Disclaimer: See First Chapter
Third Chapter
A Solicitor is Discomfited
Mr. Grubb (the second Grubb of Grubb, Grubb, and Burrowes), who had come to oversee the day's proceedings, was fervently wishing he had never left his most comfortable bed. The arrival of the suspicious Mr. Baggins had turned the amiable auction into mayhem. Hobbits who had paid were demanding their money back. Hobbits who had not paid were slipping out the gate with things, mumbling about settling accounts later. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was screeching into his ear. Only the support of his training in law, and his feeling of the dignity due a solicitor, kept Mr. Grubb from pulling his collar up around his face and skulking off over the back fence.
Furthermore, it proved impossible to get anywhere near Mr. Baggins (or at least the man who claimed to be Mr. Baggins). The more he tried to push through the crowd (Lobelia clinging to his arm), the more obstinate the hobbits in his way became. "I beg your pardon," "Excuse me," and "Please let me through," were ignored in turn, and when Mr. Grubb attempted to shoulder his way through, he got an elbow in the mouth for his trouble.
"SILENCE!" thundered a voice accompanied by a terrific CRACK and flash of blue light. For the second time that day, the yard of Bag-End grew deathly silent, as three dozen hobbits stared wide-eyed at the second stranger, whom they had forgotten.
Bilbo gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Gandalf. Now, if you all will excuse me, I think I should speak with Mr….er…Burrowes?" he hazarded.
"Grubb," intoned Mr. Grubb, as only an offended solicitor can. "I am Mr. Grubb," and he cast a cold and disapproving look at the crowd.
No one took the slightest notice of him. At the name Gandalf, the hobbits had begun shifting nervously, and little whispers ran through the crowd. Not a few dark looks were cast in the direction of the wizard leaning on his staff, but no one was quite brave enough to meet his bright eyes gleaming under bushy brows.
Bilbo gently pushed his way through the uneasy throng until he reached Mr. Grubb. Mr. Grubb, feeling the grave importance of his office, made a disapproving examination of the faded waistcoat, shapeless hat, and untrimmed toes, then said severely, "Well, sir, what do you mean by this?"
"My name is Bilbo Baggins," replied Bilbo, "and this is my home and these are my things." At this he couldn't help casting a despairing look around the once tidy yard, which was utterly unlike the wistful daydreams he had had of it all along the weary way to the Lonely Mountain. The trampled grass and sagging fence (on which one too many well-fed hobbits had leaned) created a generally rundown and ramshackle appearance, while the flower beds looked as it they'd been through the Battle of the Five Armies. Tearing his eye from a marble washstand resting in the middle of the petunias, Bilbo continued, "I have been away on business matters for some time, but now I've come back. I see no reason why Bag End and its contents should have been put up for sale."
Mr. Grubb straightened his spectacles and gave Bilbo a very hard look (which, added to the two from Lobelia, made it Bilbo's third of the day). "Mr. Baggins," he began in an awful voice, "I don't suppose it occurred to you that when you left suddenly without notifying any of your friends or relatives, and when for over a year you failed to send word of where or how you were, it was quite natural that you would be Presumed Dead. Indeed, your unconscionable behavior left many of us to suppose that you had come to a Bad End."
"The matter came up very suddenly," responded Bilbo stiffly. "I didn't know myself that I would be gone until the morning I left. As for sending word, I have been traveling in parts where messages were impossible to send. I am sorry for the trouble I have caused, but as you can see, I have not come to a Bad End or any sort of end at all!"
"Hrmmph hmm," said Mr. Grubb, importantly sticking his thumbs into his red checkered waistcoat. "I'm afraid, Mr. Baggins, that I will need several witnesses to swear to your identity before I can allow you to take possession here."
"I'll witness him," shrieked Lobelia. "I'll witness that he's nothing but a lying scoundrel and no cousin of mine!"
"Is that so?" demanded Abelard Took, stepping forward. "Because I'll swear he is Bilbo Baggins. I'll stake my walking stick on it," and he pounded said article on the ground. (Unfortunately, as the walking stick, a very fine one of polished oak with an iron tip, belonged not to Abelard but to his second cousin Mortimer, the force of his statement was not very great.)
"You!" scoffed Lobelia, pounding her own umbrella on the ground. "Who will take your word over mine, I'd like to know?"
An unidentified voice from the back of crowd shouted, "I would!"
Suspecting Tookish subversion, Lobelia stepped forward, umbrella raised, and Bilbo jumped hastily out of the way. "I don't suppose you'd care to say that to my face?"
"Don't speak nonsense, Lobelia," a querulous voice reprimanded. "It's only a youngster trying to get your goat. I'll have a look at the boy." The speaker was Isabella Baggins, a second cousin of Bungo, and the oldest survivor of that name. She looked every one of her hundred and two years as she hobbled forward on her cane, but the eyes with which she gave Bilbo his fourth long, hard look of the day were keen, and no one had ever been known to "put one over" on old Miss Isabella.
After a good deal of peering and a bit of prodding, Isabella stood back and cackled, "It's Bungo's boy all right. No mistake about it. Been having an uncomfortable time of it in foreign parts it appears to me, but it's him."
Abelard and a few of Bilbo's younger Took cousins cheered. Mr. Grubb harrumphed. Lobelia burst into tears.
