They laughed when the magistrate said his fountain pen had run out of ink and, looking into the detention pen, inquired, "Would any of you blue bloods care to make a donation?" They laughed when a court attendant read a complaint which charged that the defendant, a small skinny man, had attacked the arresting officer, and that the officer (six-three, two hundred and ten pounds) had used reasonable force in defending himself. The man's broken arm was in a sling and bandages covered twelve stitches in his scalp. The audience laughed. They gloated. They sat in judgment of their fellow men and called for punishment--the more severe, the better. At last, the detention pen was empty. The last "undesirable" was brought before the bench. He was a small, pathetic looking man dressed in sailor's dungarees. He spoke Norwegian and clumsily tried to explain his predicament with the few words of English that he knew. "Stop gibbering!" the judge shouted at him. The magistrate's facade of kindliness had long since disappeared. He turned to the arresting officer. "Do you speak that language?" He made it sound like a disgrace to be able to speak Norwegian. The officer shook his head. "Neither do I," the magistrate said, with obvious pride that he was not contaminated by such knowledge. He arbitrarily ordered the man held until he learned to make himself understood; the hearing to take place when that had been accomplished. The sailor was led away. The Show was over. "That's the end of it, folks," the judge said, genially. He tapped his gavel and rose from his seat. The courtroom rang with lusty applause. The judge hurried through the door to his chambers and the applause died out. The people started to leave. Their animated discussions of the evening's events dinned through the room in a babble of noise. * * * * * Julie's head throbbed painfully and there was a queasy feeling in her stomach. She thirsted for fresh air. Slowly, the mob of spectators formed a procession in the aisle. Slowly, the column of people moved toward the exit. Slowly, slowly, Julie was pushed along with the crowd. The line paused as each person stopped at the door and waited until his ID card was located and returned to him. Then the procession would take another step forward. And pause again. And again. Occasionally, an ID could not be found and its owner was requested to step aside and allow the line to move on while the search for his card continued. And there was another step forward. Stan held Julie's hand to prevent the pressing crowd from separating them. "How'd you like it?" he asked. He was aglow with satisfaction, tired by the long evening's excitement but with a pleasant weariness of accomplishment. "It's a terrific show, isn't it?" Julie did not answer him. She wanted to break away and run and run and run and run! She inched along with the rest of the procession.