In short, for one reason or other, nobody presented himself. Time was getting on, the crier was out of breath in his efforts to secure a buyer, the auctioneer orated without obtaining a single specimen of those nods which his estimable fraternity are so quick to discover; and the reserve price was not even mentioned. However, if the hammer was not wearied with oscillating above the rostrum, the crowd was not wearied with waiting around it. The joking continued to increase, and the chaff never ceased for a moment. One individual offered two dollars for the island, costs included. Another said that a man ought to be paid that for taking it. And all the time the crier was heard with,-- "An island to sell! an island for sale!" And there was no one to buy it. "Will you guarantee that there are flats there?" said Stumpy, the grocer of Merchant Street, alluding to the deposits so famous in alluvial gold-mining. "No," answered the auctioneer, "but it is not impossible that there are, and the State abandons all its rights over the gold lands." "Haven't you got a volcano?" asked Oakhurst, the bar-keeper of 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.