An hour later, Peter stuffed a suit into the wall safe and closed the door. When he opened it, there was a small bundle of thin, strong material which, when unfolded, proved to be a suit—of sorts. It certainly looked different.
Irene giggled when he held it out. "You couldn't wear that on the streets. It looks like something out of Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers."
Peter grinned and put in Irene's dress. What he got back was a dress, but this time Irene didn't giggle when it was unfolded.
"Why, that's perfectly gorgeous," she said, in awe. "I wonder if it'll fit?"
"Here," said Peter, handing it to her. "Go find out. You can lead the fashion field—by a century to be exact."
Irene took the dress and headed for the ladies' powder room. When she came back, it was all Peter could do to keep his eyes from popping out.
On Irene, the rich, iridescent material made her look like a queen out of a Technicolor extravaganza.
"Wow!" said Peter feelingly. "It's too bad they don't have suits I can wear."
"I'll show you something else, too," Irene said excitedly. "I accidentally spilled some water on it in the powder room, and look what happened!" She proceeded to demonstrate by pouring water on her skirts from the carafe on Peter's desk. The water rolled off without wetting the material. Then she took the desk pen and shook some ink on it. "See?" she chortled, "it rolls right off! It never has to be cleaned, because it can't get dirty!"
Peter looked back at the Buck Rogers suit. "Maybe I can get a tailor to make a decent suit out of that thing."