Give Me Your Money
This is a Stick-Up!
“Here,” muttered Moneybags through the knife clutched in his teeth. He stuck the bag and the note under the bank teller’s window and tried not to look nervous. “Put the bits in the sack and nopony gets hurt.”
The elderly teller squinted at the note, then pushed it back through the window.
“You need to fill out a withdrawal form,” she wheezed. “No exceptions.”
“This isn’t a withdrawal,” he growled, still trying not to drop the knife. He stuck the note back under the window, only to have the wrinkled old prune shove it back.
“You fill out the form, and when I get back from my lunch break, I’ll get your bits.” She reached out one hoof over the ‘Teller Miss Decedent’ sign and tugged a cord, pulling down the blind.
He stood there, looking at the large letters ‘Closed’ for a moment, then tugged on the cord to make it lift back up and flap a few times. “Hey,” he shouted as loud as he could from around the handle of the knife. “Get back here, you old bat! This is a robbery! We don’t stop for lunch!”
It did not seem to make much of an impression on the rear end of the old mare as she hobbled down a narrow path between desks. She seemed headed in the direction of the back of the small building where more likely than not, the break room was located. Moneybags was about to shout again when a middle-aged stallion with a pure white mane scurried into view, his bright eyes shining and a broad smile on his face.
“Good morning, sir!” he called out with a quick glance at the tall bank clock ticking away time at the side of the lobby. “Or should I say, good afternoon? I’m terribly sorry, but you caught my teller at a bad time since her lunch hour just started. Can I help you, sir?”
Caught off guard, and a little puzzled that the happy stallion was ignoring the fact that Moneybags was wearing a mask and carrying a knife, he carefully stuck the note back under the teller window.
“Oh,” said the prim stallion as he read the note, his smile only getting broader. “A robbery! How exciting! You know, we’ve never been robbed before. Only the big towns like Alfalfaburg and Piccolo Falls ever get bank robberies. I can hardly wait to tell them! Yes, sir. Ponyville is getting bigger every day!”
The stallion abruptly looked up from the note, his golden eyes sparkling with happiness. “I’m so sorry, sir. Please, forgive me. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Silver Standard, owner of the Silver Standard Bank.” He stuck out a hoof to shake, but the teller window was in the way, so he did something behind the counter and the whole thing swung open like a door. “There we go, much better. Come on in, sir. So nice to make your acquaintance! Have a seat! Right here at the loan desk, since this is a sort of loan, correct?”
“Um… Yes?” Moneybags settled cautiously into the soft chair while the bank owner got busy behind the desk. This robbery was not going anywhere near what he had expected, and it just kept getting weirder. He placed the knife down on the desk, since holding it in his mouth was getting tiring, and looked around at the odd place. Even the quill pens at the desk were not chained down like in ordinary banks, but were connected to the inkwell by a thin piece of cotton thread, and labelled with a very small piece of paper reading ‘Ask about our Super Silver Saver program.’
A faint noise of disapproval made Moneybags look up at where the middle-aged bank manager was examining his ‘loot bag’ with a skeptical frown. “Oh, no. This simply can not do. The fabric is too thin and might tear under the weight of a suitable number of bits. I’d hate to send you away as an unsatisfied customer. Are you sure you don’t have anything more substantial, Mister…?”
“Moneybags,” said the aspiring robber before he could help himself.
“Excellent name, sir,” said the bank owner from around the quill he was using to write on a form. “It goes well with your cutie mark. Did you find your special talent robbing banks where you came from?”
“No, I actually stuck up a—” Moneybags blinked and turned his head to look at the form being filled out. “What’s the Super Silver Saver program?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” said Silver Standard, turning the form around and sliding it over to Moneybags. “With our Super Silver Saver program, you can put away a small portion of your monthly salary to grow for your needs in the future. After all, we’re not young forever. Before you know it, robbing banks will get more difficult as old knees creak and legs start slowing. Then you’ll be knocking over lemonade stands and hustling school children for lunch money. After that, what will you do with your life, young colt?”
“What?” asked Moneybags, still trying to get a grip on his slippery situation.
