Nekhludoff wondered that these people, while their wives were killing themselves with work at home, and their children starving, should think it necessary to build that foolish and unnecessary house for some foolish and unnecessary man.
"Yes, a foolish building," he spoke his thought aloud.
"How foolish?" retorted the offended driver. "Thanks to them, the people get work. It is not foolish."
"But the work is unnecessary."
"It must be necessary if they are building it," said the driver. "It gives the people food."
Nekhludoff became silent, the more so because it was too noisy to be heard. When they had reached the macadamized road near the prison the driver again turned to Nekhludoff.
"And what a lot of people are coming to the city—awful," he said, turning around on the box and pointing to a party of laborers with saws, axes, coats and sacks thrown over their shoulders, and coming from the opposite direction.
"More than in former years?" asked Nekhludoff.
"No comparison. The masters are kicking them about like shavings. The market places are glutted with them."
"What is the reason?"