Godfrey Morgan | Page 6

chance for fighting, and perhaps for
conquering. J. R. Taskinar would not allow it to escape him.
And that is why J. R. Taskinar had come to the auction room among the
curious crowd who could not be aware of his designs, why at all points
he had prepared his batteries, why before opening fire, he had waited
till his opponent had covered the reserve, and why when William W.

Kolderup had made his bid of--
"Twelve hundred thousand dollars!"
J. R. Taskinar at the moment when William W. Kolderup thought he
had definitely secured the island, woke up with the words shouted in
stentorian tones,--
"Thirteen hundred thousand dollars!"
Everybody as we have seen turned to look at him.
"Fat Taskinar!"
The name passed from mouth to mouth. Yes. Fat Taskinar! He was
known well enough! His corpulence had been the theme of many an
article in the journals of the Union.
I am not quite sure which mathematician it was who had demonstrated
by transcendental calculations, that so great was his mass that it
actually influenced that of our satellite and in an appreciable manner
disturbed the elements of the lunar orbit.
But it was not J. R. Taskinar's physical composition which interested
the spectators in the room. It was something far different which excited
them; it was that he had entered into direct public rivalry with William
W. Kolderup. It was a fight of heroes, dollar versus dollar, which had
opened, and I do not know which of the two coffers would turn out to
be best lined. Enormously rich were both these mortal enemies! After
the first sensation, which was rapidly suppressed, renewed silence fell
on the assembly. You could have heard a spider weaving his web.
It was the voice of Dean Felporg which broke the spell.
"For thirteen hundred thousand dollars, Spencer Island!" declaimed he,
drawing himself up so as to better command the circle of bidders.
William W. Kolderup had turned towards J. R. Taskinar. The
bystanders moved back, so as to allow the adversaries to behold each

other. The man of Stockton and the man of San Francisco were face to
face, mutually staring, at their ease. Truth compels me to state that they
made the most of the opportunity. Never would one of them consent to
lower his eyes before those of his rival.
"Fourteen hundred thousand dollars," said William W. Kolderup.
"Fifteen hundred thousand!" retorted J. R. Taskinar.
"Sixteen hundred thousand!"
"Seventeen hundred thousand!"
Have you ever heard the story of the two mechanics of Glasgow, who
tried which should raise the other highest up the factory chimney at the
risk of a catastrophe? The only difference was that here the chimney
was of ingots of gold.
Each time after the capping bid of J. R. Taskinar, William W. Kolderup
took a few moments to reflect before he bid again. On the contrary
Taskinar burst out like a bomb, and did not seem to require a second to
think.
"Seventeen hundred thousand dollars!" repeated the auctioneer. "Now,
gentlemen, that is a mere nothing! It is giving it away!"
And one can well believe that, carried away by the jargon of his
profession, he was about to add,--
"The frame alone is worth more than that!" When--
"Seventeen hundred thousand dollars!" howled Gingrass, the crier.
"Eighteen hundred thousand!" replied William W. Kolderup.
"Nineteen hundred thousand!" retorted J. R. Taskinar.
"Two millions!" quoth William W. Kolderup, and so quickly that this
time he evidently had not taken the trouble to think. His face was a

little pale when these last words escaped his lips, but his whole attitude
was that of a man who did not intend to give in.
J. R. Taskinar was simply on fire. His enormous face was like one of
those gigantic railway bull's-eyes which, screened by the red, signal the
stoppage of the train. But it was highly probable that his rival would
disregard the block, and decline to shut off steam.
This J. R. Taskinar felt. The blood mounted to his brows, and seemed
apoplectically congested there. He wriggled his fat fingers, covered
with diamonds of great price, along the huge gold chain attached to his
chronometer. He glared at his adversary, and then shutting his eyes so
as to open them with a more spiteful expression a moment afterwards.
"Two million, four hundred thousand dollars!" he remarked, hoping by
this tremendous leap to completely rout his rival.
"Two million, seven hundred thousand!" replied William W. Kolderup
in a peculiarly calm voice.
"Two million, nine hundred thousand!"
"Three millions!"
Yes! William W. Kolderup, of San Francisco, said three millions of
dollars!
Applause rang through the room, hushed, however, at the voice of the
auctioneer, who repeated the bid, and whose oscillating hammer
threatened to fall in spite of himself