He gives only what is pressured out of him.
He tries to be friendly but has few friends. When he got the opportunity to join a group which plays poker for moderate stakes, he accepted eagerly but prefers gin. He says poker enables him to relax, but look at the incandescence in his eyes as he watches the fall of the cards. How can he relax where money is involved? No tighter player ever lived.
"Why don't you loosen up?"
"Why should I? In my younger days, working like a slave, I learned the value of a buck. I don't believe in throwing money away."
Because he does not throw any away by getting suckered into unfavorable situations, he wins more than he loses. He would win still more if he didn't throw it away by letting himself be pushed around when he falls behind.
When he falls behind? That is the time to bluff him: he curls up so readily.
Be careful if he says, "It's only chips," when he calls a bet. That remark means he has a lock.
Big and brash, he takes charge of the game. His basso profundo bounces from wall to wall as he issues his orders:
"You didn't ante—get it up." Or, "Stop shuffling the spots off 'em and deal." Or, "Get that drink to hell out of the way before you spill it." Or, "Stop relighting that miserable stogie—stick this fresh corona in your puss." Or, "Open the window. I'm roasting." Or, "Shut the window. It feels like an icebox in here." Or, "Fetch a fresh deck."