They had, of course, put their dining table in the kitchen, and the dining room was used as the bedroom of Teta Elzbieta and five of her children.  She and the two youngest slept in the only bed, and the other three had a mattress on the floor.  Ona and her cousin dragged a mattress into the parlor and slept at night, and the three men and the oldest boy slept in the other room, having nothing but the very level floor to rest on for the present.  Even so, however, they slept soundly—­it was necessary for Teta Elzbieta to pound more than once on the at a quarter past five every morning.  She would have ready a great pot full of steaming black coffee, and oatmeal and bread and smoked sausages; and then she would fix them their dinner pails with more thick slices of bread with lard between them—­they could not afford butter—­and some onions and a piece of cheese, and so they would tramp away to work.

This was the first time in his life that he had ever really worked, it seemed to Jurgis; it was the first time that he had ever had anything to do which took all he had in him.  Jurgis had stood with the rest up in the gallery and watched the men on the killing beds, marveling at their speed and power as if they had been wonderful machines; it somehow never occurred to one to think of the flesh-and-blood side of it—­that is, not until he actually got down into the pit and took off his coat.  Then he saw things in a different light, he got at the inside of them.  The pace they set here, it was one that called for every faculty of a man—­from the instant the first steer fell till the sounding of the noon whistle, and again from half-past twelve till heaven only knew what hour in the late afternoon or evening, there was never one instant’s rest for a man, for his hand or his eye or his brain.  Jurgis saw how they managed it; there were portions of the work which determined the pace of the rest, and for these they had picked men whom they paid high wages, and whom they changed frequently.  You might easily pick out these pacemakers, for they worked under the eye of the bosses, and they worked like men possessed.  This was called “speeding up the gang,” and if any man could not keep up with the pace, there were hundreds outside begging to try.

Yet Jurgis did not mind it; he rather enjoyed it.  It saved him the necessity of flinging his arms about and fidgeting as he did in most work.  He would laugh to himself as he ran down the line, darting a glance now and then at the man ahead of him.  It was not the pleasantest work one could think of, but it was necessary work; and what more had a man the right to ask than a chance to do something useful, and to get good pay for doing it?