“How old would she be?” Kropp asks.
“About twenty-two at the most,” I hazard.
“Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!”
It gives us goose-flesh.
“That would be good, Albert, what do you think?”
He nods. “I have white trousers at home too.”
“White trousers,” says I, “but a girl like that———”
We look askance at one another. There’s not much to boast of here—two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete.
So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it.
“We could go and get deloused, anyway,” Kropp then suggests.
I am not very enthusiastic because it doesn’t do one’s clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther.
“We might see if we could get a clean shirt as well———”
“Socks might be better,” says Albert, not without reason.
143
