He tried to git loose agin, but failed.
“But—but,” says he, “what good would sich money be in Urope? Would that money be good anywhere in the world?”
“There you go agin,” says I. “I haint got to Urope yit. We’ll go to Urope purty soon.”
“Yes, but that would be fiat money,” says he.
“Yes, sir, it would,” says I, “and the sooner you and your likes git up to that word ‘fiat,’ and touch your nose to it and smell of it—the sooner you pick it up and look at it and examine it, the sooner you will find that instid of bein a curse it will be a blessin to you.”
“Fiat money is money made by you and the balance of the people that makes this government. You make it by puttin your great stamp on it, and each one of you what are fit to be citizens stand ready to defend it and uphold it with your lives if need be. It is made by you havin printed and stamped on money paper the followin:
“‘This is one dollar, a full legal tender for all debts, public and private, receivable for all taxes, duties and customs; and any money-lender, bondholder or other citizen of these United States who attempts to dishonor or discredit this bill shall be deemed a traitor, and if found guilty of such attempt shall be hanged by the neck until dead.’”
“Dont you think that would be a little seveer, Betsy?” says Jobe.
“Seveerness of that kind—seveerness for them what are bound to rule this country for their own benefit or ruin it—is what we need, and the sooner we git it, and the more of it that we git, the better,” says I.
So, perceedin with the argament, says I: