"All that talk about cannibalism and vomiting," said Maxwell. "That was pretty low."

"Well," said Oop, "I guess I just got carried away. That's the way folks expect a crummy Neanderthal to act."

"The girl's no fool," said Maxwell. "She planted that story about the Artifact as neatly as I have ever seen it done."

"Planted it?"

"Sure, planted it. You don't think it just slipped out, do you, the way she pretended that it did?"

"I hadn't thought of that," said Oop. "Maybe she did. But if she did, why do you think she did it?"

"I would guess she doesn't want it sold. Figured that if she told it to a blabbermouth like you it would be all over the campus before noon tomorrow. A lot of talk about it she might figure, would help to kill the deal."

"But you know, Pete, that I'm no blabbermouth."

"I know it. But you acted like one tonight."

Oop closed the jack-knife and slid it in his pocket, picked up the half-empty fruit jar and handed it to Maxwell. Maxwell put it to his mouth and drank. The fiery liquid slashed like a knife along his throat and he choked. He wished, he thought, that for once he could drink the stuff without choking on it. He took it down and sat there, gasping for breath, shivering just a little.

"Potent stuff," said Oop. "Best batch I've run off for quite a while. Did you see the bead on it?"

Maxwell, unable to speak, nodded.

Oop reached out and took the jar, tilted it up, lowered its level by an inch or more. He took it down and held it lovingly against his hairy chest. He let out his breath in a whoosh that made the flames in the fireplace dance. He patted the bottle with his free hand.

"First-rate stuff," he said.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat, staring at the fire.

"She couldn't, certainly, have taken you for a blabber- mouth," he finally said. "I notice that you did some fancy skating of your own tonight. All around the truth."