“Raised?” asked Foma, not knowing what to say at the sight of this ugly, heavy mass, and again feeling offended at the thought that merely for the sake of raising this dirty, bruised monster from the water, his soul had foamed up with such joy. “How’s the barge?” asked Foma, indefinitely, addressing the contractor. “It’s pretty good! We must unload right away, and put a company of about twenty carpenters to work on it--they’ll bring it quickly into shape,” said the contractor in a consoling tone. And the light-haired fellow, gaily and broadly smiling into Foma’s face, asked: “Are we going to have any vodka?” “Can’t you wait? You have time!” said the contractor, sternly. “Don’t you see--the man is tired.” Then the peasants began to speak: “Of course, he is tired! “That wasn’t easy work!” “Of course, one gets tired if he isn’t used to work.” “It is even hard to eat gruel if you are not used to it.” “I am not tired,” said Foma, gloomily, and again were heard the respectful exclamations of the peasants, as they surrounded him more closely. “Work, if one likes it, is a pleasant thing.” “It’s just like play.” “It’s like playing with a woman.” But the light-haired fellow persisted in his request: “Your Honour! You ought to treat us to a vedro of vodka, eh?” he said, smiling and sighing. Foma looked at the bearded faces before him and felt like saying something offensive to them. But somehow everything became confused in his brain, he found no thoughts in it and, finally, without giving himself an account of his words, said angrily: “All you want is to drink all the time! It makes no difference to you what you do! You should have thought--why? to what purpose? Eh, you!” There was an expression of perplexity on the faces of those that surrounded him, blue and red, bearded figures began to sigh, scratch themselves, shift themselves from one foot to another. Others cast a hopeless glance at Foma and turned away. “Yes, yes!” said the contractor, with a sigh. “That wouldn’t harm! That is--to think--why and how. These are words of wisdom.” The light-haired fellow had a different opinion on the matter; smiling kind-heartedly, he waved his hand and said: “We don’t have to think over our work! If we have it--we do it! Our business is simple! When a rouble is earned--thank God! we can do everything.” “And do you know what’s necessary to do?” questioned Foma, irritated by the contradiction. “Everything is necessary--this and that.” “But where’s the sense?” “There’s but one and the same sense in everything for our class--when you have earned for bread and taxes--live! And when there’s something to drink, into the bargain.” “Eh, you!” exclaimed Foma, with contempt. “You’re also talking! What do you understand?” “Is it our business to understand?” said the light-haired fellow, with a nod of the head. It now bored him to speak to Foma. He suspected that he was unwilling to treat them to vodka and he was somewhat angry.