And yet all this inconvenience they might have put up with, if only it
had not been for one thing--if only there had been some place where they
might eat. Jurgis had either to eat his dinner amid the stench in which
he had worked, or else to rush, as did all his companions, to any one of
the hundreds of liquor stores which stretched out their arms to him. To
the west of the yards ran Ashland Avenue, and here was an unbroken
line of saloons--"Whiskey Row," they called it; to the north was
Forty-seventh Street, where there were half a dozen to the block, and at
the angle of the two was "Whiskey Point," a space of fifteen or twenty
acres, and containing one glue factory and about two hundred saloons.

One might walk among these and take his choice: "Hot pea-soup and boiled
cabbage today." "Sauerkraut and hot frankfurters. Walk in." "Bean soup
and stewed lamb. Welcome." All of these things were printed in many
languages, as were also the names of the resorts, which were infinite
in their variety and appeal. There was the "Home Circle" and the
"Cosey Corner"; there were "Firesides" and "Hearthstones" and "Pleasure
Palaces" and "Wonderlands" and "Dream Castles" and "Love's Delights."
Whatever else they were called, they were sure to be called "Union
Headquarters," and to hold out a welcome to workingmen; and there was
always a warm stove, and a chair near it, and some friends to laugh and
talk with. There was only one condition attached,--you must drink. If
you went in not intending to drink, you would be put out in no time, and
if you were slow about going, like as not you would get your head split
open with a beer bottle in the bargain. But all of the men understood
the convention and drank; they believed that by it they were getting
something for nothing--for they did not need to take more than one
drink, and upon the strength of it they might fill themselves up with a
good hot dinner. This did not always work out in practice, however, for