The following day, it was raining cats and dogs but the wind had fallen. Long and sticky liquid cords fell down on the country, limiting the visibility to a few steps. The Hobbit felt very miserable and "out of place" in a sense, as if he was inappropriate but in the four farthings. The rain in the Shire had always seemed to him at its right place at the right moment. But this downpour hampering their trip crystallized the wilderness adversity and the elements hostility. He put on a brave showing and strode the ten miles to the next stage, without almost complaining.
As they advanced, the liquid pearls curtain revealed signs of Human activity : bleats of ewes seeking their lambs under the beating rain, growing cereal furrows, a lit farm, a barn sheltering some fatty pigs and an etic horse. The exhausted pony, whose left hind leg slightly limped, was thus somehow perked up. Crossing a liquid and opaque curtain, the road ended abruptly at a coarse palisade, which door hung on the side.
The travellers went forth and crossed a vast streaming paved place, to reach a stone gate at the side of an immense building, that had seen better days. It seemed the rebuilt remainders of a large castle of men, with square corner-towers, once powerful and proud, but which now hardly exceeded second floor. The masonry mixed stones and bricks, and the crenels ended in pitched roofs. A green sign hung above the entry arch, bearing a white poultry that showed obvious unbalance. Two crows had perched on the sign and observed them, one with great interest, the other with mischievousness. They nimbly flew away when the Hobbit seized a stone.
Gandalf struck the door's studded oak with his staff, while his hat and shoulders driped with water.
- « Here we are at the inn of the Drunken Goose, in the village of Thalion, formerly fair town and summer residence of kings… sighed the wizard, It is time to show Hobbits good education, Master Took! »
After minutes of obstinating quietness, only beaten by the regular flow from the blocked tiles gutter, the wizard repeated his call, having the black steel hinges groan. A wavering flame revealed the disrepair, by lighting the top of the door, corroded by bad weather, the bottom eroded by mosses and many other interstices, while heavy steps resounded under the entry vault.
- « Who comes there? Who fusses hullabaloo at ours gate? », belched a low and quavering voice.
- « Travellers seeking shelter for an evening not meant to let a Hobbit outside! », answered Gerry on a clear and childish tone.
An inquisitory but frightened eye scanned from a broad hole in the door.
-« Can't you cater for two honest, inoffensive and refrigerated travellers? », said Gandalf, openly resting on his staff. He massaged his flank while having coins tinkle in the leather purse hanging at his belt.
They heard unlocking bolts noises, then a tired "ho-ho" when the gatekeeper withdrew the beam that barred the door. They finally entered the shelter and snorted. Beyond the entry vault, they stood shortly under the rain again before reaching the stables. The gatekeeper was in fact an old stable boy, dressed with light trousers too large for him and a worn green blouse. While the travellers passed in front of him, he scraped his cranium under his dark hood, with an air of disbelief - his jaw hanging three inches long. Gerry realized then, how strange they certainly seemed: the appearance of the wizard was very different from that of the other men, let alone his garb. As for Gerry, he may have been regarded as a child, at worst as a goblin. Relieved by reaching a shelter, he now felt the need to be even smaller than he was.
The stable old man took care of the pony and carried them out in a large room, undoubtedly a former guards room, just on the left when entering the castle yard. Weapons racks had been converted into mangers. In a corner a huge sow wallowed, surrounded by a dozen fighting piglets. Two thin cows, dowagers of the domain, were idly chewing their straw, beside two donkeys and an enormous draught horse. The stable man accommodated Gerry's pony in a broad stall, near two beautiful dark coat horses, which equipment had been cleaned and hung at wooden shelves. Gerry asked for an oat portion in addition to the usual fodder and liberally bribed the old man, who thanked him with an emphatic but sincere "Let me thank thou for a thousand times, my small lord".
Gandalf had insisted on being given a locking room.
