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The neighbors sniffed indignantly. "Did you hear about Mrs. Sikora?" they said. These were the same ones who had leaned enviously out of the Wabansia Avenue windows. "She spent all her insurance money on a crazy funeral," the neighbors said, "and did you hear about it? The Juvenile Court is going to take her children away because she can't support them.
And the unlucky ones who hadn't been invited leaned out of the windows of Wabansia Avenue and looked enviously at the entourage. There was a band fifteen pieces. And there was one open automobile filled with flowers, filled to overflowing. The band stopped in front of the Sikora flat, or rather in front of the building, for the Sikora flat was in the rear and Mrs.
The three children used Wabansia Avenue as a playground. Dodging wagons and trucks was a diversion which played havoc with their shoes, but increased their skill in dodging wagons and trucks. The neighbors said: "Old man Sikora is pretty sick. It's a wonder where they'll get money to pay the doctor." The Sikora children continued to dodge wagons and trucks and Mrs.
Sikora felt thrilled at the sight of these luxuries. Then the undertaker came in and she explained to him. The neighbors said: "Are you going to Mr. Sikora's funeral? It's going to be a big funeral. I got invited yesterday." Wabansia Avenue was alive with automobiles. Innumerable relatives of Mr. and Mrs.
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