Every sale, Hurley hefted the bank onto a merchandise table, hopeful somebody would take it home to be their family’s new doorstop, since the change inside the pig was worthless in the U.S. In a generation or two, the pig might even become some hilarious
family heirloom.
But nobody ever made an offer.
He would’ve entertained any amount. That bright, painted grin taunted him.
Hurley didn’t understand Canada. He couldn’t imagine how a country could lose track of its money.