Silver Standard continued smoothly, “Why, you’ll be able to rely on the nest egg you built in your early years and retire in comfort, instead of eking out your last days in a field somewhere, trying to steal blades of grass to eat. With the money you put away, plus interest, you could travel the world, visit all the places you’ve always wanted to see. Even use it as bail money or to pay pesky legal fees. There’s no end of the possibilities, if you start now. After all, accumulated interest compounds daily, and the earlier you start, the larger the payoff. It’s like robbing the bank without any of the work or risk! All you need to do is sign up today, and a small portion of your pay will be automatically deducted every pay period.”
“Uh…” Moneybags looked at the dense form filled with small print. “I’m really between jobs right now.”
“Oh, how could I have forgotten?” The form whisked away across the desk and Silver Standard began making a few more marks, as well as adding another piece of paper. “Since you don’t have a regular income, you’ll need to fill out the sections on additional periodical deposits, at a slight additional fee, of course. Sign here, please.”
The bank pen felt dry in his mouth, but he had his signature completed before he realized it. Moneybags looked up and said, “Wait a minute—”
“And initial here for the free gift.”
Gift?
His eyes lowered despite Moneybags’ best effort.
“A deluxe set of canvas saddlebags,” he read slowly. “Monogrammed with the depositor’s cutie mark.”
“Allowing two to four weeks delivery ordinarily,” added Silver Standard quickly. “Far higher quality than the bag you brought. Honestly, a stallion of your bearing should not lower themselves to inferior equipment such as that. My daughter does the embroidery, and we happen to have just one set of these fine saddlebags in our storeroom, so we can have you on your way right after lunch, if you would like.”
The bell to the front door of the bank jingled and a young mare trotted inside. She moved with the graceful familiarity of a pony who had been in the bank many times before, as she slipped through the open teller’s gate and walked up beside the bank owner, giving him a kiss on the cheek and a quick nuzzle.
“Ah, Mister Moneybags. I’d like you to meet my daughter, Golden Needle.” Silver Standard fairly beamed with joy as he tousled her silvery mane and stroked down the side of her face. He brushed back the long, silver woven plait of mane that rested on the side of her neck, tied up with a glittering amethyst hairband, and gave her a soft pat on the back in the same fashion as one might groom a foal.
“Daddy,” she protested, twisting a little but not far enough to get away from his affectionate hoof. “Not in front of one of your clients. I’m a grown mare now.”
“You’ll always be my most precious little gemstone,” said Silver Standard. “Now, hurry on back to the break room with Auntie Decedent’s lunch. She left a few minutes ago, so she should just be getting to the table now. And don’t let her talk your ear off. She’s only got an hour for lunch, you know.”
The young mare shrugged a paper sack off her back and let it slide onto the desk before heading back further into the office with a quiet jingling of her thin crystal earrings. She cast one glance backwards before she turned a corner, giving Moneybags a wink before vanishing.
“I think all the paperwork is in order now, Mister Moneybags.” The happy banker looked up from where he had been checking some of the fine print on the contract. “You can sign now and be on your way, or you can wait for my daughter to monogram your new saddlebags. Oh, after the minimum account balance has been reached, of course. You do have ten bits, correct?”
Moneybags reached for his bit pouch he had clipped to the base of his mane, placing it quietly on the table with only a feeble jingle of its contents. The banker deftly opened it up and extracted out the five bits it contained, one misshapen lump of something Moneybags had found on the floor of the train car, half a train ticket that he had used to get this far, and a few pieces of lint.
“Oh,” said the banker. He swept the five loose bits onto his side of the table and regarded the relative absence of bits remaining.
“I could pay you out of the robbery proceeds,” said Moneybags, quietly just in case the young mare back in the bank break room would be able to hear. “How many bits would that be?”
Silver Standard considered the desk. “Currently, and considering all the currency we have in the tills, the vault, the sarsaparilla fund back in the breakroom icebox, as well as funds pending—” he nudged the bits on the table “—five bits.”
“Five bits?” Moneybags blinked. “I thought banks had all kinds of money. Are you saying you don’t have any—”
“Shh!!” hissed Silver Standard with a panicked glance toward the front door of the bank and the empty lobby. “Not so loud. Do you want to start a run on the bank?”
A run was starting to sound really good right now, but the only place to run was back in the direction of Baltimare, which he had worked so hard to get out of, or up the mountain in the direction of Canterlot, which is where Princess Celestia lived, so that was straight out.
“I thought banks had lots of money,” said Moneybags, in a very quiet tone in order not to disturb whatever was running.