- « As usual, Master Usher. You certainly remember my previous visit? ", said Gandalf, aging his voice and softening his glance as much as he could. The old stable man straightened with an offended look :
- « We remembered thou perfectly coming sometime. Thou mustered many a footpad and twice a cut-throat who attacked thour door until annihilating it to the ground. Under a-like conditions, our key thus serves for nothing… just lose a good door…
- This time we came without any pursuer. You know that at my age, one needs a little privacy… »
Thus the travellers were led above the entry vault, by a wooden staircase built in the angle of the main building. Gerry was probably one of the rare Hobbits who had already slept in height: seducers were to adapt to all kinds of circumstance, such as "elven platforms". He objected only rethorically. The room, walled with naked, clean though a little wet masonry, was sparingly furnished: four beds, two armchairs, a large studded wood coffer. The slightly grumbling servant lit both candlestick and brazier, then cast with a quavering voice a tirade long memorized and resumed with some approximations:
- «The company seated in the grand hall of the hosts of our Sign of the Drunken Goose would certainly ravish to hearing news from so distinguished travellers! »
The old man withdrew with dignity, as would have, at the time of the castle's splendor, the eminent royal usher, whom he might have been an offspring. Gerry whispered, enthusiastic but discrete:
- « This majordomo seems to come straight from the memories of a royal court! Did one speak this way at that time?
- Master Gigolet's syntax is somehow exotic, but his expressions remind me of a time when the lackeys fought to come here along with their lords, so famous were the food and the rejoicings!
- But he seems so… outmoded! Does he not feel out of his time or useless?
- You would prove quite cruel and vain to blame him for that! But do not rely on his looks! Master Gigolet has a talent which you do not foresee. A dead tree still makes a good frame.1 His memory reaches beyond the beginning of his own life! It is the function of old people, to provide the frame of the young lives which build around them. »
Gandalf reminded of a remote time:
- « You will certainly note that here in Thalion still survives for a time the memory of more splendid periods. We are lucky: tomorrow is the day of the large market of the season. You will admire the place in its full glare. Several merchants from Tharbad still gather convoys and come here for the fair. Will you benefit from this opportunity to do errands for us in the city?
- According to my father, I was not born for trade…
- But what were you born for?, interrupted Gandalf sarcastically. That would be kind to help me with that request. I need to glance ahead the wilderness. Moreover, I think of motivating you by recalling that we shall need quality equipment in the deserted regions. Here is a liability letter issued by your father for that purpose.
- That is settled, then. You can count on me. », answered Gerry, while he took the letter Gandalf handed to him, pretending resignation and concealing his thoughts of fleeing back to the Shire.
As soon as they finished grooming, Gerry went down to the yard while Gandalf locked the heavy door. The staircase emerged at the base of the main building, the upper floors of which had been destroyed above the second. The Hobbit was reading his liability letter when he got at the bottom of the stairs and stopped: a perch2 in front of him, a big man was taking fresh air, sheltered from rain by the sloped ceiling's edge. Leant against the wall, the man with an aquiline profile and a moustache observed the half-light on the other side of the yard and seemed to wait for something, with his arms crossed. His wet boots shone under the dark cape he was cloaked in.
Suddenly the man, surprised by the Hobbit's presence, turned his unpleasant and smirky face towards him. He seemed irritated as if he had been interrupted in the middle of a crime, and emitted a short and acute whistle, which aroused Gerry's suspicion. He put the letter hastily in his inside pocket. This man gave him the impression of a ruffian in search for petty thieving. The man quickly uncrossed his arms and drew aside his rider's coat, as if ready to unsheath a weapon. He was fatty but strongly built. His jaded glance betrayed an absence of scruples and an unshakeable determination. At least this was the way the Hobbit read his features. Such a fellow would stop at nothing in order to complete a mission conferred by an angry father or a cheated owner. In addition to his shady behavior and his aggressive attitude, Gerry suspected this trooper came from the lord of the manor in the South farthing, and he could not help staring worried and inquisitive looks.
