s bets again. But the strain was too much for
him."

"'Hold on, Gregory,' he said at last. 'I've got you beaten from the
start. I don't want any of your money. I've got--'"

"'Never mind what you've got,' Lyte interrupted. 'You don't know what
I've got. I guess I'll take a look.'"

"He looked, and raised the German a hundred dollars. Then they went at
it again, back and forth and back and forth, until Schultz weakened and
called, and laid down his three aces. Lyte faced his five cards. They
were all black. He had drawn two more clubs. Do you know, he just about
broke Schultz's nerve as a poker player. He never played in the same
form again. He lacked confidence after that, and was a bit wobbly."

"'But how could you do it?' I asked Lyte afterwards. 'You knew he had
you beaten when he drew two cards. Besides, you never looked at your own
draw.'"

"'I didn't have to look,' was Lyte's answer. 'I knew they were two clubs
all the time. They just had to be two clubs. Do you think I was going
to let that big Dutchman beat me? It was impossible that he should beat
me. It is not my way to be beaten. I just have to win. Why, I'd have
been the most surprised man in this world if they hadn't been all
clubs.'"

"That was Lyte's way, and maybe it will help you to appreciate his
colossal optimism. As he put it he just had to succeed, to fare well, to
prosper. And in that same incident, as in ten thousand others, he found
his sanction. The thing was that he did succeed, did prosper. That was
why he was afraid of nothing. Nothing could ever happen to him. He knew
it, because nothing had ever happened to him. That time the _Luga_ was
lost and he swam thirty miles, he was in the water two whole nights and a
day. And during all that terrible stretch of time he never lost hope
once, never once doubted the outcome. He just knew he was going to make
the land. He told me so himself, and I know it was the truth.

"Well, that is the kind of a man Lyte Gregory was. He was of a different
race from ordinary, ailing mortals. He was a lordly being, untouched by
common ills and misfortunes. Whatever he wanted he got. He won his
wife--one of the Caruthers, a little beauty--from a dozen rivals. And
she settled down and made him the finest wife in the world. He wanted a
boy. He got it. He wanted a girl and another boy. He got them. And
they were just right, without spot or blemish, with chests like little