“Please,” said Prokop, frightened as to what was going to happen to him.
The white-haired gentleman studied Prokop attentively for a moment; then he walked round him and became absorbed in the contemplation of his back.
“If you would kindly draw yourself up a little.”
Prokop became as rigid as a soldier; what the devil
“Allow me,” said the gentleman, and knelt down in front of Prokop.
“What do you want?” gasped out Prokop, recoiling.
“To take your measure.” And he drew out of his coat tails a tape measure and began to consider Prokop’s trousers.
Prokop receded as far as the window. “Stop it, will you?” he said, irritated. “I’ve ordered no clothes.”
“I’ve already received instructions,” said the gentleman respectfully.
“Listen,” said Prokop, recovering control of himself, “go to—I don’t want any clothes and that’s that! Do you understand?”
“Please,” agreed Mr. Drehbein, and he squatted down in front of Prokop, lifted his waistcoat and began to measure the top of his trousers. “Two inches more,” he noted, getting up. “Allow me.” And he slipped his hand along to Prokop’s armpit in a professional manner. “A little more free.”
“Good,” muttered Prokop and turned his back on him.
“Thank you,” said the gentleman and smoothed out a crease on the back of his coat.