The man on the other hand was furious at having been caught by a child. He did not know about Hobbits and his mission was quite different. Then the wizard appeared, carrying a lantern at the end of his staff. Gerry relaxed and the man mastered himself. Gandalf walked ahead of Gerry who followed him with relief. In the wizard's back, the ruffian threw a threatening gaze to the Hobbit, as a criminal would try to impress a child and force him to conceal what he knows.
Gerry, who had only suspicion and impressions, had nothing to say, but the attitude of the man frightened him and he quickened his pace behind the wizard.
The travellers entered the main building, after a flight of worn pink marble steps. The immaculate black wood of the antique double door was speckled with a circle of thin silver stars. The suspicious Hobbit kept an eye on the ruffian. Whereas the heavy door was slowly closing back, he foresaw a second man, also cloaked in dark, running to the ruffian's side from the yard's depths. His suspicions were confirmed, but he had no opportunity to talk to Gandalf.
X-X-X
The immense room extended under four arched vaults, which all rested on the same central pink sandstone pillar. Massive and furnished candelabra lighted the center of the room. The candles released a tallow flaring smell and a black smoke which added to the thick volutes escaping from the enormous chimney, which poor draught clouded the room. Large logs finished consuming there, where a sheep oozed and crackled on a big pin.
A kitchen boy with a round and jovial figure turned the pin. His hair which seemed of chestnut wool was covered with a cook's cap. Seeing the travellers at the entry, he entrusted the pin to the care of a big and half-bald man, with a scarry face and a sagacious glance. His worn white shirt, surprisingly cut, betrayed an adventurer who had stridden many dangerous paths. The assistant-cook wiped his bloody hands with a big rag, slipped it into his immense leather apron that shone with fat, and seized the pin. The kitchen boy, however rather plump, made a few hopping steps while readjusting his yellow jacket under his white apron. His red and attentive face adorned with a broad smile, as he inclined to greet the new-comers:
-« Good evening to you both, dear guests! What a pleasure to accomodate such distinguished visitors! Hobbegar Grubb, owner, at your service! Welcome at the Drunken Goose. Master Gandalf, what can I do for your convenience? You would certainly wish for rooms, but you are already installed in your favorite attic, I guess? And then anything for supper? This way please…»
Gerry's surprise was even with his rapture: the landlord was a Hobbit. Rather tall for one of the little folk, he enjoyed a cook's plumpness and showed a jovial good-natured cordiality. The young Took immediately felt home. The uneasiness he had experienced before entering disappeared immediately. The Hobbit, "of a mature stature" like is said near Frogmorton, led them to a table in the center of the room, in plain sight for anyone. He wiped it clean and laid out a high stool for Gerry and an armchair for Gandalf.
There were gathered two dozen people, mainly men. Peasants and poor twisted wretches were talking placidly with craftsmen, recognizable by the tools hanging at their belt. Most wore farmers or labourers clothings, adapted to work of this time of the year: trousers under a gown, sometimes wooden clogs, a thick decorated tunic, the hood of which was taken back for now. A bunch of townsmen wore dresses, sober by the colors but elaborate by the cut, faded but neat. Most stood heating in front of the hearth, conversing and clutching their beer pitchers. Worthy and cordial, all obviously lived in the village or its immediate surroundings and could not help staring at the Hobbit duet. Gandalf however did not lose his composure:
« Would you please fetch lamb, cheese, a loaf, and… do you still have this wonder you served the last time I came, master Hobegar?
Do you mean my wife and cooker's great speciality, her famous cabbage soup? This is your lucky day, Master Gandalf!
The wizard rocked in his armchair and took his hat off.
« Here you will feel just like in your old family smial, Gerry. Oh, Master Hobegar, please do not forget a beer pitcher for my young friend and a little wine for me! »
The landlord inclined and went in the kitchen where he seemed to parley lengthily, then went back to his business behind his counter, laid on three beer barrels.
