"And it seems strange to you?" asked Oop.

"Well, yes, maybe it does," she said. "I don't know really what I mean."

Sounds of scuffling came from the front of the place. Carol and Maxwell turned around in their chairs to look in the direction from which the scuf8ing came, but there wasn't much that one could see.

A man suddenly loomed on top of the table and began to sing:

Hurrah for Old Bill Shakespeare;

He never wrote them plays;

He stayed at home, and chasing girls,

Sang dirty rondelays...

Jeers and catcalls broke out from over the room and someone threw something that went sailing past the singer. Part of the crowd took up the song:

Hurrah for Old Bill Shakespeare;

He never wrote them...

Someone with a bull voice howled: "To hell with Old Bill Shakespeare!"

The room exploded into action. Chairs went over. There were other people on top of tables. Shouts reverberated and there was shoving and pushing. Fists began to fly. Various items went sailing through the air.

Maxwell sprang to his feet, reached out an arm and swept it back, shoving Carol behind him. Oop came charging across the tabletop with a wild war whoop. His foot caught the bucket and sent the ice cubes flying.

"I'll mow 'em down," he yelled at Maxwell. "You pile 'em to one side!"

Maxwell saw a fist coming at him out of nowhere and ducked to one side, bringing his own fist up in a vicious jab, hitting out at nothing, but aiming in the direction from which the fist had come. Over his shoulder came Oop's brawny arm, with a massive fist attached. It smacked into a face with a splattering sound and out beyond the table a figure went slumping to the floor.

Something heavy and traveling fast caught Maxwell behind the ear and he went down. Feet surged all around him. Someone stepped on his hand. Someone fell on top of him. Above him, seemingly from a long ways off, he heard Oop's wild whooping.