Ivan Ivanovich dressed himself, took his well-seasoned stick for the benefit of the dogs (for, in Mirgorod, there are more dogs than people to be met in the street), and went out.

Although Ivan Nikiforovich’s house was next door to Ivan Ivanovich’s, so that you could have got from one to the other by climbing the fence, yet Ivan Ivanovich went by the street. From the street it was necessary to turn into an alley which was so narrow, that if two one-horse carts chanced to meet, they could not get out, and were forced to remain there until the drivers, seizing the hind-wheels, dragged them in opposite directions into the street, and pedestrians drew aside like flowers growing by the fence on either hand. Ivan Ivanovich’s wagon-shed adjoined this alley on one side; and on the other, Ivan Nikiforovich’s granary, gate, and pigeon-house.

Ivan Ivanovich went up to the gate, and rattled the latch. Within arose the barking of dogs; but the motley- haired pack ran back, wagging their tails, when they saw the well-known face. Ivan Ivanovich traversed the court-yard, in which were collected Indian doves fed by Ivan Nikiforovich’s own hand, watermelon, and melon-rinds, vegetables, broken wheels, barrel-hoops, or a wallowing small boy with dirty blouse—a picture such as painters love. The shadows of the fluttering clothes covered nearly the whole of the yard, and lent it a degree of coolness. The woman greeted him with an inclination, and stood, gaping, in one spot. The front of the house was adorned with a small porch, its roof supported on two oak pillars—a welcome protection from the sun, which at that season in Little Russia [the Ukraine] loves not to jest, and bathes the pedestrian from head to foot in boiling perspiration. From this it may be judged how powerful was Ivan Ivanovich’s desire to obtain an indispensable article, when he made up his mind, at such an hour, to depart from his usual custom, which was to walk about only in the evening.

The room which Ivan Ivanovich entered was quite dark, for the shutters were closed; and the ray of sunlight falling through a hole made in the shutter, took on the colors of the rainbow, and, striking the opposite wall, sketched upon it a party-colored picture of the outlines of roofs, trees, and the clothes suspended in the yard, only upside down. This gave the room a peculiar half-light.

“God assist you!” said Ivan Ivanovich.

“Ah! how do you do, Ivan Ivanovich?” replied a voice from the corner of the room. Then only did Ivan Ivanovich perceive Ivan Nikiforovich, lying upon a rug which was spread on the floor. “Excuse me for appearing before you in a state of nature.”

“Not at all. You have been asleep to-day, Ivan Nikiforovich?”

“I have been asleep. Have you been asleep, Ivan Ivanovich?”

“I have.”

“And now you have risen?”

“Now I have risen. Christ be with you, Ivan Nikiforovich! How can you sleep until this time? I have just come from the farm. There’s very fine barley on the road, charming! and the hay is so tall and soft and golden!”

“Gorpina!” shouted Ivan Nikiforovich, “fetch Ivan Ivanovich some vodka, and some pastry and sour cream!”

“Fine weather, we’re having to-day.”

“Don’t praise it, Ivan Ivanovich! Devil take it! You can’t get away from the heat.”

“Now, why need you mention the Devil! Ah, Ivan Nikiforovich! you will recall my words when it’s too late. You will suffer in the next world for such godless words.”