterility. At least, this is the idea behind the ideal; but, of course, nobody ever does it.