And he was stung most by the thought that all this was being done for him.

And yet he was out of place there.
"Where is my place, then ?" he thought gloomily.

"Where is my work?
Am I, then, some deformed being?
I have just as much strength as any of them.
But of what use is it to me ?" The chains clanged, the pulleys groaned, the blows of the axes resounded loud over the river, and the barges rocked from the shocks of the waves, but to Foma it seemed that he was rocking not because the barge was rocking under his feet, but rather because he was not able to stand firmly anywhere, he was not destined to do so.
The contractor, a small-sized peasant with a small pointed gray beard, and with narrow little eyes on his gray wrinkled face, came up to him and said, not loud, but pronouncing his words with a certain tone from the bottom of the river.

He wished that they might not succeed, that they might feel embarrassed in his presence, and a wicked thought flashed through his mind: "Perhaps the chains will break." "Boys! Attention!" shouted the contractor.

"Start all together.