The Fellowship of the Ring - J. R. R. Tolkien [105]
‘Well?’ said Strider, when he reappeared. ‘Why did you do that? Worse than anything your friends could have said! You have put your foot in it! Or should I say your finger?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Frodo, annoyed and alarmed.
‘Oh yes, you do,’ answered Strider; ‘but we had better wait until the uproar has died down. Then, if you please, Mr. Baggins, I should like a quiet word with you.’
‘What about?’ asked Frodo, ignoring the sudden use of his proper name.
‘A matter of some importance – to us both,’ answered
Strider, looking Frodo in the eye. ‘You may hear something to your advantage.’
‘Very well,’ said Frodo, trying to appear unconcerned. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’
Meanwhile an argument was going on by the fireplace. Mr. Butterbur had come trotting in, and he was now trying to listen to several conflicting accounts of the event at the same time.
‘I saw him, Mr. Butterbur,’ said a hobbit; ‘or leastways I didn’t see him, if you take my meaning. He just vanished into thin air, in a manner of speaking.’
‘You don’t say, Mr. Mugwort!’ said the landlord, looking puzzled.
‘Yes I do!’ replied Mugwort. ‘And I mean what I say, what’s more.’
‘There’s some mistake somewhere,’ said Butterbur, shaking his head. ‘There was too much of that Mr. Underhill to go vanishing into thin air; or into thick air, as is more likely in this room.’
‘Well, where is he now?’ cried several voices.
‘How should I know? He’s welcome to go where he will, so long as he pays in the morning. There’s Mr. Took, now: he’s not vanished.’
‘Well, I saw what I saw, and I saw what I didn’t,’ said Mugwort obstinately.
‘And I say there’s some mistake,’ repeated Butterbur, picking up the tray and gathering up the broken crockery.
‘Of course there’s a mistake!’ said Frodo. ‘I haven’t vanished. Here I am! I’ve just been having a few words with Strider in the corner.’
He came forward into the firelight; but most of the company backed away, even more perturbed than before. They were not in the least satisfied by his explanation that he had crawled away quickly under the tables after he had fallen. Most of the Hobbits and the Men of Bree went off then and there in a huff, having no fancy for further entertainment that evening. One or two gave Frodo a black look and departed muttering among themselves. The Dwarves and the two or three strange Men that still remained got up and said good night to the landlord, but not to Frodo and his friends. Before long no one was left but Strider, who sat on, unnoticed, by the wall.
Mr. Butterbur did not seem much put out. He reckoned, very probably, that his house would be full again on many future nights, until the present mystery had been thoroughly discussed. ‘Now what have you been doing, Mr. Underhill?’ he asked. ‘Frightening my customers and breaking up my crocks with your acrobatics!’
‘I am very sorry to have caused any trouble,’ said Frodo. ‘It was quite unintentional, I assure you. A most unfortunate accident.’
‘All right, Mr. Underhill! But if you’re going to do any more tumbling, or conjuring, or whatever it was, you’d best warn folk beforehand – and warn me. We’re a bit suspicious round here of anything out of the way – uncanny, if you understand me; and we don’t take to it all of a sudden.’
‘I shan’t be doing anything of the sort again, Mr. Butterbur, I promise you. And now I think I’ll be getting to bed. We shall be making an early start. Will you see that our ponies are ready by eight o’clock?’
‘Very good! But before you go, I should