ersuade
himself that that was economy; with the second he could eat another
meal--but there would come a time when he could eat no more, and then
to pay for a drink was an unthinkable extravagance, a defiance of the
age-long instincts of his hunger-haunted class. One day, however, he took
the plunge, and drank up all that he had in his pockets, and went home
half "piped," as the men phrase it. He was happier than he had been in a
year; and yet, because he knew that the happiness would not last, he was
savage, too with those who would wreck it, and with the world, and with
his life; and then again, beneath this, he was sick with the shame of
himself. Afterward, when he saw the despair of his family, and reckoned
up the money he had spent, the tears came into his eyes, and he began
the long battle with the specter.

It was a battle that had no end, that never could have one. But Jurgis
did not realize that very clearly; he was not given much time for
reflection. He simply knew that he was always fighting. Steeped in
misery and despair as he was, merely to walk down the street was to be
put upon the rack. There was surely a saloon on the corner--perhaps on
all four corners, and some in the middle of the block as well; and each
one stretched out a hand to him each one had a personality of its own,
allurements unlike any other. Going and coming--before sunrise and
after dark--there was warmth and a glow of light, and the steam of hot
food, and perhaps music, or a friendly face, and a word of good cheer.
Jurgis developed a fondness for having Ona on his arm whenever he went
out on the street, and he would hold her tightly, and walk fast. It was
pitiful to have Ona know of this--it drove him wild to think of it; the
thing was not fair, for Ona had never tasted drink, and so could not
understand. Sometimes, in desperate hours, he would find himself wishing
that she might learn what it was, so that he need not be ashamed in her
presence. They might drink together, and escape from the horror--escape
for a while, come what would.

So there came a time when nearly all the conscious life of Jurgis
consisted of a struggle with the craving for liquor. He would have ugly
moods, when he hated Ona and the whole family, because they stood in his
way. He was a fool to have married; he had tied himself down, had made
himself a slave. It was all because he was a married man that he was
compelled to stay in the yards; if it had not been for