“‘Ye’ll pass the night in this stretch of woods and scenery,’ says Officer Reagan. ’’Twill be fine and imprisonment for insoolting the Park Commissioner and the Chief of the Weather Bureau if ye refuse.  I’m in charge of thirty acres between here and the Agyptian Monument, and I advise ye to give no trouble.  ’Tis sleeping on the grass yez all have been condemned to by the authorities.  Yez’ll be permitted to leave in the morning, but ye must retoorn be night.  Me orders was silent on the subject of bail, but I’ll find out if ’tis required and there’ll be bondsmen at the gate.’

“There being no lights except along the automobile drives, us 179 tenants of the Beersheba Flats prepared to spend the night as best we could in the raging forest.  Them that brought blankets and kindling wood was best off.  They got fires started and wrapped the blankets round their heads and laid down, cursing, in the grass.  There was nothing to see, nothing to drink, nothing to do.  In the dark we had no way of telling friend or foe except by feeling the noses of ’em.  I brought along me last winter overcoat, me tooth-brush, some quinine pills and the red quilt off the bed in me flat.  Three times during the night somebody rolled on me quilt and stuck his knees against the Adam’s apple of me.  And three times I judged his character by running me hand over his face, and three times I rose up and kicked the intruder down the hill to the gravelly walk below.  And then some one with a flavour of Kelly’s whiskey snuggled up to me, and I found his nose turned up the right way, and I says:  ’Is that you, then, Patsey?’ and he says, ’It is, Carney.  How long do you think it’ll last?’

“‘I’m no weather-prophet,’ says I, ’but if they bring out a strong anti-Tammany ticket next fall it ought to get us home in time to sleep on a bed once or twice before they line us up at the polls.’

“’A-playing of my flute into the airshaft, says Patsey Rourke, ’and a-perspiring in me own windy to the joyful noise of the passing trains and the smell of liver and onions and a-reading of the latest murder in the smoke of the cooking is well enough for me,’ says he.  ’What is this herding us in grass for, not to mention the crawling things with legs that walk up the trousers of us, and the Jersey snipes that peck at us, masquerading under the name and denomination of mosquitoes.  What is it all for Carney, and the rint going on just the same over at the flats?’

“‘’Tis the great annual Municipal Free Night Outing Lawn Party,’ says I, ’given by the polis, Hetty Green and the Drug Trust.  During the heated season they hold a week of it in the principal parks.  ’Tis a scheme to reach that portion of the people that’s not worth taking up to North Beach for a fish fry.’

“‘I can’t sleep on the ground,’ says Patsey, ’wid any benefit.  I have the hay fever and the rheumatism, and me car is full of ants.’