I had been bumping up against this brick wall so often and was so helpless to carry out my plans without the land in question, that I was on the very point of paying what was then a price out of all reason or proportion to existing values, when something happened to change Mr. Woodworth’s estimates in a way quite novel and picturesque, from a business standpoint. The earthquake of 1868 wasn’t much alongside of its successor of 1906, nevertheless, it was quite a jolt. Some rattletrap buildings collapsed, many others were cracked from roof to foundation, an immense number of chimneys were overthrown and a few people killed. The most disquieting feature was that the earthquake didn’t know when to stop. There was the first big damaging shock, but after that every ten minutes the earth gave a jolt quite hard enough to send multitudes scurrying into the streets. There was not an interval long enough to allow the average man to gather his wits. After a night of agony and suspense, most people were weak as kittens and speechless. I went down town in the morning after the quake from my home on Rincon Hill. I really was not much disturbed after the first lurch, for I had read somewhere that the minor tremors succeeding the initial shock never need be apprehended. One of the first men I met in the business section was Selim Woodworth. He was carrying a handbag and his face showed evidence of mental strain. I asked him where he was going. “Where am I going?” said Woodworth. “What a question to ask! Why, I am getting out of here before the earth swallows me up. When do you leave?” I told him I didn’t intend to leave at all, whereat a look of deep craft came over Woodworth’s face. “Look here, Harpending,” he said, “how about that Market street lot? Do you still want to buy?” I laughed as if in scorn. “Who on earth,” I said, “would want to buy a lot that may be a hole in the ground by night, reaching through to China. Besides, you have always been so unreasonable that no human being could deal with you.” “Well, make me an offer, anyway,” he replied, “you will find me reasonable enough.” I pondered for a moment before I answered, “Well, I was thinking of offering you $150,000,” I said, “but that’s too much. Still, just to help you out in a neighborly way I might strain a point and give you--” I never had time to finish the sentence. “Oh, for God’s sake,” yelled Woodworth, “don’t screw me down at a time like this. Make it $150,000 and we’ll close the bargain here.” We shook hands on the spot. Together we went to the Bank of California, where a formal contract for a deed to the property was drawn, and this, at Mr. Woodworth’s request, was guaranteed by a high official at the bank. I deposited $150,000 in escrow. In due season the deed was sent on to Mr. Woodworth in Europe, was returned properly executed and the famous 50 vara lot passed into my hands.