“On a slab in the morgue. Youse'd better chase yourself over.”
“All right,” returned Mrs. Casey, making ready to go back to bed, “I will after awhile.”
VIII. THE WAGES OF THE SNITCH
Knowledge is power, and power is a good thing, as you yourself well know. Since Eve opened the way, and she and Adam paid the price—a high one, I sometimes think—you are entitled to every kind of knowledge. Also, you are entitled to all that you can get.
But having acquired knowledge, you are not entitled to peddle it out in secret to Central Office bulls, at a cost of liberty and often life to other men. When you do that you are a snitch, and have thrown away your right to live. Anyone is free to kill you out of hand, having regard only to his own safety. For such is the common law of Gangland.
Let me ladle out a cautionary spoonful.
As you go about accumulating knowledge, you should fix your eye upon one or two great truths. You must never forget that when you are close enough to see a man you are close enough to be seen. It is likewise foolish, weakly foolish, to assume that you are the only gas jet in the chandelier, the only pebble on the beach, or possess the only kodak throughout the entire length of the boardwalk. Bear ever in mind that while you are getting the picture of some other fellow, he in all human chance is snapping yours.
This last is not so much by virtue of any law of Gangland as by a law of nature. Its purpose is to preserve that equilibrium, wanting which, the universe itself would slip into chaos and the music of the spheres become but the rawest tuning of the elemental instruments. The stars would no longer sing together, but shriek together, and space itself would be driven to stop its ears. Folk who fail to carry these grave matters upon the constant shoulder of their regard, get into trouble.