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 morosely, disdainfully, sarcastically.