"But I gave four kopeks!"
"A first-born is worth more than four kopeks."
"No! I'll write half, and you'll write half, ha?"
"Very well. Come and buy a card."
And the two brothers ran to buy a card at the postoffice.
"There will be no room for anything!" complained Yainkele, on the way home, as he contemplated the small post-card. "We will make little tiny letters, teeny weeny ones!" advised Berele.
"Father won't be able to read them!"
"Never mind! He will put on his spectacles. Come along—quicker!" urged Yainkele. His heart was already full of words, like a sea, and he wanted to pour it out onto the bit of paper, the scrap on which he had spent his entire fortune.
They reached their lodging, and settled down to write.
Berele began, and Yainkele stood and looked on.