ELECTRONICS SCHOOL

Last Tuesday I made my monthly visit to see my fortune teller. I found him sitting alone on an oriental rug gazing moodily into his crystal ball. His great white turban was wrapped around his head and a green jewel pinned on the front of it gleamed in the semi-darkness. He was in a deep trance, but I crinkled the bills in my wallet and he snapped out of it.

"Welcome, Sahib," he said without looking up. "I knew you would come today so I made an appointment with me for you. Please be seated."

I sat down opposite him on the oriental rug. The crystal ball between us cast a green light over his swarthy Hindu countenance.

Consults the Sultan

"Well, Shad," I said. (His name is Sultan Shad Hirant but I call him Shad for shirt) "What have you got on the ball today? Why so sad? You look as if somebody had stolen your last wife."

"It's this radio business," he said gloomily. "After the war, television is coming in and it will ruin my business. This crystal reception is no good for high-frequency stuff. Already Kaltenborn is cutting into my trade."

"You've got to keep up with the times, Shad," I said. "Crystals went out years age. Well, "have another look anyway. Do you think I thought to stay in the radio business after the war? Is radio here to stay?"

The Sultan went into a trance, staring intently into the crystal ball. He was silent for a long time. I thought for a minute that he had gone to sleep, but he finally began to speak.

Predicts Future

"It is 1948," he said in a hollow voice. "I see you sitting alone at a table at the Walnut Cafe. You are bald but except for that you haven't changed much." (My hair is getting thin, but I try to ignore it. Shad is so blunt.) "Strapped to the top of your bald head, you have a small microwave radio receiving and transmitting set. You radio the waiter for a scotch and soda. At a nearby table there is a terrific blonde. She is wearing a radio set on her head too. It is made, like a smart feminine hat, embroidered with flowers. You see her now; you look interested. You examine her antenna out of the corner of your eye and try to estimate her wave length. You try to contact her but with no success. At last she hears you.

"Say, Honey," you say, "What's your frequency?" She turns off her set with a click that nearly breaks your eardrums. You radio-for another drink to restore your nerve and try again. This time she is more responsive. She looks your way and turns on her transmitter. She has lovely eyes. By this time she is putting out so many watts that your antenna is getting a sun tan. She wants you to come over and sit with her. You get up and come in on the beam....

Tell Me More

I edged forward on the rug, trying to peer into the crystal ball. "Go on, Shad," I said. "What next?"

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because it brought him out of his trance. "That's all," he said. "The crystal ball has clouded over. Two dollars, please."

I left, swearing never to trust a crystal ball again. They quit on you at the crucial moment. Television will be much better. But I'm going down to the Walnut Cafe tonight to see if I can find that Blonde. No sense in waiting till 1948. Besides I might get along better with her now, while I still have a full head of hair.

The Navy has been doing pretty well in recent classes but they seem to have lost out with a certain blonde we know. The Army officer who landed her is to be congratulated on his eyesight and good taste--to say nothing of his persistency in face of heavy competition.