“ Grütsi ,” answered the tailor, in the Swiss dialect, which fitted neither his name nor his looks and sounded queer and unsuitable.

“Working hard?” went on Hans Castorp, motioning with his head. “Isn’t today Sunday?”

“Something pressing,” the tailor said curtly, stitching.

“Is it pretty? Are you making it in a hurry for a party?” Hans Castorp guessed.

The tailor let this question hang, for a little; bit off his cotton and threaded his needle afresh. After a while he nodded.

“Will it be pretty?” persisted Hans Castorp. “Will it have sleeves?”