le of very pretty German girls, who were the daughters
of a local saloon keeper, always appeared accompanied by young men of
their own circle with whom they danced almost exclusively at first. But
young men of the first families could not resist their charms, and they
soon were among the most popular girls on the floor. This was deplored by
the young women of more secure social position, who were wont to remark
that the crowd was deteriorating frightfully. Some of these same superior
virgins found it necessary for politeness to dance with Joe Bartello, the
son of an Italian saloon owner, and a very handsome and nimble-footed
youth. In a word, this was a place of social hazard and adventure, and
that was more than half its charm. It finally became so crowded that
dancing was almost impossible.

The back room at the White Camel, where poker games were nightly in
progress, also afforded Ramon frequent diversion. He played in the "big"
game now, where the stakes and limits were high, and was one of the most
daring and dangerous of its patrons. He had more money back of him than
most of the men who played there, and he also had more courage. If he
started a bluff he carried it through to the end, which was always bitter
for some one. He had been known to stand pat on a pair and scare every one
else out of the game by the resolute confidence of his betting. His
plunges, of course, sometimes cost him heavily, but for a long time he was
a moderate winner. His limitations as a poker player were finally
demonstrated to him by one Fitzhugh Chesterman, a man with one lung.

Chesterman was about twenty-six years old and had come from Richmond,
Virginia, about two years before, with most of one lung gone and the other
rapidly going. He was a tall, thin blond youth with the sensitive,
handsome face which so often marks the rare survivor of the old southern
aristocracy. He was totally lacking in the traditional southern
sentimentality. His eye had a cold twinkle of courage that even the
imminent prospect of death could not quench, and his thin shapely lips
nearly always wore a smile slightly twisted by irony. He established
himself at the state university, which had almost a hundred students and
boasted a dormitory where living was very cheap. Chesterman sat before
this dormitory twelve to fourteen hours a day, even in relatively cold
weather. He made a living by coaching students in mathematics and Greek.
He never raised his voice, he