He got up and walked away with the short careful steps of a man who cherishes every ounce of his energy.
Ramon was disgusted with himself. Chesterman had made him feel like a weakling and a child. He had thought himself a lion in this game, and he had found out that he was an easily-shorn lamb. He could not afford to lose five hundred dollars either. He was not really a rich man. He went home feeling deeply depressed and discouraged. Vaguely he realized that in Chesterman he had encountered the spirit which he felt against him everywhere—a cool, calculating, unmerciful spirit of single purpose, against which the play and flow of his emotional and imaginative nature was as ineffectual as mercury against the point of a knife.
CHAPTER XXX
Within the next few days Ramon was sharply reminded that he lived in a little town where news travels fast and nobody’s business is exclusively his own. Cortez came into his office and accepted a seat and a cigar with that respectful but worried manner which always indicated that he had something to say.
“I hear you lost five hundred dollars the other night,” he observed gravely, watching his young employer’s face.
“Well, what of it?” Ramon enquired, a bit testily.
“You can’t afford it,” Cortez replied. “And not only the money … you’ve got to think of your reputation. You know how these gringos are. They keep things quiet. They expect a young man to lead a quiet life and tend to business. It’s all right to have a little fun … they all do it … but for God’s sake be careful. You hurt your chances this way … in the law, in politics.”
Ramon jerked his head impatiently and flushed a little, but reflection checked his irritation. Hatred of restraint, love of personal liberty, the [pg 213] animal courage that scorns to calculate consequences were his by heritage. But he knew that Cortez spoke the truth.