drinking. Louis did not drink. Neither he nor I could afford it;
but, more significant than that, we had no desire to drink. We
were healthy, normal, non-alcoholic. Had we been alcoholic, we
would have drunk whether or not we could have afforded it.

Each night, after the day's work, washed up, clothes changed, and
supper eaten, we met on the street corner or in the little candy
store. But the warm fall weather passed, and on bitter nights of
frost or damp nights of drizzle, the street corner was not a
comfortable meeting-place. And the candy store was unheated.
Nita, or whoever waited on the counter, between waitings lurked in
a back living-room that was heated. We were not admitted to this
room, and in the store it was as cold as out-of-doors.

Louis and I debated the situation. There was only one solution:
the saloon, the congregating-place of men, the place where men
hobnobbed with John Barleycorn. Well do I remember the damp and
draughty evening, shivering without overcoats because we could not
afford them, that Louis and I started out to select our saloon.
Saloons are always warm and comfortable. Now Louis and I did not
go into this saloon because we wanted a drink. Yet we knew that
saloons were not charitable institutions. A man could not make a
lounging-place of a saloon without occasionally buying something
over the bar.

Our dimes and nickels were few. We could ill spare any of them
when they were so potent in paying car-fare for oneself and a
girl. (We never paid car-fare when by ourselves, being content to
walk.) So, in this saloon, we desired to make the most of our
expenditure. We called for a deck of cards and sat down at a