And this instance shows that whether the habit is a mental weakness or only
a physical defect it is capable of extremely awkward consequences, as in
the case of the banker who was ruined by unwittingly revealing his secrets
while walking in the street. How is it possible to keep a secret or conduct
a bargain if your tongue is uncontrollable? What is the use of Jones
explaining to his wife that he has been kept late at the office if his
tongue goes on to say, entirely without his knowledge or consent, that had
he declared "no trumps" in that last hand he would have been in pocket by
his evening at the club? I see horrible visions of domestic complications
and public disaster arising from this not uncommon habit.

And yet might there not be gain also from a universal practice of uttering
our thoughts aloud? Imagine a world in which nobody had any secrets from
anybody--could have no secrets from anybody. I see the Kaiser, after
consciously declaring that his only purpose is peace, unconsciously
blurting out to the British Ambassador that the ultimatum to Serbia is a
"plant"--that what Germany means is war, that she proposes to attack
Belgium, and so on. And I see the British Ambassador, having explained that
England is entirely free from commitments, adding dreamily, "But if there's
a war we shall be in it." In the same way Jones, after making Smith a firm
offer of £30 for his horse, would say, absentmindedly, "Of course it would
be cheap at £50, and I might spring £55 if he is stiff about it."

It would be a world in which lies would have no value and deception would
be a waste of time--a world in which truth would no longer be at the bottom
of the well, but on the tip of every man's tongue. We should have all the
rascals in prison and all the dishonest traders in the bankruptcy court.
Secret diplomacy would no longer play with the lives of men, for there
would be no secrets. Those little perverse concealments that wreck so many