The next morning Sam was at the door to Bag End as soon as the sun rose. Rapping on the door he cried, "Lovely! Lov – er, I mean, uh, Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo! Come on out for a stroll!" Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Frodo Baggins did appear at the door, not looking at all hoppit-like and peaceful, but rather disgruntled and troll-like. He smoothed out his rumpled nightie.

            "Sam, it's seven in th—"

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Sam screeched, seeing his lovely. He ran to the side of Bag End and hid behind a flowerbed before shouting, "Alright, short shanks! What are you and why are you wearing Lovely's nightie?!" Frodo grabbed his jacket and, throwing it on, ran outside to Sam.

            "Don't be an idiot, Samwise," he chided him. "It's your Frodo! Lovely! Now what's all this about? Why are you out here shouting like Bilbo after a pipe? You'll wake the neighbours and they'll discover us!"

            Sam's eyes widened as he recognized Frodo. Stammering, he attempted to explain what he remembered. "Mr. Frodo! We can't leave today! I heard it from my Gaffer; you know how my memory is and all."

            "Can't leave? Heard what? I don't understand…" The poor young hoppit was confused.

"Well, I was going on to my Gaffer about the wonderful lunch I was making for our 'hike'," Sam explained, and winked. "And he said to me he says, 'Samwise, you foolish twit; you'll have no room left for cake!' 'Cake?' I asked him. You know I always like a good bit of cake. 'Of course, you stupid inbred git. Have you forgotten already that today is old Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday?' And you know, of course I had!" Sam prattled on about all the celebration details told to him by his Gaffer, and after awhile poor Frodo began to nod, head to chest. Then a loud burst of laughter roused him. He was still talking.

            "…And so my Gaffer, he said—"

"Enough!" Frodo yelled, pulling up a handful of something out of the flowerbed. "I don't want to hear any more about your Gaffer! Screw your Gaffer!"

            Sam was silent for a moment, and looked like he was about to cry. All of a sudden he regained himself and continued. "Well, you could if you like, Lovely, but I really don't think he'd take kindly to it. Me, on the other hand, I think our family's had enough of that for a couple generations. How did you know to pull the weeds, by the way? That's mighty impressive, Lovely…"

            As he kept talking – he could go on like that for hours – a great deal of noise sprang up out of nowhere. Looking down the hill, Frodo saw a great host of people setting up tents, tables and the like. He supposed they were for the party that day. He considered this and pouted. So all the presents he had seen in Bilbo's wardrobe weren't for him. He felt so betrayed.

            He had no time to feel sorry for himself, however, as at that moment, Gandalf came strolling up the path, beard nicely combed, in his best shade of gray.

            "Quick! Hide, you fool!" Frodo hissed, pushing Sam over, and throwing himself onto his back.

            "Mr. Frodo, wouldn't it be better if we went inside to do this? Away from the ears of the others, I mean. It's not that I don't like the outdoors—"

            Frodo sighed, exasperated, and clamped a hand over Sam's mouth, just as Gandalf passed them.

            The old wizard almost knocked Bag End a new window, the way he banged his staff on the door.

            "Go away!" Shouted a tired, muffled voice from inside. "I'm not decent!"

"Not even for every old friends?" Inquired Gandalf.

The door flew open like a flash. "Well," said, Bilbo, smoothing back his bed head. "Maybe just for very old friends…"

            The door closed quietly this time as Gandalf stepped inside for Eru-knows-what. Sam and Frodo sat still until they were sure Bilbo had presumably gone into the pantry, and Gandalf had attempted a sit on the sofa by the fireplace, as usual. He often managed it, despite his large behind. Only then did Frodo remove his hand and sit up.

            "So as I was saying, I brought along some of that lunch I was raving about, Lovely," Sam continued. Frodo managed to slap him quiet in time for them both to hear Bilbo speak from inside Bag End:

            "Gandalf, my old friend, this will be a night to remember!"

            They both looked at each other and gulped, knowing – or assuming they did – precisely what that meant.

            "We'd best stay late in the pub," said Frodo. Sam agreed.