A little further away, three Dwarves ate silently - which is without pronouncing any word, but the ustensils, their chewing and their swallowing, without forgetting their belches of satisfaction, made as much noise as a forging mill in full activity! Their richly coloured clothings, the redbrown leather of their belts and boots, the gloss of the weapons pointing out large bags resting at their side, contrasted with the modesty of the inn. On the other side, face-to-face at an isolated table, the two men from the entry, cloaked and equipped in an almost similar way of soiled dark green tunics, soberly ate the dishes which seemed to await them when they returned to sit at their table. They argued with each other with a low voice, the biggest sending from time to time a glance that seemed like a warning to Gerry. The slob came to understand that our Hobbit, who was no longer a child, could well be more than he had thought, as he was protected by a wizard... At last a wretch, sat at a poorly lit table at the bottom of the room, swallowed great gulps of soup while soaking his bread.
But the crowdy and cordial environment dissipated the Hobbit's fears and diverted him from the unsavoury man. When the owner brought to the travellers a board covered with juicy lamb slices, Gerry rose and indulged with the rite of Hobbits formal presentations. Under the amused looks of Gandalf, the two Hobbits, upright face to face, exchanged the customary civilities and courtesies with many bows:
- « Hobbegar Grubb, from the good town of Thalion, I am here to serve you!
- Gerontius Took, from Tuckburoughs, at your service!
- I took the liberty to heat some flageolets to complement your lamb: my wife cooked them this midday.
- Thanks a thousand times for this, to your wife and yourself. May I ask you whether you are related to the Grubb from Grubburrow? We are second cousins by my mother's third sister, who married Guilhob Grubb, one of the great-grandsons of the famous OldGrubb. It is him who changed his name when he arrived in West Farthing.
- See how funny this is! My mother was always uncertain about her grandfather's origin! Because he never left any written act bearing his name's spelling. But I must tell you first that I bear my mother's name because my father had to dissimulate his. Here how it happened, etc. »
Gerry served himself flageolets, ate and re-served himself liberally from the tureen and the board of sliced leg, while continuing the conversation. Gandalf had to impose himself to collect his part, but did not manage to meddle in the verbal exchange. The locals made circle around the travellers table; even the Dwarves stopped to observe this peculiar genealogical chat. The two foreigners remained in private conversation, while shaking their darkskin faces and smoothing their brown moustache. The two Hobbits talking slowly slipped toward the actions of South Farthing, without them showing the least sign of disinterest or tiredness. When the landlord showed curious about Gerry's presence away from the Shire, Gandalf interposed:
-« I usually answer those who ask for the reason why of my tos and fros: That I well know what I flee, but not what I seek.3 »
The Hobbit understood that he had better avoid too precise a reason, and mumbled a vague matrimonial disagreement.
The big cook with a leather apron brought the remainder of the supper. A chorus of praises welcomed the cabbage soup, which had a great success. The cooker, Mrs Grubb, a solid but still fresh Hobbit-Woman, was eager to meet the travellers and particularly the young Mr. Took. She made an appearance for the second soup recall, then slipped away to clean up her kitchen. One of the locals, a solid and pale arched herdsman, asked for news from Bree and the north. Gandalf, first satisfying his curiosity, afterwards led the conversation to the local news.
The Dwarves, once stuffed, were enlisted to tell the assembly about news from Dunland. The Hillmen were somewhat agitated, denoucing former trade agreements with the Dwarves. The fact is these two people had always been at daggers drawn about the usufruct of various mines. Old resentments sometimes re-appeared suddenly. In any case such was not the disagreement which opposed them now, since the people of Dùrin4 forged their weapons, almost only from the ore extracted by the hillmen. It was quite rare now that subtle craft would be required from them, such as repairing some old jewel. Thus the Dwarves concern concentrated now on the opportunity of other outlets for trade of tools and weapons along the greenway. But these business attempts had not revealed very profitable until now. The Dwarves also reported dark events from beyond the Misty Mountains, the wilderness where dragons commited bloody atrocities. The assembly did not openly laugh at such twaddles, but all the same listened to these accounts with some discreet smiles, under the sharp-edged and sagacious glance of the wizard.
