'They are asking for gold!'
'I thought that's what you prom - '
'It is only a metaphorical promise! I told you, it is based on the understanding that no one will actually demand it!'
'How many people want to withdraw their money?' said Moist.
'Nearly twenty!'
'Then they are making a lot of noise, aren't they?'
Mr Bent looked uncomfortable. 'Well, there are some others,' he said. 'A few misguided people are seeking to open accounts, but - '
'How many?'
'About two or three hundred, but - '
'Opening accounts, you say?' said Moist. Mr Bent was squirming.
'Only for trifling sums, a few dollars here and there,' he said dismissively. 'It would appear that they think you have "something up your sleeve".' The inverted commas shuddered like a well-bred girl picking up a dead vole.
Some of Moist recoiled. But part of him began to feel the wind on his face.
'Well, let's not disappoint them, shall we?' he said, picking up the gold top hat, which was still a bit sticky. Bent glared at it.
'The other banks are furious, you know,' he said, high-stepping hurriedly after Moist as the Master of the Mint headed for the stairs.
'Is that good or bad?' said Moist over his shoulder. 'Listen, what's the rule about bank lending? I heard it once. It's about interest.'
'Do you mean "Borrow at one-half, lend at two, go home at three"?' said Bent.
'Right! I've been thinking about that. We could shave those numbers, couldn't we?'
'This is Ankh-Morpork! A bank has to be a fortress! That is expensive!'
'But we could alter them a bit, couldn't we? And we don't pay interest on balances of less than a hundred dollars, correct?'
'Yes, that is so.'
'Well, from now on anyone can open an account with five dollars and we'll start paying interest a lot earlier. That'll smooth out the lumps in the mattresses, won't it?'
'Master, I protest! Banking is not a game!'
'Dear Mr Bent, it is a game, and it's an old game called "What can we get away with?".'
A cheer went up. They had reached an open landing that overlooked the hall of the bank as a pulpit overlooks the sinners, and a field of faces stared up at Moist in silence for a moment. Then someone called out: 'Are you going to make us all rich, Mr Lipwig?'
Oh damn, thought Moist. Why are they all here?
'Well, I'm going to do my best to get my hands on your money!' he promised.
This got a cheer. Moist wasn't surprised. Tell someone you were going to rob them and all that happened was that you got a reputation as a truthful man.
The waiting ears sucked at his tongue, and his common sense went and hid. It heard his mouth add: And so I can get more of it, I think - that is to say, the chairman thinks - that we should be looking at one per cent interest on all accounts that have five dollars in them for a whole year.'
There was a choking sound from the chief cashier, but no great stir from the crowd, most of whom were of the Sock Under The Mattress persuasion. In fact, the news did not appear to please. Then someone raised his hand and said: 'That's a lot to pay just to have you stick our money in your cellar, isn't it?'
'No, it's what I'll pay you to let me stick your money in my cellar for a year,' said Moist.