Then he stepped back a few paces as if he wished to observe the impression his words had produced, and stood rubbing his hands and cackling gleefully.
"I suppose I must humour him," thought Master Nathaniel; so he said good-naturedly, "Well, and what's the answer to your riddle, eh?"
But the old man seemed to have lost the power of articulate speech, and could only reiterate eagerly, "Dig ... dig ... dig."
"'Dig, dig, dig.' ... so that's the answer, is it? Well, I'm afraid I can't stay here the whole afternoon trying to guess your riddles. If you've got anything to tell me, can't you say it any plainer?"
Suddenly he remembered the old superstition that when the Silent People returned to Dorimare they could only speak in riddles and snatches of rhyme. He looked at the old man searchingly. "Who are you?" he said.
But the answer was the same as before. "Dig ... dig ... dig."
"Try again. Perhaps after a bit the words will come more easily," said Master Nathaniel. "You are trying to tell me your name."
The old man shut his eyes tight, took a long breath, and, evidently making a tremendous effort, brought out very slowly, "Seize—your—op-por-tun-us. Dig ... dig. Por-tun-us is my name."
"Well, you've got it out at last. So your name is Portunus, is it?"
But the old man stamped his foot impatiently. "Hand! hand!" he cried.