“We do,” said the banker, bristling as if he had been poked somewhere sensitive. He hauled a thick book out and flipped to a page, which he pointed at. There were several columns of numbers, all done in exacting mouthwriting and no red ink at all. “The books, with the daily balance sheets, all balanced to the tenth-bit, and showing a positive total asset balance of well over thirty-two thousand bits. Go ahead. Inspect the numbers.”
They certainly looked correct, and taking an abacus to the thick book would have taken a week or more, so Moneybags simply nodded hesitantly.
“If you have thirty thousand bits,” started Moneybags in a slow and deliberate fashion, “where is it?”
“All around you.” Silver Standard waved a hoof at the window, outside of which much of the small town was on display. “A mortgage in the amount of one thousand, twenty seven bits for Widow Good Fortune’s home. Mortgages for Apple Acres and the Pear Plantation. Deposits in the amount of four thousand, six hundred bits from Stinking Rich. Signature loans from over a dozen of the city residents to pay for home improvements, the Sugarcube Cafe’s new sarsaparilla machine, the Hot Springs Hut improvements, and much more. All assets in the balance sheet.”
“So… you have all these bits,” continued Moneybags, still puzzled. “Where are they?”
Silver Standard turned a page on the heavy book. “Clients’ deposits are used to pay for loans, while the borrower’s mortgages are held here. Ponies give us mortgages on their property in exchange for bits to pay for construction materials, labor, and fees spent to improve it, and make more money. For example, Apple Acres and the Pear Plantation both have both taken out large mortgages so they can use the resulting large number of bits in Manehattan to purchase mechanical improvements for their properties, which will generate sufficient income to pay their mortgages plus interest so everypony will benefit. Seriously, young colt. Didn’t you learn this in school?”
“I learned math,” said Moneybags defensively. “I never make a mistake adding or subtracting.”
“But you have no idea how money works,” completed the banker with a slow shaking of his head. “Let me make this simple. Here is your deposit.” Silver Standard nudged the short stack of five coins. “You entrust it to the bank for your Super Silver Saver account, and you get in return what is called a deposit account for the total, for which you earn the princely sum of two percent interest a year.”
“Okay,” said Moneybags. “I understand that. I see the bits right there. So where—”
“Just a minute,” said the banker. “Now that I have your bits, I loan them to another entity, let’s say a knife manufacturer, at the reasonable rate of four percent interest a year.” He pushed the bits to one side of the desk and arranged them in front of Moneybags’ knife.
“Where did my bits go?” asked Moneybags. “Why did you give them to—”
“The knife manufacturer in turn gives me a mortgage on his facility,” continued the banker, moving a small piece of colorful sticky paper over in front of him. “In the event his business fails, I have legal ownership in his buildings, his equipment and such for the sum total of the loan, so there’s very little risk. When he pays off the mortgage, I can pay your deposit with interest.”
“Oh.” Moneybags squinted in the bright light until the banker drew the window curtains a little bit more closed.
“Sorry about that, sir,” said Silver Standard. “The sunlight comes through there at about this time of day.”
“So your vault has a bunch of pieces of paper saying you own—”
“Have a legal claim on, but only in the event of default,” corrected the banker.
“—all of the buildings around here,” completed Moneybags. “Each of them pays you a little more interest on their loans than you pay the depositors for temporary use of their money. This leaves you a fair profit which you use to run the business and put what’s left in your pocket.”
“Very good, sir.” The banker beamed a happy smile, which vanished when Moneybags kept talking.
“Except you loaned out all the money, and don’t have—”
“Shhhh!” The banker lowered his voice as well as his head until his chin was almost resting on the table. “I may have… miscalculated the amount of fluid reserves to hold, but I had an unexpected opportunity. The city council approved a measure to raise seven thousand bits for city improvements, the train station, and the arbortecturist’s fee for the Library Oak, and the bonds they issued are tax free, even if they only yield three and three quarters percent, which more than makes up for it. The money I gave them is now out in the community, being used to pay for property improvements and needed expenses. It will eventually come back here, but for now, it is working very hard to make more money.”
Moneybags considered the admission. “So you own a train station, a tree, and some streets too. I mean you own bonds backed up by those assets,” he corrected.
After the bank owner, or maybe less than actual owner did not respond, Moneybags retrieved the sack lunch the beautiful daughter had dropped off and distributed it across the desk, in the hopes that there might have been something inside it worth stealing.
