Tube

Boarding-school boys are often very ingenious. They will work for hours to save themselves ten minutes of routine. Among them an invention has been perfected whereby, when an alarm clock rings, pulleys and weights are set in motion which in turn close a window, turn on a radiator, light an electric light and open drawers. Last week in Wanamaker's store, Manhattan, an inventor stood before a group of newspaper men. Beside him was a washing machine with a bright tube affixed to its side. He raised his hand. The washing machine began to churn. He raised it again, beaming like a schoolboy. The washing machine stopped. He—V. K. Zworykin— was demonstrating a radio tube* so sensitive that the mere interruption of light-rays is enough to stop or start it. The tube can be attached, not merely to a washing machine, but to any household utility. The shadow of a housewife's hand while she waves goodby to her husband in the morning, will start the dishwasher, the electric iron; turn off the toaster. More than that, predicted Inventor Zworykin, the rays of the rising sun falling on a single Zworykin tube will shut the bedroom windows, start the coffee percolator, light the furnace, turn on the water in the bathtub, let out the dog, while the household snores abed.