"I doubt," Ghost said warningly, "that this is a proper subject for dinner conversation."

Oop glanced at Carol.

"You must say this much for me," he insisted. "I'm honest. When I mean vomit, I say vomit and not regurgitate."

The waiter brought the liquor, thumping the bottle and the ice bucket down upon the table.

"You want to order now?" he asked.

"We ain't decided yet," said Oop, "if we're going to eat in this crummy joint. It's all right to get liquored up in, but-"

"Then, sir," the waiter said, and laid down the check. Oop dug into his pockets and came up with cash.

Maxwell pulled the bucket and the bottle close and began fixing drinks.

"We're going to eat here, aren't we?" asked Carol. "If Sylvester doesn't get that steak you promised him, I don't know what will happen. He's been so patient and so good with the smell of all the food..."

"He's already had one steak," Maxwell pointed out. "How much can he eat?"

"An unlimited amount," said Oop. "In the old days one of them monsters would polish off an elk in a single sitting. Did I ever tell you-"

"I am sure you have," said Ghost.

"But that was a cooked steak," protested Carol, "and he likes them raw. Besides, it was a small one."

"Oop," said Maxwell, "get that waiter back here. You are good at it. You have the voice for it."

Oop signaled with a brawny arm and bellowed. He waited for a moment, then bellowed once again, without results.

"He won't pay attention to me," Oop growled. "Maybe it's not our waiter. I never am able to tell them monkeys apart. They all look alike to me."