The travellers enjoyed their evening at the sign of the Drunken Goose, in spite of Gerry's anguishes, he had driven back for now. A dyer from the area, who "had his letters" and kept the memory of small local legends, told a tale of a remote time. It was about an old dowager, great-aunt of the King of Cardolan of that time, who had found no husband worthy of her and dwelt in Thalion castle, seldom visited by her nephew's court. On a winter's evening, during which loneliness had ached more than usually, a landless knight happened to ride this way and ask for hospitality. These were happier times: the rider, who hold high his gray hair and hunting spear, was welcomed with great fanfare. His company was so pleasant to the dowager at supper-time, that before the end of the evening, the rarest bottles had been emptied. The knight pitched on his chair while trying to preserve his noble capacity, while the sweating dowager got rid of her veils to reveal a neck she believed charming but that was way too long and slender. After the meal, the poor old lady, whose faded charms had hardly touched the gentleman's heart, showed at her balcony, in hopes of a romantic night serenade. But the knight whirred in his room, while the dowager took cold and was to confine to bed. The following day the surroundings were taunting the unfortunate drunken goose exposed on her balcony by a winter evening. The popular belief in Thalion assures this is the origin of the name of the first inn, that later opened on town square. Obviously this name was used again when the aforementioned inn was transferred into the deserted and ruined castle, years later.
The quaint tale and the colourful art of the storyteller delighted the visitors. The assembly rustled with news and gossip, to which Gerry gave only half his attention, contrary to Gandalf who did not lose a bit of it. Mrs. Grubb joined the company at the end of the service. She found young Mr. Took neat and proper, as she had expected, and asked, to please him and her guests, if he would sing some new tune from Tuckborough. The young Hobbit, whom his third beer had completely freed from his prejudices against this remote, obscure and outdated village, sang a joke of his own on a well-known tune.
It was raining and winding
On the trail to the village
Kitty was trotting
While weeping he said :
Refrain : « Would you give, Oh please
Give me a bowl of milk creaming
To dip my little muzzle in
A big bowl of milk steaming »
Goupil the elder fox
Wandering around asked
"What about a duck steak ?
I have got one in that box ! »
Refrain
Little Kitty, small pretty cat
Good milk I have not
But follow me so that
I show where you can find a pot
Refrain
Sly Goupil in the wood
Lets kitten alone for good
Near a homely cot
Meowed the poor little cat
Refrain
Good old Father Appelstraw
When petty Kitty saw
Said : « how dare you bad! »
But finaly kept petty lad.
The assistance applauded, and particularly Mrs. Grubb, whose mother's instincts had been awoken by Gerry's cat-like mimicry! Gandalf could not prevent the Hobbit cock from bragging and acting the fool. After several ditties in the same vein which made him thirsty, Gerry, encouraged with success, was prancing on a table, a pint of beer in his hand. He was singing drinking tunes, the refrains of which the assembly core sang along. The Dwarves, overheated by drink and taken away by the merry athmosphere, supported each other not to roll to the ground and beat the rhythm - more or less - with their boots. The two foreigners themselves, a pint in hand, had mixed with the company, their face jeering, their glances alert and their moustache full of foam.
But Gerry's euphoria kept him beyond any threat. The Hobbit achieved ovation after success. He engaged in a rather saucy lovesong that he mimed with an accomplished talent. At the moment Beauty was indulging in a romantic kiss with the Hero, Gerry, leaning to her imaginary lips and handicapped by his plenty of beer, rocked and winded up flat on his bottom on the floor. The assistance burst in a unanimous laughter. Gandalf gazed at him with exasperation, while Mrs Grubb motherly and compassionately winked at him.