“Watercress?” he hazarded, looking inside one of the sandwiches, which had been cut into triangular slices.
“Please,” said Silver Standard as a wedge of the sandwich was pushed over to him. “Thank you.”
After some negotiations in dividing the rest of the small sack lunch between them, Moneybags sat back for some serious thought while chewing on a few fancy carrot sticks. The food was limited in portions but exceptionally good, with a light frosting of peppermint across the top of the cupcake and the most delicious juicy apple, for which the knife had been pressed into service to divide it between the two of them.
“Your daughter is an exceptional cook,” he said once everything but the smallest crumbs was taken care of.
“My wife taught her. Maybe we could sell cupcakes,” mused the banker. “I mean since the bank doesn’t have enough bits to make an adequate theft.”
“Robbery,” corrected Moneybags, giving the knife a nudge. It made him remember something he had been ignoring, and he took a quick peek out of the window at the small town outside. “By the way, I thought the local sheriff would have been here by now.”
“We don’t have one anymore,” admitted Silver Standard. “He left town to become a tuba salespony. It was a little distracting, because he used to practice in the break room over lunch. He was a part-time bank guard too,” added the banker. “Anyway, my wife will be headed up to Canterlot tomorrow to market some of the city bonds to the wealthy investors there. She’ll be back in a few days with enough bits to make a suitable cash reserve and provide you with your withdrawal. And my daughter can have your saddlebags embroidered by the time you leave. Will that meet with your satisfaction, Mister Moneybags?”
“Uh… I really don’t have a place to stay,” said Moneybags with one hoof inching forward to the five bits still sitting on the desk. They might not buy him a room, but it would give him something other than just roadside grass to eat while waiting.
“Nonsense,” scoffed Silver Standard. “The wife and I run a boarding house. Well, it’s only one room, and it’s empty since our sheriff took off on his new career. You can stay with us while waiting, maybe run a few errands around town to collect enough bits to complete your minimum deposit into the Super Silver Saver program before you have to go.” The banker lowered his voice. “As long as you don’t mention anything about the bank’s present lack of fluid capital.”
Ah. Blackmail. I can live with it, particularly since it comes with room and board.
Before Moneybags could do more than nod, Golden Needle came trotting back out into the main room with a happy smile and a kiss on the top of the head for her father. “Sorry to eat and run, daddy. I’ve got sewing circle coming up, and mother wanted me to pick up some stewing beets at the market for dinner tonight.”
Moneybags felt his stomach give out a quiet growl at the fine quality but inadequate quantity of the recent lunch, and tried not to let it get too vocal about his agreement on the subject of this evening’s menu.
“That’s fine, dear.” Silver Standard gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek in return. “By the way, Mister Moneybags will be staying with us for the next few days until your mother gets back from her trip to Canterlot. He’s going to be our newest Super Silver Saver participant, so I want you to have his saddlebags all monogrammed for him by then.”
Golden Needle’s bright eyes looked straight at Moneybags, tracked back to his flanks and the moneybag cutie mark there, then leisurely traced a path back to his eyes with more than a few detours while a sly smile began to grow on her face. “Sure thing, father. I’ll bring them by this evening at dinner and see how they fit. You will be at dinner this evening, correct?”
Moneybags nodded, because he was afraid of saying something really stupid if he opened his mouth.
“Do you like beets?” she added.
He nodded more enthusiastically, but with enough restraint to not look too much so.
“Great! See you then.” The young filly fairly pranced out of the bank, with Moneybags following her path all the way out the front door. There was a tiny fraction of a second before she turned out of sight where she looked back at him, winked one eye, and gave her tail a flick.
“Very well,” said Silver Standard from where he was looking down at the desk and checking over the paperwork again. “Everything seems all in order until the completion of our business in a few days time. Um…” He paused and looked up while biting his lip. “You don’t suppose I could schedule the newspaper in here for that day? A photograph on the wall would add a lot to… No, I suppose not. Anyway, do you have any other questions?”
“Is your daughter seeing anypony?”
The words slipped out of Moneybags’ mouth before he could stop them, although the banker did not react too negatively. He just shook his head and shuffled the papers into a folder. “No, and don’t get any ideas. Nopony is permitted to see my daughter without certain criteria being met.”
