His unreasoning dislike of the males was undoubtedly part jealousy, for they were all tall, handsome, well-dressed, and athletic enough to be signed en masse by Hollywood. But the universal utter perfection of limb, features, and complexion, was not at all repulsive in the female. It was quite decorative to have a whole chorus of toothsome girls in Paris gowns cluttering up the office. Jerry had never seen one of them use a lipstick, rouge, or an eyebrow pencil. The cosmetic business was one of the few that had not profited from the tourist trade, except insofar as lady tourists bought costly perfumes, and Earthgirls strove to mimic the natural--or unnatural--coloring of the fair visitors. A few tourists brought their children along, and here the firm, rosy, unblemished skin was in its proper element. Tourist children were not one whit more cherubic than well-favored children of Earth. A guide from the Conducted Tours Company arrived to round up a batch of tourists, for a visit to the local jails, flop-houses, and gambling dens. He announced they would go by bus, and the horrified yet delighted whoops that greeted this news reminded Jerry of a Boston society dowager who had just been invited to ride on a camel. As the crowd trickled out the doors, a lovely vision in platinum blonde laid a slender hand on Jerry's arm. "Are you really the man who first thought of inviting us to this quaint and delightful planet?" she gushed. "I guess I am, lady. How do you like it?" "Oh, it's so primitive! So elemental! Everybody used to think visiting backward planets was dull and scholarly stuff. It took _you_ to show us how thrilling and exciting it can be!" "I'm glad to hear you say that. Some of the tourists are complaining that Earth isn't as primitive as the Tourist Bureau advertising makes it out to be." "Oh, you _do_ exaggerate a wee, tiny bit, but it's all in good fun, isn't it? On the whole, I'm not disappointed--especially not in the _men_!" She fluttered eyelashes, so long and dark that they looked artificial, at him. "The men?" Jerry asked blankly. "Oh, come, come!" the platinum blonde breathed throatily into his ear. "Don't pretend to be so innocent! You must have heard of the simply _terrific_ reputation Earthmen have acquired on other planets as masterful lovers!" "It's news to me," Jerry admitted, "but it sounds like a good drawing card. I'll try to work something like that into our ads." "Always thinking about business, aren't you? Why don't you think of something else, for a change? Me, for instance. Don't you feel a little bit sorry for a girl like me, with nothing but perfectly civilized men to go home to?" the girl pouted invitingly. Jerry found himself, by imperceptible stages, being backed into a corner. Well, well, he thought. Perhaps he'd been too harsh in judging that racetrack tout. "Since you mention it," Jerry said, "I'm not averse to playing the role of Galactic beachboy." "What does a beachboy do?"