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.

"That's it!" said Foma, instructively, pleased that the fellow yielded
to him, and not noticing the cross, sarcastic glances. "And he who
understands feels that it is necessary to do everlasting work!"

"That is, for God!" explained the contractor, eyeing the peasants, and
added, with a devout sigh:

"That's true. Oh, how true that is!"

And Foma was inspired with the desire to say something correct and
important, after which these people might regard him in a different
light, for he was displeased with the fact that all, save the
light-haired fellow, kept silent and looked at him askance, surlily,
with such weary, gloomy eyes.

"It is necessary to do such work," he said, moving his eyebrows. "Such
work that people may say a thousand years hence: 'This was done by the
peasants of Bogorodsk--yes!'"

The light-haired fellow glanced at Foma with astonishment and asked:

"Are we, perhaps, to drink the Volga dry?" Then he sniffed and, nodding
his head, announced: "We can't do that--we should all burst."

Foma became confused at his words and looked about him; the peasants
were smiling mor