"It's hard for anyone with even the slightest inclination toward the stuff to resist it here," Stet replied somberly. "I can't deny it; the sale of caffeine is absolutely unrestricted on Earth. Coffee shops all over the place. Coffee served freely at even the best homes. And not only coffee ... caffeine is insiduously present in other of their popular beverages." Her eyes bulged sideways. "But how can a so-called civilized people be so depraved?" "Caffeine doesn't seem to affect them the way it does us. Their nervous systems are so very uncomplicated, one almost envies them." Drosmig stirred restlessly under his blanket of correspondence. "Go back ... Fizbus," he muttered. "Warn you ... 'fore ... too late ... like me." Tarb's rose-pink feathers stood on end. She looked apprehensively at Stet. "Senbot can't go back because he's in no shape to take the interstel drive." The young editor was obviously annoyed. "He's old and he's a physical wreck. But that certainly doesn't apply to you, Miss Morfatch." He looked long and hard into her eyes. "Few years on planet," Drosmig groaned, struggling to his wings, "'ply to anybody." His feathers, Tarb noticed, were an ugly, darkish brown. She had never seen any one that color before, but she'd heard rumors that too much caffeine could do that to you. At least she hoped it was only the caffeine. "For your information, he was almost as bad as this when he came!" Stet snapped. "Frankly, that's why he was sent here--to get rid of his unfortunate addiction. Grupe had no idea, when he assigned him to Earth, that there was caffeine on the planet." The old man gave a sardonic laugh as he clumsily made his way to the perch and gripped it with quivering toes. "That is, I don't _think_ he knew," Stet said dubiously. Tarb reached over and picked a letter off the floor. The Fizbian characters were clumsy and ill-made, as if someone had formed them with his feet. Could there be such poverty here that individuals existed who could not afford a scripto? The letter didn't read like any that had ever been printed in the column--at least none that had been picked up in the Fizbus edition: * * * * * _New York_ _Dear Senbot Drosmig:_ _I am a subaltern clerk in the shipping department of the FizbEarth Trading Company, Inc. Although I have held this post for only three months, I have already won the respect and esteem of my superiors through my diligence and good character. My habits are exemplary: I do not gamble, sing, or take caffeine._ _Earlier today, while engaged in evening meditation at my modest apartments, I was aroused by a peremptory knock at the door. I flung it open. A native stood there with a small case in his hand._ _"Is the house on fire?" I asked, wondering which of my few humble possessions I should rescue first._ _"No," he said. "I would like to interest you in some brushes."_