In the weeks that followed, the price of fish and other goods rose precipitously as the number of bakers proliferated. Sweepers and scribes alike, inspired by the miraculous example of the prophet, abandoned job and family in favor of the infectious exuberance of bread-making. Property was traded, loans secured, and dowries fixed in the hard currency of loaf and morsel. Spurred on by an ever-growing chorus of charismatic speakers, economic development in the region took off. Ambitious new public projects were launched, while luxurious seaside resorts, backed by a small group of fisherman-financiers, popped up up and down the coast. As more and more bread entered the marketplaces, the exchange rate between fishes and loaves soared out-of-control, and speculation of all sorts flourished, until at last a tax collector at the Temple, confronting a mortal shortage of pantry space, refused to accept a widow's two mites worth of bread (which, by this time, amounted to several wagon-loads.) Panic ensued, money-changers were beseiged, and the value of the loaf collapsed. By the end of the day, crumbs were worth no more than the crumbs they were made of.