Godfrey Morgan | Page 4

Montgomery Street.
"No volcanoes," replied Dean Felporg, "if there were, we could not sell
at this price!"
An immense shout of laughter followed.
"An island to sell! an island for sale!" yelled Gingrass, whose lungs
tired themselves out to no purpose.
"Only a dollar! only a half-dollar! only a cent above the reserve!" said
the auctioneer for the last time, "and I will knock it down! Once!
Twice!"
Perfect silence.
"If nobody bids we must put the lot back! Once! Twice!
"Twelve hundred thousand dollars!"
The four words rang through the room like four shots from a revolver.
The crowd, suddenly speechless, turned towards the bold man who had
dared to bid.
It was William W. Kolderup, of San Francisco.
CHAPTER II.
HOW WILLIAM W. KOLDERUP, OF SAN FRANCISCO, WAS AT
LOGGERHEADS WITH J. R. TASKINAR, OF STOCKTON.

A man extraordinarily rich, who counted dollars by the million as other
men do by the thousand; such was William W. Kolderup.
People said he was richer than the Duke of Westminster, whose income
is some $4,000,000 a year, and who can spend his $10,000 a day, or
seven dollars every minute; richer than Senator Jones, of Nevada, who
has $35,000,000 in the funds; richer than Mr. Mackay himself, whose
annual $13,750,000 give him $1560 per hour, or half-a-dollar to spend
every second of his life.
I do not mention such minor millionaires as the Rothschilds, the
Vanderbilts, the Dukes of Northumberland, or the Stewarts, nor the
directors of the powerful bank of California, and other opulent
personages of the old and new worlds whom William W. Kolderup
would have been able to comfortably pension. He could, without
inconvenience, have given away a million just as you and I might give
away a shilling.
It was in developing the early placer-mining enterprises in California
that our worthy speculator had laid the solid foundations of his
incalculable fortune. He was the principal associate of Captain Sutter,
the Swiss, in the localities, where, in 1848, the first traces were
discovered. Since then, luck and shrewdness combined had helped him
on, and he had interested himself in all the great enterprises of both
worlds. He threw himself boldly into commercial and industrial
speculations. His inexhaustible funds were the life of hundreds of
factories, his ships were on every sea. His wealth increased not in
arithmetical but in geometrical progression. People spoke of him as one
of those few "milliardaires" who never know how much they are worth.
In reality he knew almost to a dollar, but he never boasted of it.
At this very moment when we introduce him to our readers with all the
consideration such a many-sided man merits, William W. Kolderup had
2000 branch offices scattered over the globe, 80,000 employés in
America, Europe, and Australia, 300,000 correspondents, a fleet of 500
ships which continually ploughed the ocean for his profit, and he was
spending not less than a million a year in bill-stamps and postages. In
short, he was the honour and glory of opulent Frisco--the nickname

familiarly given by the Americans to the Californian capital.
A bid from William W. Kolderup could not but be a serious one. And
when the crowd in the auction room had recognized who it was that by
$100,000 had capped the reserve price of Spencer Island, there was an
irresistible sensation, the chaffing ceased instantly, jokes gave place to
interjections of admiration, and cheers resounded through the saloon.
Then a deep silence succeeded to the hubbub, eyes grew bigger, and
ears opened wider. For our part had we been there we would have had
to hold our breath that we might lose nothing of the exciting scene
which would follow should any one dare to bid against William W.
Kolderup.
But was it probable? Was it even possible?
No! And at the outset it was only necessary to look at William W.
Kolderup to feel convinced that he could never yield on a question
where his financial gallantry was at stake.
He was a big, powerful man, with huge head, large shoulders,
well-built limbs, firmly knit, and tough as iron. His quiet but resolute
look was not willingly cast downwards, his grey hair, brushed up in
front, was as abundant as if he were still young. The straight lines of his
nose formed a geometrically-drawn right-angled triangle. No
moustache; his beard cut in Yankee fashion bedecked his chin, and the
two upper points met at the opening of the lips and ran up to the
temples in pepper-and-salt whiskers; teeth of snowy whiteness were
symmetrically placed on the borders of a clean-cut mouth. The head of
one of those true kings of men who rise in the tempest and face the
storm. No hurricane could bend that head, so solid was the neck which
supported it.