Source of Capital

“This is the way it works,” said Mr. Bark. “You louts do whatever I say, and I don’t throw your worthless monkey asses out onto the street.”

“But-“

“No buts!”

“You can’t-“

“I can. I just did.” Mr. Bark rustled his leaves, a sure sign of growing irritation; he didn’t move if he could help it. He’d never held with this new-fangled locomotion business. “Get moving.”

Fred and Claude trudged outside, shovels over their shoulders.

“This sucks,” said Claude. “I wish I could quit.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Fred. “It’s not like money doesn’t grow on trees.”

Money Tree

“Another late night?”

“Well, the seedlings need to be repotted, and that late fertilizer shipment just arrived yesterday, so we’re still dealing with that, and…”

“This is ridiculous. He works you too hard.” Somehow, it didn’t sound like Fred’s welfare was really the first thing in Fran’s mind.

“I don’t really think so,” Fred hedged. “It’s literally a matter of life and death for him. Once he manages to flower…”

“He’s been promising that payout for years now,” said Fran. “Face it: you’ve been duped. He’s not really a money tree. I always said he looked more like an oak.”