What a disaster! They’d have to go all the way back to Main Street, where people chased you for no reason

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ishel and Faivish, dears.” Mrs. Friedman addressed her sons. “I’m afraid the meat delivery hasn’t arrived. There was some mix-up with the order.”

“Um,” said Fishel. He wasn’t that interested.

“Hmm,” said Faivish.

“I need you to go pick it up from the butcher’s,” she said.

“I’m busy,” protested Fishel, as he was busy making faces at his brother.

“Me, too,” declared Faivish, as he was busy making faces back.

Mrs. Friedman was unmoved.

“Totty’s bringing guests this Shabbos, and I have to get started on the cooking. I can’t do it without the meat order.” She paused. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to tell your father you didn’t want to help?”

The troublesome two most definitely did not want their father to be told that. Grumpily, they got ready to go on their errand.

Mrs. Friedman took some money out of her purse.

“I’ll put the money in two envelopes, one for each of you.” That would avoid a fight. “Put the envelopes away safely, boys.”

Tucking the envelopes inside their jackets, they left. After all, the quicker they went, the quicker they’d be back. Then they’d be able to do more important stuff.