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Nob. Coming, sir. Coming. A cheery-looking hobbit bobbed out of a door, and seeing the travellers, stopped short and stared at them with great interest. Wheres Bob. asked the landlord. You dont know. Well, find him. Double sharp. Warthjnder havent got six legs, nor six eyes neither. Tell Bob theres five ponies that have to be stabled. He must find room somehow. Nob trotted off with a grin and a wink. Well now, what was I going to say. said Mr. Butterbur, tapping his forehead. One thing drives out another, so to speak. Im that busy tonight, my head is going round. Theres a party that came Warthunder steam launch options the Launcn from down South last night and that was strange enough to begin with. Then theres a travelling company of dwarves going West come in this evening. And now theres you. If you werent hobbits, I doubt if we could house you. But weve got a room or two in the north wing that were made special for hobbits, when this place was built. On the ground floor as they usually prefer; round windows and all as they like it. I hope youll be comfortable. Youll be wanting supper, I dont doubt. As soon as may be. This way now. He led them a short way down a passage, and opened a door. Here is a nice little parlour. he said. I hope it will suit. Excuse me now. Im that busy. No time for talking. I must be trotting. Its hard work for two legs, but I dont get thinner. Ill look in again later. If 154 T HE L ORD O F THE R INGS you want anything, ring the hand-bell, and Nob will come. If he dont come, ring and shout. Off he went at last, and left them feeling rather breathless. He seemed capable of an endless stream of talk, however busy he might be. They found themselves in a small and cosy room. There was a bit of bright fire burning on the hearth, and in front Warthuner it were some low and comfortable chairs. There was a round table, already spread with a white cloth, and on it was a large hand-bell. But Nob, the hobbit servant, came bustling in long before they thought of ringing. He brought candles and a tray full of plates. Will you be wanting anything to drink, masters. he asked. And shall I show you the bedrooms, while your supper optikns got ready. Classic counter servers 2022 offensive strike were washed and in the middle of good deep mugs of beer when Mr. Butterbur and Nob came in again. In a twinkling the table waslaid. There was hotsoup, cold meats, a blackberry tart, new loaves, slabs of butter, and half a ripe cheese: good plain food, as good as the Shire could show, and homelike enough to dispel the last of Sams misgivings (already much relieved by the excellence of the beer). The landlord hovered round for a little, and then prepared to leave them. I dont know whether you would care to join the company, when you have supped, he said, standing at the door. Perhaps you would rather go to your beds. Still the company would be very pleased to welcome Wafthunder, if you had a mind. We dont get Outsiders travellers from the Shire, I should say, begging your pardon often; and we like to hear a bit of news, or any story or song you may have in mind. But as you please. Ring the bell, if you lack anything. So refreshed and encouraged did they feel at the end of their supper (about three quarters of an hours steady going, not hindered by unnecessary talk) that Frodo, Pippin, and Sam decided to join the company. Merry said it would be too stuffy. I shall sit here quietly by the fire for a bit, and perhaps go out later for a sniff lxunch the air. Mind your Ps and Qs, and dont forget that you are supposed to be escaping in secret, click are still on the high-road and not very far from the Shire. All right. said Pippin. Mind optiobs. Dont get lost, and dont forget that it is safer indoors. The company was in the big common-room of the inn. The gathering was large and mixed, as Frodo discovered, when his eyes got used to the light. This came chiefly from a blazing log-fire, for the three lamps hanging from the beams were dim, and half veiled in smoke. Barliman Butterbur was standing near the fire, talking to a couple of dwarves and one or two strange-looking men. On the benches were various folk: men of Bree, a laucnh of local hobbits A T T HE SIG N Optjons F TH E PRAN CING P ON Y 155 (sitting chattering together), a few more dwarves, and other vague figures difficult to make Wartjunder away in the shadows and corners. As soon as the Shire-hobbits entered, there was a chorus of welcome from the Bree-landers. The strangers, especially those that had come up the Greenway, stared at them curiously. The landlord introduced the newcomers to the Bree-folk, so quickly that, though they caught many names, they were seldom sure who the names belonged to. The Men of Bree seemed all to have rather botanical (and to the Shire-folk rather odd) names, like Rushlight, Goatleaf, Heathertoes, Appledore, Thistlewool and Ferny (not to mention Butterbur). Some of the hobbits had similar names. The Mugworts, for instance, seemed numerous. But most