During the following week Mr. Whitney received me at his palatial home on Fifth Avenue just after his breakfast hour. He interviewed me for about an hour, obtained my price on the paper, which was what I had put into it, namely $60,000, and promised to cable to Colonel Harvey, then, as now, the distinguished editor of the Harper publications, who was in Paris, asking his advice, saying that Colonel Harvey advised him in all newspaper matters. I did not hear from Mr. Whitney again; but I did discover that my business manager was in close communication with Mr. Whitney and that the state of my financial condition every evening was being religiously reported to him. A few weeks later I was compelled to put the paper in the hands of a receiver, and a representative of Mr. Whitney bought it for $6,500, or about 10 cents on the dollar, and put it to sleep, leaving the field to the _Morning Telegraph_. From that moment the _Morning Telegraph_, which for a short period had been refusing all tipster advertising, resumed the acceptance of such business and has continued that policy up to this day. A year after I retired from Maxim & Gay, Attorney-General Knox decided that racehorse tipping is an offense against the old lottery law, and those who now advertise tips instruct that no money be sent by mail. Having lost the _Daily America_ and having "blown" the Maxim & Gay Company, I was again broke. But my credit was good, particularly among race-track bookmakers. That Summer, 1904, I became a race-track plunger, first on borrowed money and then on my winnings. By June I had accumulated $100,000. In July I was nearly broke again. In August I was flush once more, having recouped to the extent of about $50,000. Early in September I went overboard; that is to say, I quit the track losing all the cash I had and owing about $8,000 to a friendly bookmaker. Disgusted with myself, I longed for a change of atmosphere. I stayed around New York a few days, when the yearning to cut away from my moorings and to rid myself of the fever to gamble became overpowering. I bought a railroad ticket for California and, with $200 in my clothes, traveled to a ranch within fifty miles of San Francisco, where I hoed potatoes, and did other manual labor calculated to cure race-trackitis. In less than six weeks I felt myself a new man, and decided to stick to the simple life forevermore--away from race-tracks and other forms of gambling. But I didn't. CHAPTER II MINING FINANCE AT GOLDFIELD I had never visited San Francisco. Being close to the city of the Golden Gate--within fifty miles--I decided to "take a look." So one evening, in the late Fall of 1904, I packed my grip and within two hours was comfortably housed in the old Palace Hotel. The first man I met on entering the lobby was W. J. Arkell, formerly one of the owners of _Frank Leslie's Weekly_ and of _Judge_. "Hello, Bill!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"