."

"Then we'll begin," answered the master of ceremonies. "_One_, git in
yer places! _Two_, fer a show! _Three_, to make ready! And _four_ to
_GO_."

Upon his final word the "Games in Gardens" began. The two Isidores and
Ignatius Aloysius Diamentstein rushed madly round the yard. Patrick
tried to urge the others to follow, but Morris had elected the long
jump--and the long jump he would perform, all protests to the contrary
notwithstanding. Nathan Spiderwitz grasped the clothes pole and vaulted
with great accuracy into the left wing of the grand stand. Isaac
Belchatosky had secured a dilapidated ball from an abandoned
bowling-alley, and he "put the shot" in all directions to his own
satisfaction and the audience's terror until run into and overturned by
Ignatius Aloysius Diamentstein.

Shrill cries went up from the audience. The two boys arose unhurt, but
the feelings of Bertha Binderwitz and Eva Kidansky were not thereby
soothed.

"I guess I gets killed off of my mamma," wailed Bertha when she saw that
one whole side of Isaac Belchatosky was smeared with mud. And when
Nathan Spiderwitz was reclaimed from the soap boxes, with a long piece
of cambric ruffle trailing behind him, Sadie Gonorowsky fell into such
an agony of apprehension that Miss Bailey felt called upon for a promise
to repair the damage ere another sun should set. Meantime Patrick was
not idle. Disdaining competition, he went through all the "events," one
after another until the perspiration was thick upon his forehead, and
Eva Gonorowsky was trembling with excitement.

"My mamma don't know," she informed Miss Bailey over and over again. But
owing perhaps to her watchful care, perhaps to a natural aptitude for
athletics, Patrick escaped unspotted and unscathed.

He turned hand-springs upon the heap of clothes. He stood upon his head
upon the same rostrum until his eyes bulged, and Miss Bailey implored
him to desist. He wrested the shot from Isidore Wishnewsky, a person of
no spirit, and then he "put" it neatly into the waist line of its owner,
who promptly sat back gasping.

"Don't you dast to set, Isidore Wishnewsky," shrilled Sarah Schodsky in
a panic. "I guess you dunno what is polite for you. Sooner somebody
lends you somethings it ain't polite you should set on it! Ain't it
fierce how he makes, Missis Bailey?"

"It is a little rude," Miss Bailey admitted in a voice as unsteady as
Isidore Wishnewsky.

"I never in my world seen how they all