[Rotund man enters coffee house. Goes to back room. Bank silver traders are assembled. No electronic gadget. No notepad. No pencil or any recoding device. Each trader has coffee, black. No creme. No sugar.]
Printer-That-Be: [Set down heavy hardened briefcase at feet.]The Hell with gold. I've got plenty. Slam silver (Comex ® options price) now! Slam it!
Bank Silver Trader: Boss. We've been cliff diving prices after every coffee break for days now. What more...?
PTB: Slam silver now! ... [All eyes focus on rotund man chastising sole questioning silver trader.]... Boys.... [Sigh.] Are there any questions?
Silver Traders: [In unison.] No sir!
PTB: [Grab closed briefcase off floor. Scowl at the sole questioning trader. Exit coffee house w/ haste.]
Disclaimer: Mark Twain (1835-1910-To be continued) is unlicensed. His river pilot's license went delinquent in 1862. Caution advised. Daily Paul ☑
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