I can feel it! Why do you do it ?" To be sure, they could treat him in a different way.

In the depth of his soul perhaps not one of them considered himself lower than Foma, but he was rich, and this hindered them from treating him more as a companion, and then he always spoke certain comically wrathful, conscience-rending words, and this embarrassed them.

Moreover, he was strong and ready to fight, and they dared not say a word against him.

And that was just what he wanted.

He wished more and more intensely that one of these people he despised would stand up against him, face to face, and would tell him something strong, which, like a lever, would turn him aside from the sloping road, whose danger he felt, and whose filth he saw, being filled with helpless aversion for it.
And Foma found what he needed.
One day, irritated by the lack of attention for him, he cried to his drinking-companions: "You boys, keep quiet, every one of you! Who gives you to drink and to eat?
Have you forgotten it?
I'll bring you in order! I'll show you how to respect me! Convicts! When I speak you must all keep quiet!" And, indeed, all became silent; either for fear lest they might lose his good will, or, perhaps, afraid that he, that healthy and strong beast, might beat them.