He had done all that he was able, and now Clarke, whom he believed to be a man of high medical skill, must do his part.

If he were unsuccessful, it would be the worse for him.
"Did you have much trouble ?" Benson asked, as he laid out a meal.
"No; I suppose I was fortunate, because the thing was surprisingly easy.

Of course, Clarke did not want to come." "I don't see how you overcame his objections." Harding broke into a dry smile.
"In the kind of game I played with the doctor your strength depends on how much you're willing to lose, and I put down all I had upon the table.

That beat him, because he wasn't willing to stake as much." "You mean your life?
Of course, I know you were in some danger; but was it so serious ?" "It would have been if I'd shot him; and I think he saw I meant that.
What's more, I may have to do so yet." Harding's tone was quietly matter of fact, but Benson no longer wondered at Clarke's submission.

He had been a soldier and had faced grave risks, but he was inclined to think that, even before he had weakened it by excess, his nerve had never been so good as this young American's.
"Well," he said, "I'm fond of Blake, and I recognize my debt to him; we were once comrades in an adventure that was more dangerous than this; but I'm not sure that I'd have been ready to go as far as you.