“Like?” asked Moneybags. “Just for curiosity's sake.”
“No criminal record, for one,” said the banker quite seriously.
“I’ve never been arrested,” said Moneybags. “I got my cutie mark by holding up my cousin who works at an ice-cream store in Baltimore. I’d come in with a stick, point it at him, and he’d give me an ice-cream cone, since he wasn’t allowed to just give away ice-cream. Um. This is actually my first robbery for bits.”
“Any pony who dates my daughter would need a reliable work history,” added Silver Standard.
“I used to—” Moneybags removed the phrase ‘run numbers’ out of his statement and replaced it with something more honest-sounding “—make deliveries all around the neighborhood in Baltimare. Groceries, pizza, plumbing hardware, and other things. It just wasn’t enough income to make ends meet after school was over and I left the house.”
Numbers are other things. Besides, they wanted me ignorant of what I was running, so it’s plausible deniability.
“Anypony who dates my daughter would need a stable investment plan for the future,” said Silver Standard.
Now that was a problem. The banker’s daughter was worth the effort, and thankfully, he was in a bank. Moneybags pushed his knife across the table in front of Silver Standard. “Sir, I’d like to take out a mortgage on my property.”
The banker eyed the knife. Then he eyed Moneybags. Then he looked at the knife again and picked it up.
“Not bad quality. Fair balance. Could be sharper.” Silver Standard looked up. “I suppose you want five bits for it?”
“At four percent interest, payable in a few days,” added Moneybags. “I’d like to get the Super Silver Saver plan started today. After all, it grows with time, and the sooner I invest, the more money I’ll make.”
Silver Standard drew another form out of the pile, spent a few minutes filling it out, and slid it across the desk along with the five bits. He remained silent while Moneybags finished reading and signing, then stamped the finished form and added it to a box on the desk.
“And here are the last five bits I need to set up my Super Silver Saver account,” said Moneybags, sliding the bits back across the table.
There was more reading and signing until Silver Standard slid carbon copies of the loan and savings agreements back over to Moneybags. “I must say, sir,” started the banker while finishing separating carbon copies and putting them in appropriate boxes, “it does my heart good to see a young stallion actually read things before signing them. Still, you may not date my daughter without gainful employment.”
Moneybags raised a hoof to speak, but the banker cut him off. “Legitimate, steady, gainful employment.”
This is a lot of work for one date. Still, that tail…
He got up from the table and walked over to the paper-strewn bulletin board at the side of the lobby that the small town seemed to use for notices. It only took a few minutes to spot the advertisement he expected, and Moneybags walked back over to the desk with the paper in his mouth.
“Sir,” he started in a respectful tone, “I understand you’re looking for a part-time bank guard. I’m an upstanding individual with no present criminal record and a savings account. Is the position still available?”
The banker looked down at the job advertisement.
Then he looked up at Moneybags.
Then back down at the advertisement.
It felt oddly pleasurable for Moneybags to incite the kind of confusion he had been experiencing since walking into the bank.
“The job requires a uniform,” the banker offered as if he were throwing one last obstacle in his way. “And a truncheon.”
“The previous guard had them, I would suppose,” said Moneybags as he followed along the logical thread. “Did he sell them back to the bank?”
“Yes.” Silver Standard looked as if he had bitten into an unripe lemon. “Twenty bits.”
“I presume the bank would be willing to advance such a loan for a prospective employee?” asked Moneybags.
Ten minutes later, he was the proud owner (well, in physical possession) of a slightly worn guard cap and a like-new truncheon, the cost of which was to be deducted out of his pay at two bits per week.
“Your tasks will include sitting in as a teller in case the bank gets busy.” Silver Standard looked back in the direction of the break room where the slow sounds of Miss Decedent had been heard for the last few minutes, giving notice that she was headed back to her station, and should arrive sometime in the next hour. “Or during scheduled leave,” he continued. “In addition, I’ll want you to accompany my wife on her business trip to Canterlot tomorrow to provide security and carry the resulting proceeds.”
Moneybags quit trying to make the guard’s cap fit comfortably over his ears and looked up.
“The bank has seven thousand bits worth of local government bonds, and investors in Canterlot are always looking for tax free bonds,” said Silver Standard with his lips drawn into a thin line. “As you have noticed, the cash reserves at our institution need to be reinforced. I figure around three thousand bits of bonds sold should cover it, allowing for whatever loss we may take due to a robbery in the near future.”
