"Friend, do you clean yourself each day? Now, let's not be evasive, for each one has his favored way. Some use an abrasive and some use oil. Some shed their skins, in a brand-new hide emerging. Some rub with grease put up in tins. For others there's deterging. Some lick themselves to take off grime. Some beat it off with rope. Some cook it away in boiling lime. Old-fashioned ones use soap. More ways there are than I recall, and each of these will differ, but the only one that works for all is Omniclene from Kiffa." * * * * * "And now," smiled Carpenter as the two humans left the building, "we must see you registered for a nice family. Nothing too ostentatious, but, on the other hand, you mustn't count credits and ally yourself beneath your station." Michael gazed pensively at two slender, snakelike Difdans writhing "Only 99 Shopping Days Till Christmas" across an aquamarine sky. "They won't be permanent?" he asked. "The family, I mean?" "Certainly not. You merely hire them for whatever length of time you choose. But why are you so anxious?" The young man blushed. "Well, I'm thinking of having a family of my own some day. Pretty soon, as a matter of fact." Carpenter beamed. "That's nice; you're being adopted! I do hope it's an Earth family that's chosen you--it's so awkward being adopted by extraterrestrials." "Oh, no! I'm planning to have my own. That is, I've got a--a girl, you see, and I thought after I had secured employment of some kind in Portyork, I'd send for her and we'd get married and...." "_Married!_" Carpenter was now completely shocked. "You _mustn't_ use that word! Don't you know marriage was outlawed years ago? Exclusive possession of a member of the opposite sex is slavery on Talitha. Furthermore, supposing somebody else saw your--er--friend and wanted her also; you wouldn't wish him to endure the frustration of not having her, would you?" Michael squared his jaw. "You bet I would." Carpenter drew himself away slightly, as if to avoid contamination. "This is un-Universal. Young man, if I didn't have a kind heart, I would report you." Michael was too preoccupied to be disturbed by this threat. "You mean if I bring my girl here, I'd have to share her?" "Certainly. And she'd have to share you. If somebody wanted you, that is." "Then I'm not staying here," Michael declared firmly, ashamed to admit even to himself how much relief his decision was bringing him. "I don't think I like it, anyhow. I'm going back to the Brotherhood." There was a short cold silence. "You know, son," Carpenter finally said, "I think you might be right. I don't want to hurt your feelings--you _promise_ I won't hurt your feelings?" he asked anxiously, afraid, Michael realized, that he might call a policeman for ego injury. "You won't hurt my feelings, Mr. Carpenter."