do you want?"

When Mrs. Sikora explained he gave her $400 for the policy and she went to
an undertaker. Her eyes were still red with crying. They stared at the
luxurious fittings of the undertaker's parlors. There were magnificent
palms in magnificent jardinieres, and plush chairs and large, inviting
sofas and an imposing mahogany desk and a cuspidor of shining brass. 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. Sikora arrived in automobiles, their faces staring with surprise
out of the limousine windows as if they were seeing the world from a new
angle. There were also neighbors. These were dressed even more
impressively than the relatives. But everybody, neighbors and relatives,
had on their Sunday clothes. 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. Sikora didn't want the band to stop in the alley.
Then the envious ones leaning out of the windows couldn't see the band and
that would be a drawback.