The store windows glittered with crude colors and careless peasants' clothes. It was at such times as this, hurrying home from a doctor's office or a grocery store, that Mrs. Sardotopolis enjoyed herself. Her little eyes would take in the gleaming arrays of tin pans, calico remnants, picture books, hair combs and things like that with which the merchants of Halsted Street fill their windows. But this time Mrs. Sardotopolis had seven blocks to go to her home and there was no time for looking at things. Despite the heat she had carefully wrapped the baby in her arms in a shawl. * * * * * When Mrs. Sardotopolis got home there would be eight other children to take care of. But that was a simple matter. None of them was sick. When the eight children weren't sick they tumbled, shrieked and squealed in the dark hallway or in the street. Anywhere. Mrs. Sardotopolis only listened with half an ear. As long as they made noise they were healthy. So from day to day she listened not for their noise but to hear if any of them grew quiet. Joe had grown quiet. Joe was the baby, a year and a half, and quite a citizen. After several days Mrs. Sardotopolis couldn't stand Joe's quiet any more. His skin, too, made her feel sad. His skin was hot and dry. So she had hurried off to the doctor. There was hardly time in her day for such an errand. Now she must get home quickly. Mr. Sardotopolis and his three brothers would be home before it got dark. In the kitchen in the big pot she had left three chickens cooking. * * * * * A gypsy leaned out of a doorway. She was dressed in many red, blue and yellow petticoats and waists. Beads hung from her neck and her withered arms were alive with copper bracelets. "Tell your fortune, missus," she called. Mrs. Sardotopolis hurried by with no more than a look. Some day she would let the gypsy tell her fortune. It cost only twenty-five cents. But now there was no time. Too much to do. Her arms--heavy, tireless arms that knew how to work for fifteen hours each day--clung to the bundle Joe made in his shawl. But the doctor was a fool. What harm could ice cream do? When anybody was sick ice cream could make them well. So Mrs. Sardotopolis lifted Joe up and turned her eyes toward an ice cream stand. She stopped. If Joe said, "Wanna," she would buy him some. But Joe didn't seem to know what she was offering, although usually he was quite a citizen. So she said aloud, "Wanna ice cream, Joe?" To this Joe made no answer except to let his head fall back. Mrs. Sardotopolis grew frightened and walked fast. As she came near her home Mrs. Sardotopolis was leaning over the bundle in her arms, crying, "Joe! Joe! Do you hear, Joe?" The streets swarmed with the early evening crowds of men and women going home. In the cars the people stood packed as if they were sardines.