ad more drink, and then he went upstairs into a room with her,
and the wild beast rose up within him and screamed, as it has screamed
in the Jungle from the dawn of time. And then because of his memories
and his shame, he was glad when others joined them, men and women; and
they had more drink and spent the night in wild rioting and debauchery.
In the van of the surplus-labor army, there followed another, an army of
women, they also struggling for life under the stern system of nature.
Because there were rich men who sought pleasure, there had been ease and
plenty for them so long as they were young and beautiful; and later on,
when they were crowded out by others younger and more beautiful, they
went out to follow upon the trail of the workingmen. Sometimes they came
of themselves, and the saloon-keepers shared with them; or sometimes
they were handled by agencies, the same as the labor army. They were in
the towns in harvest time, near the lumber camps in the winter, in
the cities when the men came there; if a regiment were encamped, or a
railroad or canal being made, or a great exposition getting ready, the
crowd of women were on hand, living in shanties or saloons or tenement
rooms, sometimes eight or ten of them together.

In the morning Jurgis had not a cent, and he went out upon the road
again. He was sick and disgusted, but after the new plan of his life, he
crushed his feelings down. He had made a fool of himself, but he could
not help it now--all he could do was to see that it did not happen
again. So he tramped on until exercise and fresh air banished his
headache, and his strength and joy returned. This happened to him every
time, for Jurgis was still a creature of impulse, and his pleasures had
not yet become business. It would be a long time before he could be like
the majority of these men of the road, who roamed until the hunger for
drink and for women mastered them, and then went to work with a purpose
in mind, and stopped when they had the price of a spree.

On the contrary, try as he would, Jurgis could not help being made
miserable by his conscience. It was the ghost that would not down. It
would come upon him in the most unexpected places--sometimes it fairly
drove him to drink.

One night he was caught by a thunderstorm, and he sought shelter in a
little house just outside of a town. It was a working-man's home, and
the owner was a Slav like himself, a new emigrant from White Russia; he
bade Jurg