seldom laughed, he never lost his temper.
With his unwavering ironical smile, as though he appreciated the keen
humour of taking so much trouble over such an insignificant thing as a
human life, he husbanded his energy and fought for health. He took all the
treatments the local sanatoria afforded, but he avoided carefully all the
colonies and other gatherings of the tubercular. When his lung began to
heal, as it did after about a year, and his strength to increase, he
enlarged his earnings by playing poker. He won for the simple reason that
he took no more chances than he had to. He systematically capitalized
every bit of recklessness, stupidity and desperation in his opponents.

When Ramon first encountered him, the game soon simmered down to a
struggle between the two. Never were the qualities of two races more
strikingly contrasted. Ramon bluffed and plunged. Chesterman was caution
itself, playing out antes in niggardly fashion until he had a hand which
put the law of probabilities strongly on his side. Ramon was full of
daring, intuition, imagination, bidding always for the favour of the
fates, throwing logic to the winds. He was not above moving his seat or
putting on his hat to change his luck. Chesterman smiled at these things.
He was cold courage battling for a purpose and praying to no deities but
Cause and Effect. Ramon thought he was playing for money, but he was
really playing for the sake of his own emotions, revelling alike in hope
and despair, triumph and victory, flushed and bright-eyed. Chesterman
stifled every emotion, discounted every hope, said as little as possible,
never relaxed his faint twisted smile.

Ramon made some spectacular winnings, but Chesterman wore him down as
surely as a slow hound wears down a deer despite its astounding bursts of
speed. Ramon was sure to lose in the long run because he was always piling
up odds against himself by the long chances he took, while his bluffs
seldom deceived his cool and courageous opponent. The finish came at one
o'clock in the morning. Chesterman was pale with exhaustion, but otherwise
unchanged. Ramon was hoarse and flushed, chewing a cigar to bits. He held
a full house and determined to back it to the limit. Chesterman met him,
bet for bet, raising every time. Ramon knew that he must be beaten. He
knew that Chesterman would not raise him unless he had a very strong hand.
But he was beaten anyway. At the bottom of his consciousness, he knew that
he