He worked away with the coarse file, until he could scarcely hear the sledge-hammer for its shrieking.
At the anvil stood a man making clincher nails, while one of the apprentices pulled the bellows and occasionally gathered the nails together.

They were talking and laughing, and now and again some loud exclamation penetrated to Nikolai.

It was only when the boy made a grimace at him, that it occurred to Nikolai that he was the subject of the conversation, and instantly the large file became quite light in his hand, and he had suddenly eyes and ears only for what was going on around him.
They were standing talking and nodding over there by the vices; Jan Peter ran and repeated what this one said and what the other one said.
It was easy to see what the meaning of it all was, and that he now stood there like any show animal; no, like something much worse--like one who was capable of going to the pockets of any one of them! There was not one of the apprentices who would share his night's lodging with him now.

He could see that.
He stood straining his ears, with a feeling that they were killing him in all the work-yards round--they were filing him down at the vices, hammering him flat with the small hammers, and crushing him with the sledge-hammers.

He guessed and understood glances and looks.
"Well, you know, Matthias," he heard from away there by the nails which the man was now gathering into his apron, "there are many easier trades than standing in a smithy: make a good pick out of your fists, lad!" "He-he-he!" laughed the boy addressed.
"Or make yourself pincers that you can get down into skirt-pockets with--all the lassies in the town, lad, that have any pence." Nikolai heard every word and the hoarse laughter that followed; he was very pale.
Coarse merriment shone in the man's sooty face, and, as their eyes met, he made a contemptuous grimace.
Soon after he came past with his apron full of nails.