In the street there was nothing to do. There were no errands to make. She
could just walk. People were just walking. Young people arm in arm. It was
a summer night in Halsted Street. Mrs. Sardotopolis walked until her eyes
grew clearer. She took a deep breath and looked about her nervously. There
was a gypsy leaning out of the doorway. Mrs. Sardotopolis stared at her.

"Tell your fortune, missus," called the gypsy.

Mrs. Sardotopolis nodded and entered the hallway. Her head felt dizzy. But
there was nothing to do until tomorrow, when they buried Joe. With a
curious thrill under her heavy bosom, Mrs. Sardotopolis held out her
work-coarsened palm to the gypsy.



THE GREAT TRAVELER


Alexander Ginkel has been around the world. A week ago he came to Chicago
and, after looking around for a few days, located in one of the less
expensive hotels and started to work as a porter in a well-known
department store downtown.

A friend said, "There's a man living in my hotel who should make a good
story. He's been around the world. Worked in England, Bulgaria, Russia,
Siberia, China and everywhere. Was cook on a tramp steamer in the south
seas. A remarkable fellow, really."

In this way I came to call on Ginkel. I found him after work in his room.