A cake of soap drops out of a store-machine on the turn of a
handle, and when you have done with it, you drop that and your soiled
towels, etc., which are also given you by machines, into a little box,
through the bottom of which they drop at once and sail down a smooth
shaft. [Better stay in the box and not infect the shaft.--Author.]
"A little notice tells you the price of the room, and you gather the
price is doubled if you do not leave the toilet as you find it. Beside
the bed, and to be lit at night by a handy switch over the pillow, is a
little clock, its face flush with the wall [no dust-catcher].
"The room has no corners to gather dirt, wall meets floor with a
gentle curve, and the apartment could be swept out effectually by a
few strokes of a mechanical sweeper [sucked out by the now-used
cleaning-machine.--Author]. The door-frames and window-frames are of
metal, rounded and impervious to draft. You are politely requested to
turn a handle at the foot of your bed before leaving the room, and
forthwith the frame turns up into a vertical position, and the bedclothes
hang airing. You stand in the doorway and realize that there remains not
a minute's work for any one to do.
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