"Oh? Did he abuse him?"

"Of course he did. I heard it myself."

"Mm--and your father heard it, too?"

"No, I told him."

"You--so"--drawled the sailor and became silent, taking up his
work again.

"And papa says to me: 'You,' he says, 'you are master here--you
can drive them all away if you wish.'"

"So," said the sailor, gloomily looking at the boy, who was so
enthusiastically boasting to him of his supreme power. From that
day on Foma noticed that the crew did not regard him as before.
Some became more obliging and kind, others did not care to speak
to him, and when they did speak to him, it was done angrily, and
not at all entertainingly, as before. Foma liked to watch while
the deck was being washed: their trousers rolled up to their
knees, or sometimes taken off altogether, the sailors, with swabs
and brushes in their hands, cleverly ran about the deck, emptying
pails of water on it, besprinkling one another, laughing,
shouting, falling. Streams of water ran in every direction, and
the lively noise of the men intermingled with the gray splash of
the water. Before, the boy never bothered the sailors in this
playful and light work; nay, he took an active part, besprinkling
them with water and laughingly running away, when they threatened
to pour water over him. But after Yakov and Petrovich had been