"James White - Custom Fitting" - читать интересную книгу автора (White James)

to say that since there was no longer any need for secrecy they were removing the screens from his shop
front and that a couple of glaziers had also arrived to replace his door window.

"Can't it wait until morning?" Hewlitt asked, clenching his teeth to fight back a yawn.

"You look very tired, sir," the policeman said. "I would be happy to stay here until they've finished, and
lock the door as I leave. I'll put your key in the letter-box."

"That is very considerate of you," said Hewlitt warmly. "I do need rest. Thank you."

"My pleasure, sir," said the officer, so respectfully that he seemed to be ready to salute.

The warm feeling left by the unusually friendly policeman faded as Hewlitt mounted the stairs. He thought
about the probable reasons why Scrennagle had sent for his suit rather than collect it himself. The outfit
he had worn this morning had probably been a mess, and this evening he would be wearing a horse
blanket tailored on short notice by someone else. Being a diplomat and a considerate being as well,
Scrennagle would not want to complain in person to Hewlitt, or to pass on the criticisms which had
doubtless been made about his appearance. He would simply take delivery of the second outfit and say
nothing.

But Hewlitt's misery was short-lived. As he slumped into his chair before the TV screen, a panel of
experts were discussing the implications of contact with an extra-solar race, and pundits always put him
to sleep.

The first few bars of the fanfare which opened the late-night newscast, especially extended to cover the
visit of the extraterrestrial, jerked Hewlitt awake. Quickly he wheeled his wife in from the kitchen, then
settled back to see how Scrennagle had comported himself.

Unlike the amateur film taken at St. James's, Scrennagle's arrival for the reception was covered in
close-up, middle distance, and from every angle. The ambassador was not wearing a horse blanket.
His jacket was a good fit at the collar and shoulders, but showed a tendency to wrinkle across the back
when Scrennagle straightened after making a bowтАФsomething he had to do every few minutes. The
trousers hung well, making the legs look neither too blocky nor too thin, and the black socks and dully
polished hooves were elegantly inconspicuous. The tail was coiled and tied forward like that of some
heraldic beast, and its occasional twitchings were barely noticeable.

The only touch of color was the wide silk ribbon that diagonally bisected the white shirt front and
waistcoat. It was pale blue with a thin edging of red and gold on which was centered the intricately
decorated translation device which bore the symbol of the Federation. Although not the most impressive
decoration there, it still managed to hold its own among all the Baths and Garters.

Scrennagle of Dutha, Hewlitt realized suddenly, looked well. . .

Then the Duthan was making his speech, outlining briefly the purpose of his visit and touching on some of
the advantages which membership in the Galactic Federation would confer in both directions.

It had been just over one hundred and fifty years earlier that one of the Federation's unmanned
searchships found intelligent life and a rapidly developing technology on Earth. The long delay in
responding to the situation, Scrennagle explained, was due to the fact that the searchshipsтАФwhich rarely
found anythingтАФwere not fitted with power-hungry, ultimate drive because machinery, unlike Duthans,