Papa: I hope you find your fortune.
Mama: Here, Fievel. Take this for luck. [gives Fievel a pot]
Fievel: Thanks, Mama. Uh, what is it?
Mama: Matzo ball soup.
Fievel: Mama, it's not a picnic, we're exploring the tunnel!
Mama: So? A person's got to eat.
Dr. Dithering: I assure you, Madame. we have more than enough provisions, which are also easier to carry.
Scuttlebutt: [carrying an enormous pack of supplies] That's a matter of opinion.
Fievel: Don't worry, Mama. I'll be fine.
Tanya: He always says that, but then--
Papa: Tanya.
Tanya: [annoyed] I know, I know, don't help.
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