When they got close enough to read our name-tags, the first one said "It is, it's Sam Hobbs' brother! Here he is, just like Jared said he would be." So I'd graduated from being "Matt's little brother" to being "Sam's big brother" without skipping a beat. I should have known I'd have to get used to that after the four-page letter my mom had written me about how Sam had heroically scored the winning touchdown in the championship game...
Walking right up to me, the first girl pointed at my name tag and said "Elder Hobbs, huh? You wouldn't by chance be from Orem, Utah and have a little brother named Sam, would you?" The short girl looked annoyed.
I smiled. "How'd you know?"
"We're from Orem too."
"In a manner of speaking," added the tall girl on her other side.
"So you're friends with my brother Sam?"
"Here, let's sit down in a sidewalk café and have a drink," said the girl. "I'll treat you guys to a glass of... whatever the hell it is you guys are allowed to drink." She laughed. Her small friend looked more irritated than ever.
"We're not supposed to be hanging out in sidewalk cafés," said Elder Beaverton.
"What? Why not?" asked the girl. "We won't make you drink beer if you don't want to."
"It's not that," said Elder Beaverton. "The Mission President thinks it doesn't present a good image for missionaries to be seen hanging out in a sidewalk café."
"Not even for a referral?" asked the tall girl.
"You have a referral for us?" asked Beaverton, showing some interest for the first time.
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