Ivan Ivanovitch lolls on the balcony in his shirt sleeves after dinner only: in the evening he dons his pelisse and goes out somewhere, either to the village shop, where he supplies flour, or into the fields to catch quail.

Ivan Nikiforovitch lies all day at his porch: if the day is not too hot he generally turns his back to the sun and will not go anywhere.

If it happens to occur to him in the morning he walks through the yard, inspects the domestic affairs, and retires again to his room.
In early days he used to call on Ivan Ivanovitch.

Ivan Ivanovitch is a very refined man, and never utters an impolite word.

Ivan Nikiforovitch is not always on his guard.