Chapter XIX

by Jack London

　　When I was with people who did not drink, I never thought ofdrinking. Louis did not drink. Neither he nor I could afford it;but, more significant than that, we had no desire to drink. Wewere healthy, normal, non-alcoholic. Had we been alcoholic, wewould have drunk whether or not we could have afforded it.

　　Each night, after the day's work, washed up, clothes changed, andsupper eaten, we met on the street corner or in the little candystore. But the warm fall weather passed, and on bitter nights offrost or damp nights of drizzle, the street corner was not acomfortable meeting-place. And the candy store was unheated.Nita, or whoever waited on the counter, between waitings lurked ina back living-room that was heated. We were not admitted to thisroom, 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 menhobnobbed with John Barleycorn. Well do I remember the damp anddraughty evening, shivering without overcoats because we could notafford them, that Louis and I started out to select our saloon.Saloons are always warm and comfortable. Now Louis and I did notgo into this saloon because we wanted a drink. Yet we knew thatsaloons were not charitable institutions. A man could not make alounging-place of a saloon without occasionally buying somethingover the bar.

　　Our dimes and nickels were few. We could ill spare any of themwhen they were so potent in paying car-fare for oneself and agirl. (We never paid car-fare when by ourselves, being content towalk.) So, in this saloon, we desired to make the most of ourexpenditure. We called for a deck of cards and sat down at atable and played euchre for an hour, in which time Louis treatedonce, and I treated once, to beer--the cheapest drink, ten centsfor two. Prodigal! How we grudged it!

　　We studied the men who came into the place. They seemed allmiddle-aged and elderly work-men, most of them Germans, whoflocked by themselves in old-acquaintance groups, and with whom wecould have only the slightest contacts. We voted against thatsaloon, and went out cast down with the knowledge that we had lostan evening and wasted twenty cents for beer that we didn't want.

　　We made several more tries on succeeding nights, and at last foundour way into the National, a saloon on Tenth and Franklin. Herewas a more congenial crowd. Here Louis met a fellow or two heknew, and here I met fellows I had gone to school with when alittle lad in knee pants. We talked of old days, and of what hadbecome of this fellow, and what that fellow was doing now, and ofcourse we talked it over drinks. They treated, and we drank.Then, according to the code of drinking, we had to treat. Ithurt, for it meant forty to fifty cents a clatter.

　　We felt quite enlivened when the short evening was over; but atthe same time we were bankrupt. Our week's spending money wasgone. We decided that that was the saloon for us, and we agreedto be more circumspect thereafter in our drink-buying. Also, wehad to economise for the rest of the week. We didn't even havecar-fare. We were compelled to break an engagement with two girlsfrom West Oakland with whom we were attempting to be in love.They were to meet us up town the next evening, and we hadn't thecar-fare necessary to take them home. Like many othersfinancially embarrassed, we had to disappear for a time from thegay whirl--at least until Saturday night pay-day. So Louis and Irendezvoused in a livery stable, and with coats buttoned andchattering teeth played euchre and casino until the time of ourexile was over.

　　Then we returned to the National Saloon and spent no more than wecould decently avoid spending for the comfort and warmth.Sometimes we had mishaps, as when one got stuck twice insuccession in a five-handed game of Sancho Pedro for the drinks.Such a disaster meant anywhere between twenty-five to eightycents, just according to how many of the players ordered ten-centdrinks. But we could temporarily escape the evil effects of suchdisaster, by virtue of an account we ran behind the bar. Ofcourse, this only set back the day of reckoning and seduced usinto spending more than we would have spent on a cash basis.(When I left Oakland suddenly for the adventure-path the followingspring, I well remember I owed that saloon-keeper one dollar andseventy cents. Long after, when I returned, he was gone. I stillowe him that dollar and seventy cents, and if he should chance toread these lines I want him to know that I'll pay on demand.)

　　The foregoing incident of the National Saloon I have given inorder again to show the lure, or draw, or compulsion, toward JohnBarleycorn in society as at present organised with saloons on allthe corners. Louis and I were two healthy youths. We didn't wantto drink. We couldn't afford to drink. And yet we were driven bythe circumstance of cold and rainy weather to seek refuge in asaloon, where we had to spend part of our pitiful dole for drink.It will be urged by some critics that we might have gone to theY.M.C.A., to night school, and to the social circles and homes ofyoung people. The only reply is that we didn't. That is theirrefragable fact. We didn't. And to-day, at this moment, thereare hundreds of thousands of boys like Louis and me doing justwhat Louis and I did with John Barleycorn, warm and comfortable,beckoning and welcoming, tucking their arms in his and beginningto teach them his mellow ways.