He was a vague figure in the shadows, and the visitors could not see very much of him.
"Is this Mr.Pardo's office ?" Frank inquired, stepping close to the man and lifting his voice.
"You've struck it," was the sociable rejoinder.
"Are you Mr.Pardo, the superintendent ?" "Strike two, my lad." "Well, my name's Merriwell, and I--" "And you've come here for a talk with that old hassayamper, Nick Porter!" finished Pardo.

"Mr.Bradlaugh has put me next." The super laughed.

"I suppose you know what a brilliant talker the prospector is ?" Unless violently agitated, about the only audible sound Porter ever made was a grunt.
"We know all about that," Frank answered.
"Well," continued the super, "after the way he went off the handle in Gold Hill he seems to be less talkative than usual.

And less audible," he added.

"Whenever he bobs up in Ophir he makes it a rule to hang out in this camp, mainly because one of our crusherman on the night shift is an old friend of his.