Your daughter catches him swearing after one of Digger’s calls from a client about the piece they had commissioned; she tugs at his sleeve and says, “You owe the swear jar!” Digger’s face morphs into that of confusion: “What?” You explain that he has to pay for any time he curses. He smiles at the thought. “How much?” Your daughter beams at him, “Two Thousand Dollars!” He takes out his wallet and pulls out twenty 100-dollar bills.