"Well," Raoul pointed out enthusiastically--another undergraduate type, Skkiru observed, happiest with matters that either resembled those in books or came directly from them, so that they could be explicitly pigeonholed--"the Indians of Tierra del Fuego wore nothing but waist-length sealskin capes even in the bitterest cold. Of course, this civilization is somewhat more advanced than theirs in certain ways, but one finds such anomalies in all primitive civilizations, does one not?" "That's true to a certain extent. But one would think they'd at least have developed boots to cope with the mud. And why was the beggar the only one to wear mudshoes? Why, moreover--" Cyril narrowed his eyes and pointed his cigarette at Raoul--"did he wear them only the first time and subsequently appear barefooted?" "That _was_ odd," Raoul admitted, "but--" "And the high priest spoke of thrashing that boy. You should know, old chap, that cruelty to children is in inverse ratio to the degree of civilization." Raoul stared at his colleague. "My faith, are you suggesting that we go see how hard they hit him, then?" Cyril laughed. "All I suggest is that we keep a very open mind about this society until we can discover what fundamental attitudes are controlling such curious individual as well as group behavior." "But assuredly. That is what we are here for, is it not? So why are you disturbing yourself so much?" But it was Raoul, Skkiru thought, who appeared much more disturbed than Cyril. It was understandable--the younger man was interested only in straightforward ethnologizing and undoubtedly found the developing complications upsetting. "Look," Cyril continued. "They call this place a hut. It's almost a palace." _My God_, Skkiru thought, _what kind of primitive conditions are they used to?_ "That is largely a question of semantics," Raoul protested. "But regard--the roof leaks. Is that not backward enough for you, eh?" And Raoul moved to another part of the room to avoid receiving indisputable proof of the leakage on his person. "What is more, the sanitary arrangements are undeniably primitive." "The roofs of many palaces leak, and there is no plumbing to speak of, and still they are not called huts. And tell me this--why should the metal-workers be the pariahs? Why _metal-workers_?" Raoul's eyes opened wide. "You know there is often an outcast class with no apparent rationale behind its establishment. All the tapes--" "True enough, but you will remember that the reason the smiths of Masai were pariahs was that they manufactured weapons which might tempt people to commit bloodshed. I keep remembering them, somehow. I keep remembering so many things here...." "But we have seen no weapons on this planet," Raoul argued. "In fact, the people seem completely peaceful." "Right you are." Cyril blew another smoke ring. "Since this is a planet dependent chiefly upon minerals, why make the members of its most important industry the out-group?"