A. Begging letters, personal and institutional—erosion fill.

B. Threatening letters—file unanswered. Second and later letters from any one source to be turned over to S.S.

C. Offers of business deals of any nature—forward to Douglas, unanswered.

D. Crackpot letters not containing threats—pass around any real dillies; the rest to go in a gully.

E. Friendly letters—answer only if accompanied by stamped, self-addressed envelope . . . in which case use one of several form letters to be signed by Jill. (Jubal pointed out that letters signed by the Man from Mars were valuable per se, and an open invitation to more useless mail.)

F. Scatological letters—pass to Jubal (who had a bet with himself that no such letter would ever show the faintest sign of literary novelty) for further disposition, i.e., gully.

G. Proposals of marriage and propositions not quite so formal—ignore and file. Use procedure under “B” on third offense.

H. Letters from scientific and educational institutions—handle as under “E”; if answered at all, use form letter explaining that the Man from Mars was not available for anything; if Jill felt that a form brush-off would not do, pass along to Jubal.

I. Letters from persons who actually had met Mike, such as all the crew of the Champion, the President of the United States, and a few others—let Mike answer them exactly as he pleased; the exercise in penmanship would be good for him and the exercise in human personal relations he needed even more (and if he wanted advice, let him ask for it).

This guide cut the number of letters that had to be answered down to manageable size—a few each day for Jill, seldom even one for Mike. Just opening the mail took a major effort, but Jill found that she could skim and classify in about one hour each day, after she got used to it. The first four categories remained large at all times; category “G” was very large during the fortnight following the world stereocast from the Palace, then dwindled and the curve flattened to a steady trickle.

Jubal cautioned Jill that, while Mike should himself answer letters only from acquaintances and friends, mail addressed to him was his to read if he wished.

The third morning after the category system had gone into effect Jill brought a letter, category “G,” to Jubal. More than half of the ladies and other females (plus a few misguided males) who supplied this category included pictures alleged to be of themselves; some of these pictures left little to the imagination, as did the letters themselves in many cases.

This letter enclosed a picture which managed not only to leave nothing to the imagination, but started over by stimulating fresh imaginings. Jill said, “Look at this, Boss! I ask you!”

Jubal read the letter, then looked at the picture. “She seems to know what she wants. What does Mike think of it?”

“He hasn’t seen it. That’s why I brought it to you.”

Jubal glanced again at the picture. “A type which, in my youth, we referred to as ‘stacked.’ Well, her sex is not in doubt, nor her agility. But why are you showing it to me? I’ve seen better, I assure you.”

“But what should I do with it! The letter is bad enough . . . but that disgusting picture—should I tear it up? Before Mike sees it!”

“Oh. Siddown, Nurse. What does it say on the envelope?”

“Nothing. Just the address and the return address.”

“How does the address read?”

“Huh? ‘Mr. Valentine Michael Smith, the Man from—”

“Oh. Then it’s not addressed to you.”

“Why, no, of course—”

“That’s all I wanted to be sure of. Now let’s get something straight. I am not Mike’s guardian. You are neither his mother nor his chaperon. I’ve simply co-opted you as his secretary. If Mike wants to read everything that comes in here addressed to him, including third class junk mail, he is free to do so.”

“Well, he does read almost all of those ads. But surely you don’t want him to see filth? Jubal, Mike doesn’t know what the world is like. He’s innocent.”

“So? How many men has he killed so far, Jill?”

Jill did not answer; she looked unhappy.

Jubal went on: “If you want to help him, you will concentrate on teaching him that casual killing is frowned on in this society. Otherwise he is bound to be unpleasantly conspicuous when he goes out into the world.”

“Uh, I don’t think he wants to ‘go out into the world.’”

“Well, I’m damned well going to push him out of the nest as soon as I think he can fly. He can come back later, if he wishes—but I shan’t make it possible for him to live out his life here, as an arrested infant. For one thing, I can’t, even if I wanted to . . . because Mike will probably outlive me by sixty or seventy years and this nest will be gone. But you are correct; Mike is innocent—by our standards. Nurse, have you ever seen that sterile laboratory at Notre Dame?”