The student, which he obviously was, nodded with an air of arrogance. Looking towards the gallery, he continued, There is something happening, isnt there?
“Ay. Tis the Fair show. Though what you see now is little more than the stragglers, the real show is already over; you should have been here for the opening. Ive watched the comings and goings all weekend, but I havent gone up. Tis no business of mine.”
The student and his cohort continued on, and entered the Fair exhibition, the gallery rooms and walls where many artworks and performances had been displayed and enacted during the previous two days, were now in great part void of content. Now, as the security guard had observed, little real spectacle was to be seen, and all that remained were the empty stages where only a few hours before an eager audience had revelled in live performances and the objects and installations that resulted from now ceased collaborations. Yet the crowd was livelier now than during the opening, the frivolous contingent of visitors, including tourists on a sight-seeing tour, a hen party, a flock of young hipsters, and an academic or two, amongst others, having gradually amassed over the course of three days; individuals whose own activities found a congenial ground among the sculptures, white walls, archival desks, improvised stages, and readers of Fate.
Neither the student nor his posse knew very well how to handle these things, and they searched for a corner in which to compose themselves. They looked around saw an entrance draped with black curtains which blocked out the artificial white light of the gallery. There was an inviting hand painted sign at the bottom of the stairs which read The Trolley & Chips, announcing the provision of Good Home-brewed Ale, Gin and Cider. The student mentally weighed the two venues and inclined towards staying in the main gallery.
“No—no—lets go into the refreshment area,” said his friend. “I like home-brew; and so does Leo; you will too. Its quite nourishing after a long hard day.”
“Ive never had any,” said the student. However, he gave way to his friends suggestion, and they walked up the stairs and into the darkened space.
A rather numerous company appeared within the curtained off area, seated at the various tables that were dotted around the tent on each side. At the upper end stood a stage, made from wooden pallets, over which hung a string of light bulbs, sufficiently bright to illuminate whichever act was performing. A brash blond figure of about thirty presided, in garish attire, which as it threw an air of joviality over her as far as it extended, was so colourful as to almost offend the eye. She dominantly stood behind a make-shift bar just by the top of the stairs. The coarse scrape of her haughty laugh was audible throughout the tent as she thus heartily invited each visitor in, offering them whatever refreshments she had in stock: ale, cider, home-brew, chips, sausages, and what not, that composed the grubby slop in which she dealt. Vessels holding the separate ingredients stood on a white-clothed table of boards and trestles close by.
The young student and his friends asked for a pint each of the ale, wafting strongly, and sat down to consume it at leisure. This was very well so far, for home-brew, as his friend had said, was nourishing, and as proper a food as could be obtained on the university grounds; though, to those not accustomed to it, the strong pungent smell which lingered around ones nostrils might have a deterrent effect at first.
But there was more in that tent than met the cursory glance; and the student, with the instinct of a perverse character, scented it quickly. After a mincing attack on his bowl, he watched the bohemians proceedings from the corner of his eye, and saw the game that he played. He winked to him, and passed up his food in reply to his nod; then the bohemian took a bottle from behind the bar, slily measured out a quantity of its contents, and tipped the same into the students pint. The student as slily put some coins in the tip jar.
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