The spectators packed into the room until every seat was taken and they were standing, eight deep, in the rear of the court. Scanning their faces, Julie could feel--could almost taste--the many varied emotions that radiated from them: amusement, lust, hatred, curiosity, vengeance. It was a puzzling combination. "Now, _this_ quotation makes some sense," Stan was saying. Julie turned her attention back to him. He had opened his program booklet to the centerfold, and he pointed to an inscription printed across the top of the two inner pages. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," he recited. "That's what this place really stands for!" He said it with relish. Julie began to feel sick. She did not like the hungry look on Stan's face or the merciless atmosphere in the courtroom. Why had she come? She stifled a shudder. She knew why she had come. She had come because Stan wanted her to and, to be honest, because she had been curious to see what the Show was like. Now that she was here, she could not call the whole thing off just because her curiosity was satisfied or because she was too squeamish to enjoy what many people considered the best entertainment in town. She had no right to ruin Stan's evening. She tried to assume a casual interest in the impending events. "What are all these lines for?" she asked weakly, indicating the horizontal lines that crossed the inner pages and were bisected by three vertical lines into four columns of uneven width. "It looks like a ledger." "It is, sort of," Stan said. "Y'see, honey, this is a scorecard. In the first column, you put the name of the accused; in the second, the offense he's charged with; in the third, his plea; and in the fourth, the disposition of the case. Up here," he explained, showing her the appropriate place, "you fill in the name of the presiding magistrate. And here," he continued, "you put in the date. It makes a nice souvenir. If you fill it out right, you can look at it six months from now and remember all the fun, just as if it were happening all over again." "Fun?" Julie's voice cracked. "Sure!" Stan said with enthusiasm. "It's a terrific show! Everyone has a good time. Well, anyhow ..." and he chuckled, "everyone but the bums!" He laughed. A man in the row in front of them turned around and looked at Julie. Perspiration glistened in an oily film on his round, pudgy moon-face. A lewd grin twisted his mouth. "First timer?" he asked. Stan grinned back at him, sharing a comradeship of common experience. "Yeah. I kept telling her she didn't know what she was missing. Finally convinced her to give it a try. I've been here twice before, myself," he added proudly. "Yeah? Me too!" the man said. "Guess that makes us real old pros: third timers!" He laughed and mopped his face with a crumpled handkerchief. "Damn! it's hot in here!" Mild embarrassment and a violent dislike for the oily-skinned man combined to redden Julie's face in a hot blush. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.