The Hobbit, confusingly feeling guilt, tried to collect his thoughts and his scattered belongings, when he realized the liability letter and the leaves-cutter ring had slipped out of his bracket when he fell. Nervously, he surreptitiously searched under the satin of his waistcoat to position it back but he perceived an intense inquisition in the foreigner's dark glance, just opposite him. The slob's crimson face betrayed renewed attention: obviously, this young lad held important documents and valuable items...
Meanwhile Gerry took this interest for an irrefutable proof that this man pursued him by the order of master Hornblower, about this ill-gotten leaves-cutter ring. Feeling caught, his mind, numbed by beer, was subjugated by the threatening presence of the large man. His heavy head, cluttered with all his little untrue oaths, his coward's abandonments, his guilty escapes and other petty larcenies, he reddened in front of all the company, but he felt alone under the accusing stranger's gaze. The tall man, with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, played with the guard of a short sword hanging at his black leather belt. Dùring several seconds Gerry underwent the influence of this relentless glance, without being able to move.
Feeling a numbed mouth and an awkward hand, the Hobbit arranged the letter and the ring in the silk bracket of his waistcoat. He could at last shake and get up, but his gait was unsteady. The foreigner stepped back, his traits bearing a hardly contained concupiscence. Gandalf well realized that the Hobbit was subjugated, but he blamed this stupefied air on beer. He considered better to claim for the Hobbit's tiredness. He dragged away a piteous, thoughtless and ravaged Gerry. He cordially saluted the company, which greeted them back with ironic smiles, and followed the owner, who preceded them to second floor with a lantern.
X-X-X
The cock had sung for a few hours when Gerry raised a heavy eyelid. The hunger alone had drawn him from the brewery limbo. As a veteran of mornings after reunions and rejoicings, he prudently probed the other side of the bed, without finding there the usual soft compromising presence. He was astonished by that. The distant and strange ceiling drew his attention: large oaken beams covered with a network of planks which themselves supported tiles. This incongruity completed to awake him - a Big Folk roof! -, then memory flooded back to him. Feeling a thick and awkward tongue, he washed a bit in the room's basin. His spirit somehow cleared, he realized that Gandalf was nowere to be seen any more. For a moment, a frivolous hope of escape rose above the certainty of unpleasant complications, before being firmly driven out and surviving in his subconscious. On the pedestal table the Hobbit found a letter on behalf of the wizard, written in his firm but elegant hand:
« My dear Gerry,
You already have the bill that your father had entrusted to me. That will enable you to acquire what appears to be missing for our tour. Choose - for two please - covers, fabrics and small items of linen, just as shovels, cords, lighter, lamps, etc. Could you also provide for food for eight days - waybread, salted meat and dry fruits?
I shall join you in the evening after an errand that cannot wait. By then I entreat you not to give to anyone the opportunity to harm you. Moreover I beg you to accept as your own brother and sister, the Hobbit couple who accomodated us and who always treat me with great kindness.
Gandalf
P.S. – You may trust the old Finran, the farrier and blacksmith; The other tradesmen are not known to me.
P.P.S – The reputation of your family will give you credit but will cause covetousness. You show cautious!
P.P.S.S –Big Folk, unlike Hobbits of the Shire, show very variable mood and morality. You hold quiet and do not draw the attention! Remember that it is not enough to have wits. It is still necessary to have enough, in order to avoid having too much.5
G.»
The Hobbit did not appreciate the tone of the letter: this paternalist condescension seemed to him to exceed the role of adviser he had begun to accept from the wizard. Eager to take advantage of Gandalf's reckless absence, he joined the courtyard of the inn. But the wooden steps descent reminded him of the unpleasant encounter the day before and at the same time gave him back a little common sense. Perhaps the wizard submitted him to a test, to evaluate his docility? He should play this tight and not flee headlong ...
