"Is something wrong?" Tarb asked anxiously. "Should I have put in that bit about work, study, meditate? It seems inappropriate somehow." "Oh, no, not that. It's just that your letter--well, violates Mr. Zarnon's precept that, in Rome, one must do as the Romans do." "But this isn't Rome," Tarb replied, bewildered. "It's New York." "He didn't make the saying up," Miss Snow replied testily. "It's a Terrestrial proverb." "Oh," Tarb said. She resented this creature's trying to tell her how to do her job. On the other hand, Tarb was wise enough to realize that Miss Snow, unpleasant though she might be, probably did know Stet well enough to be able to predict his reactions. So Tarb not only was reluctant to show Stet what she had already done, but hesitated about answering another and even more urgent letter that had just been brought in by special messenger. She tried to compromise by submitting the letters to Drosmig--for, technically speaking, it was he who was her immediate superior--but he merely groaned, "Tell 'em all to drop dead," from his perch and refused to open his eyes. In the end, Tarb had to take the letters to Stet's office. Miss Snow trailed along behind her, uninvited. And, since this was a place of business, Tarb could not claim a privacy violation. Even if it weren't a place of business, she remembered, she couldn't--not here on Earth. Advanced spirituality, hah! Advanced pain in the pinions! Stet read the first letter and her answer smilingly. "Excellent, Tarb--" her hearts leaped--"for a first try, but I'd like to suggest a few changes, if I may." "Well, of course," she said, pretending not to notice the smirk on Miss Snow's face. "Just write this Professor B'Goot that he should do his shopping at a grocery that offers service and practice his economies elsewhere. A professor, of all people, is expected to uphold the dignity of his own race--the idea, sneering at a culture that was thousands of years old when we were still building nests! Terrestrials couldn't possibly have any respect for him if they saw him prodding kumquats with his toes." "It's no sillier than writing with one's vestigial wings!" Tarb blazed. "Well!" Miss Snow exclaimed in Terran. "Well, _really_!" Tarb started to stick out her tongue, then remembered. "I didn't mean to offend you, Miss Snow. I know it's your custom. But wouldn't you understand if I typewrote with my feet?" Miss Snow tittered. "If you want the honest truth, hon, it would make you look like a feathered monkey." "If you want the honest truth about what you look like to me, dearie--it's a plucked chicken!" "Tarb, I think you should apologize to Miss Snow!" "All right!" Tarb stuck out her tongue. Miss Snow promptly thrust out hers in return. "Ladies, ladies!" Stet cried. "I think there has been a slight confusion of folkways!" He quickly changed the subject. "Is that another letter you have there, Tarb?"