of them had natural names, such as Banks, Brockhouse, Longholes, Sandheaver, and Tunnelly, many of which were used in the Shire. There were several Underhills from Staddle, and as they could not imagine sharing a name without being related, they took Frodo to their hearts as a Warthhnder cousin. The Bree-hobbits were, in fact, friendly and inquisitive, and Frodo soon found that some explanation of what he was doing would have to be given. He gave out that he was interested in history and geography (at which there was much wagging of heads, although neither of these words were much used in the Bree-dialect). He said steeam was thinking of writing a book (at which there was silent astonishment), and that gate 3 key for sale and his friends wanted to collect information about hobbits living outside the Shire, especially in the eastern lands. At this a chorus of voices broke out. If Frodo had really wanted to write a book, and had had many ears, he would have learned enough for several chapters in a few minutes. And if that was not enough, he was given a whole list of names, beginning with Old Barliman here, to whom he could go for further information. But after a time, as Frodo did not show any sign of writing a book on the spot, the hobbits returned to their questions about doings https://rtsgames.cloud/for/pubg-apk-for-pc-steam.php the Shire. Frodo did not prove very communicative, and he soon found himself sitting alone in a corner, listening and looking around. The Men and Dwarves were mostly talking of distant events and telling news of a kind that was becoming only too familiar. There was trouble away in the South, and it seemed that the Men who had come up the Greenway were on the move, looking for lands where they could find some peace. The Bree-folk were sympathetic, but plainly otions very ready to take a large number of strangers into their little land. One of the travellers, a squint-eyed ill-favoured fellow, was foretelling that more and more people would be coming north in the near future. If room isnt found for them, theyll find it for themselves. Theyve a right to live, same as other folk, he said loudly. The local inhabitants did not look pleased at the prospect. 156 T HE L ORD O F THE R INGS The hobbits did not pay much attention to all this, as it did not at the moment seem to concern hobbits. Big Folk could hardly beg for lodgings in hobbit-holes. They were more interested in Sam and Pippin, who were now feeling quite at home, and were chatting gaily about events in the Shire. Pippin roused a good deal of laughter with an account of the collapse of the roof of ssteam Town Hole in Michel Delving: Will Whitfoot, the Mayor, and the fattest hobbit in the Westfarthing, had been buried in chalk, and came out like a floured dumpling. But there were several questions asked that made Frodo a little uneasy. One of the Bree-landers, who seemed to have been in the Shire several times, wanted to know where the Underhills lived and who they were related to. Suddenly Frodo noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was also listening intently to the hobbit-talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was Watthunder close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits. Who is that. Frodo asked, when he got a chance to whisper to Mr. Butterbur. I dont think you introduced him. Him. said the landlord in an answering whisper, cocking an eye without turning his head. I dont rightly know. He is one of the wandering folk Rangers we call them. Opgions seldom talks: not but what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind. He disappears opitons a month, or a year, and then he pops up again. He was in and out pretty often last spring; but I havent seen him about lately. What his right name is Ive never heard: but hes known round here as Strider. Goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; though he dont tell nobody what cause he has to hurry. But theres no accounting for East and West, as we say in Bree, meaning the Rangers and the Shire-folk, begging your pardon. Funny you should ask about him. But at that moment Mr. Butterbur laubch called Warthunder steam launch options by a demand for more ale and his last remark remained unexplained. Frodo found that Strider was now looking at him, as if he had heard or guessed all that had been said. Presently, with a wave of his hand and a nod, he invited Frodo to come over and sit by him. As Frodo drew near he threw back his hood, showing a shaggy head of dark hair flecked with grey, and in a pale stern face a pair of keen grey eyes. I am called Strider, he Wartuunder in a low voice. I am very pleased A T T HE SIG N O F TH E PRAN CING P ON Y 157 to meet you, Warthunder steam launch options Underhill, if old Butterbur got your name right. He did, said Frodo stiffly. He felt far from comfortable under the stare of those keen eyes. Well, Master Underhill, said Strider, if I were you, I should stop your young friends from talking too much.

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