Nikolay brought a bottle of alcohol, put coals in the samovar, and walked away silently. Ignaty accompanied him with a curious look.
"A gentleman?"
"In this business there are no masters; they're all comrades!"
"It's strange to me," said Ignaty with a skeptical but embarrassed smile.
"What's strange?"
"This: at one end they beat you in the face; at the other they wash your feet. Is there a middle of any kind?"
The door of the room was flung open and Nikolay, standing on the threshold, said:
"And in the middle stand the people who lick the hands of those who beat you in the face and suck the blood of those whose faces are beaten. That's the middle!"
Ignaty looked at him respectfully, and after a pause said: "That's it!"
The mother sighed. "Mikhaïl Ivanovich also always used to say, 'That's it!' like an ax blow."