Basically, however, Bogy habitually expressed three of the prime attributes of the predal felon, in that he wouldn't work consecutively, was ego-centric to the pitiable point, and would lead a complex, carnal, varied, and parasitic life. Also, in going out for, and feeding on, unearned increment, he shadowed forth incipiently the all-pervasive moral criminal whom no penal code feazes, yet he who, because of his oblique principles and practices, is chargeable more than another for both the birth and the onrush of crime. Fundamentally, nearly all of crime reaches to myriads of things done and left undone by those, the great majority of whom never suspicioned that they were shoving criminal pawns into play. Others baldly mark anti-social cards thusly, for example: Here's a shark who schemes grossly to manipulate price levels on commodities, when the strings to millions of lean purses are already stretched to the snapping point. "All the traffic will bear!" is the slogan of this jobbing Shylock, who presses for the usurer's pounds of flesh money, e'en to the point of taking the very heart out of the mass of his countrymen. The bitterness of such meanest of wholesale thievery consists in the fact that it is commonly engineered to the end that the thieves and their retainers may flaunt brassy symbols of ill-gotten gain in the faces of those whose bent backs are about all that is left them to show for their having been the primary producers of those symbols. There's a faultlessly-clothed and groomed crook whose soft palm reaches for what he knows to be of value its weight in paper: the which he is about to exchange obligingly for what he knows to be the bulk of a life's savings, won by patient toil against great odds. Down to the depths, along with his dupe, go the wife and children of the "poor fish." The man and his mate must retrace, retrench, and take up the old grind at a time when the inevitable toll takes of both spirit and flesh. But what's a little thing like that to him who must have his old wine, young things, and "dough" with which to double his bets while he makes the grand rounds of the sporting sentry boxes? This thinly-veneered, mulcting type of parasite pirouettes debonairly over the spaces of the "movie" screen, where he takes up his abode in the indiscriminating hearts of younglings. Watch that bull-jowled "promotor" of the pug-ugly sport--another type of human cuckoo. Get the ghoulish glint in his eyes as he "spills" vernacular of the gutter telling an instinctively fine buckra of a "boy" what a "chump" he'd be to go on playing the mule at productive work, when he "packs a double punch" with which to land him in the midst of "easy pickin'." Observe the war within the lad as between innate decency and, in a sense, laudable desire for the limelight and "soft" money.