The Connecticut Yankee has taken a back seat. A mere Alsatian, whom Mark Twain would have classified among the "furriners", has invented a device destined to transform the entire academic world. The radio, which has brought upheaval and strike to the musical world, the "smiling voice" and unctuous "Goodnight" to churchly spheres, has already found legitimate application in the extension of university courses. Grandma and Grandpa Applebloom have been lapping up Professor Whosis' course on the philosophy of transmigration and the psychology of the billboard. Streams of erudition have been poured forth upon the desert.
So far, the college student has been untouched by the radio. But within the next two weeks sales in Cambridge are bound to double, for the radio has displaced cuffs, shoestrings, hatbands, handkerchiefs, and fingernails as the source of information. Three hours of torment and wracking brains are changed to three hours of pleasure and comfortable writing at dictation. The examined becomes the amanuensis, while roommates or friends supply a polished and complete examination via the air route. The ingenious student of Strasbourg little realizes that he has transformed the only trying period of collegiate existence into a few pleasant hours of scribbling.
It but remains for some enterprising "Widow" to supply radio outfits for the vest pocket with directions for tuning in. Then diddling with the dials will replace the anxious chewing pens, and static will be the only excuse for a "flunk".