“Yes, that’s just what I wanted to talk over with you,” began Drabkin in a friendly manner. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take it all back. My wife got after me yesterday, and all her relatives too, and.... Oh!... I had a day of it.... Oh!...” He shrugged his shoulders and waved his arms, giving his hearers to understand what a terrible day it had been. “They made me out to be crazy. You should have heard! In a word, gentlemen, I must take it all back.” Once again he repeated to them what a terrible day he had gone through. He spoke genially and with genuine regret. He did not wish to have his word lose its value in the eyes of his former companions, and, most of all, he feared their sharp tongues, their pitiless sarcasm. The men looked at him with scorn, not believing a word he said. Nor did he escape their gibes. “‘Exploiters, bloodsuckers ...’” they mimicked. “How does it strike you now? Scamp, you! Devil take you.... ‘Exploiters, bloodsuckers, cut-purses’” ... the workingmen taunted as they left. And these words cut him to the quick. They were his own words. He could say nothing in retort. He felt that he himself was not yet an exploiter or a bloodsucker, but he could not for the life of him bring the words to his tongue at that moment. And something vexed him so keenly. He was filled with a desire to understand, to grasp just what ailed him: he was, it seemed, the same Drabkin as yesterday and the day before, and yet not the same. The old time in which he had been a workingman seemed to be veiled as by a cloud; it was far, far in the past. And before the approaching future he felt ashamed—yet under his bosom there was a strange warmth, and as soon as he felt that warmth he forgot everything else: old times, the disappointed workingmen, their gibes and all evil, troublesome thoughts. IX He returned home in a calm frame of mind. He convinced himself that he was innocent in the matter of the dismissal of the workingmen—that is, as far as he was concerned they might be working for him now, as at first agreed, only Chyenke and her brood of relatives.... No, he was not to blame. Yet he felt a strong friendship for Chyenke such as he had not felt since the wedding. “I sent your workingmen off,” greeted Chyenke, preparing the samovar. “It’s all over now!... You won’t put on any lordly airs round here any more!... Hereafter _I’ll_ do the hiring and the firing!” “Then _you_ do the hiring,” he replied weakly. He was content that he should no longer have to haggle with the new hands, and that his conscience would be clear. But he was careful not to betray his contentment. “A fine statesman for you!” scoffed Chyenke with cutting sarcasm, looking into the chimney of the samovar. He made no reply and got busy upon his work. From his bench he cast frequent glances toward Chyenke, who was occupied with household duties. She was angry, and did not deign to look in his direction. So he, too, pretended not to look at her.