Any threat from dark strangers had for the time vanished under the pale sun that greeted him on the steps. Then he discovered what the previous day's beating rain had hidden from him: indeed the inn was built in the enclosure of an old Big Folk castle, it filled a whole wing of which, in addition to the ground floor and the only remaining second floor of the keep. The wing facing the door of the large hall had partly collapsed: a breach in the enclosure had been filled with awkwardness to protect the yard. The art of old had unfortunately been lost… Immediately on the right of the breach a farrier held his shop, announced by the merry tinklings of a forging mill. Opposite the entry vault, a baker was finishing laying out her husband's morning batch, and scolded some kids. One of them fled with some brioches stolen from the stall, by a small postern next to the shop. Finally on the last wing, in the extension from the keep, the old apartments of the manor lords, transformed into warehouses, sheltered the bales of hay, the salting barrels and the seeds stores of the small community.
At the center of the yard, that measured about half an acre, Mrs Grubb was crunching on the crank of a well. As she indulged him with a smirk but a lenient glance, Gerry gallantly took her place for this heavy labour. He filled the bucket with clean water and brought it in the kitchen. As a reward for his gentleHobbit elegance he was entitled with a copious lunch.
As he expressed his astonishment to find Hobbits apart from the Shire, the cooker, while preparing his omelette, told him the vexations her husband had experienced, how he was driven out of his place, without the support of his family who recognized him as a robber. That was old history, now Hobbegar was respected, but he had had to work a dozen years to refund for the litigation, and never again he would agree to return in the Shire.
As far as Mrs Grubb was concerned, she had experienced rejection and loneliness. After her parents' death in a smial collapse in Scarry, she was left all alone, too old to be placed with her remote poor family, and not yet "in her majority". She worked at the inn of the crossbows bridge, and met a young Hobbit. He said he came from Bree-land, but was only a wanderer from outside the borders. Forced to leave Buckland with her very young son, she tried to find her seducer in Bree, but he was known there only for his larcenies. She ended up at Thalion, where the master farrier and once landlord, Finran, took her in. Thanks to him she met Hobbegar who married her and the couple dealt with the inn of Thalion.
Never had Gerry been confronted with the injustices of the Hobbit society that usually maintained strong family bonds. The Shire quite simply expelled the undesirable elements. He promised himself to be concerned by the unfortunate in the Shire, when he would be Thain, but he immediately had to face the obvious: he could right now achieve what lay within his immediate capacity, and stop compromising these young Hobbit-girls who were nothing to him. He sincerely felt sorry for Evarista Grubb, who did not hide that she had married by convenience.
Somewhat disturbed by this straightforward and intimate revelation, Gerry behaved as a gentle-Hobbit and enquired of her children, particularly of the son she had brought with her. The small Hobbit had been taken on as a cooper's apprentice near Brandy-Hall, but still no child had blessed the union of Evarista and Hobbegar. Deeply moved, Gerry wished her luck and gave her support, asserting awkwardly that "Life sometimes hides dormant where it seems to have given up", and changed subject abruptly.
Mrs Grub, tearful but grateful for the traveller's attention, told him about the counters, where to change his liability letter: in addition to Hobbegar her husband, only an itinerant usurer, who was precisely downtown today, was able to provide him with "coins of the king". Gerry proved tactful not to consult the usurer. He yielded his letter to Master Grub, who granted to him the exceptional rate of on per twenty of interest. It is true that already at that time, an acknowledgement of debt from the Thain of the Shire was indisputable. Gerry, as a prudent trader, borrowed an old jacket from Mr. Grubb and passed it over his silk waistcoat.
1 « L'arbre mort fait encore une bonne charpente. » Paul Claudel
2 Imperial unit length of 6 feet.
3 Michel de Montaigne
4 Dùrin is the father of the house of the Longbeards and the elder of the seven Dwarven tribe fathers.
5 André Maurois