“Ahhh…” Moneybags licked his lips and put his guard cap on straight. “So you trust me on a business trip with three thousand bits and your wife?”
“If,” started out Silver Standard with one hoof raised as if marking points on a board, “you are a dishonest thief, I’ll find it out now, be out three thousand bits, and my daughter will be safe. If you touch my wife, we’ll give you a nice burial, most probably with the casket closed.”
It made sense, as far as it went, and it really made him wonder about Mrs. Silver Standard, but Moneybags had to ask, “And if I’m an honest thief?”
Silver Standard heaved a sigh. “The town already has a mayor. I suppose I would have to make you a banker, then.”
* * *
... Many years later
The inside of the Ponyville Bank and Trust was a warm, comfortable place, with ponies quietly bringing in bits to deposit or filling out loan applications. It was not filled with the hushed silence of the Ponyville Library, temporarily relocated to the Castle of Friendship, or the loud boisterous environment of Sugarcube Corner, where a party seemed to be going on in the back room every day. Instead, tellers greeted the depositors with a smile and helped them through the process of safeguarding their accumulated bits in relative quiet and privacy, overseen by the president of the bank himself today, who was leaning against a back wall in the lobby and just enjoying the ebb and flow of a business day.
“Granpa!” Two small fillies came bounding into the bank, and the smaller of the two, who had a long silver mane just like her grandmother, lunged forward to give her respected elder a very firm hug. “Gran Gran is going to buy us ice cream this afternoon,” bubbled the young filly. “On account of I got a perfect score on my spelling! And so did Diamond!”
The other little filly, who had a diamond tiara on top of her perfectly combed mane, nodded with a happy smile just as big as her friend’s.
“Well, I suppose we should buy ice cream for both of you then, Silver Spoon,” said Moneybags. “Ah, and there’s your grandmother.”
He moved forward to give the old mare a gentle kiss on the lips and a brief nuzzle along her neck, which still smelled a little sweaty from her afternoon Aikido class, but he was not about to complain. After a deep breath, Moneybags leaned back to lock eyes with the love of his life and wife. “Half-bit for your thoughts, Goldie?”
“Plus interest,” she added quietly with another kiss as the two little fillies made icky faces. “You see the colt in the back of the lobby?”
“Been watching him,” said Moneybags in a near whisper. “You take the girls on up to Double-Dips and I’ll be with you shortly. Love you.”
“Love you too.” The old mare hurried the two happy little fillies out of the bank door. That left Moneybags to casually stroll back to where the young stallion was fussing around in one of the writing islands, holding the wet quill in his mouth while making random blots of ink on the form.
“Good morning, sir.” Moneybags gave a short nod with his most pleasant smile. “Or I suppose it’s afternoon, now. I’m sorry that all of the tellers are busy, but perhaps I can help. Is this your first time?”
The young stallion looked up with wide, white eyes. “No,” he practically breathed with a nervous quaver, “I’ve been in a bank before.”
“I meant your first time—” Moneybags gave the flimsy bag at the stallions side a long glance, then turned his eyes back on the young stallion before speaking in a much quieter voice, but still with a friendly smile “—robbing a bank.”
The prospective bank robber nodded, making the mask he had pushed back onto his forehead bob.
“Well, you’re in luck,” said Moneybags. “The Ponyville Bank and Trust has never been robbed before, so as a first time customer, so to say, we’ll be sure to give you every single opportunity. I’ve got a nice set of embroidered saddlebags back in my office for you to carry home your proceeds, and since there’s a few hours before the next train leaves… You were going to make your getaway by train, right Mister…?”
“Jejune,” said the robber. “But my friends just call me June.”
He blinked for a moment after saying it, but Moneybags moved smoothly back into the conversation. “Don’t worry, Mister June, I’ll keep your name in the strictest of confidence. I noticed you’ve been keeping an eye on one of my tellers, my niece Miss Teakettle.”
Despite his obvious effort to keep his eyes under control, the young stallion looked up at the young mare who had just finished with her customer. Teakettle gave him a little wave back before a new customer moved in front of her window and she returned to work.
“Now if you’ll come this way,” urged Moneybags with a gentle nudge to the young stallion, “we’ll go back to my office and see about your future. Have you ever heard of our Super Silver Saver account?”