Sam, meanwhile, had gone to join Robin Smallburrows once he saw the sherriff seated with Tom and Nibs Cotton. He'd hoped to find Robin here tonight. Robin, like the handful of other sherriffs who were assigned to Hobbiton and Bywater, had an established set of rounds to visit in the towns and at the neighboring houses and farms to see that all was well. Since Robin's rounds ended here at the Green Dragon, he usually stopped for a half-pint or two after he'd finished his duties. It was not remarkable to see him sitting at his favorite table near the end of the bar at this time of the evening.
"Mind if I sit with you lads?" Sam asked.
"Not at all!" In fact, Robin looked quite happy to see him, and pushed out the last empty chair at the table for Sam to sit down. "I thought you was angry with me, Sam. I'm awful sorry I had to come asking questions after Mr. Baggins this morning."
"No hard feelings," Sam replied. If he wanted Robin to tell him anything useful, he couldn't hold a grudge; he needed the sherriff's goodwill and friendship. "You were only doing your duty, as Mr. Frodo said himself. But, look here, Robin--that's just why I've come to speak to you." Sam made no pretense about what he was after. "I mean to be a help to Mr. Frodo. I won't have people going around saying things about him." He frowned seriously, quashing any smiles that might have appeared on his friends' faces. His older brothers and the Cotton boys had teased him about his earnest devotion to his pretty gentleman even before he and Frodo had ever left the Shire, long before there was anything to tease him about. "There won't be any gossip about how he made away with Mr. Lotho."
"You needn't worry for your Mr. Frodo, Sam," Robin assured him. "He's under no suspicion, except by Mrs. Sackville-Baggins. She came around to see the Chief Shirriff this afternoon and wanted to know why we hadn't arrested Mr. Frodo--and she was told there's nothing against him. Plenty of folk saw Mr. Lotho around Hobbiton after your quarrel. That shut her up and sent her off, but I expect she'll be back soon enough if we don't find her son."
Sam was relieved to hear this. "What d'you think happened to him?"
"I'll tell you this much--From what we hear, Mr. Lotho's taken trips away before. Sometimes he's gone for days. Now, it's usual he writes his mother, and this time she's had no word from him."
"Where does he go?"
Robin shook his head. "That, we haven't learned yet, but I'll wager that's where he is now." He leaned over the table toward Sam to impart confidential information. "Besides, Mr. Frodo's not the only one Lotho Sackville-Baggins had a quarrel with lately. Why, the Cottons was just telling me how he'd been behaving himself most ungentleman-like here right at the Dragon that same Trewsday night."
The Cottons both nodded in confirmation. "He must've had more ale'n was good for him, and got into a fight with Mr. Aladell Whitfoot," Tom told Sam, and inclined his head in the direction of the table at the other end of the room, where Lad was sitting with Merry, Pippin, and Milo.
"A fight?" asked Sam.
"They'd've come to blows if we hadn't pulled 'em apart," said Nibs. "Mr. Lad was sitting down at that same table, when Mr. Lotho came over to him. They was talking too softly to be heard, but Mr. Lad must've said something that Mr. Lotho couldn't take--not meaning to, I would guess by the look of him. He was surprised as anybody else-"
"But suddenly Mr. Lotho started shouting," Tom added excitedly, wanting to tell his share of the tale as well.
"He was banging on the table-" Nibs interjected.
"-and when he started climbing over it to get at Mr. Lad, we went to put a stop to things," Tom finished for his brother. "Can't have folk, even those from the fine families, turning our Dragon into a brawling-house where you can't have a sip of ale in peace, or want to see your sister serving at."
"Mr. Lotho stormed out after that," Nibs concluded. "He said the days when folk called him 'Pimple' was over with."
"If you ask me, it looks like he was picking arguments with everybody who'd ever crossed him," said Robin.
"That must be half o' Hobbiton!" Tom laughed.
"He's been quarreling with Mr. Milo Burrows and his Missus," Robin went on, "and he's argued with Ted Sandyman over some business at the mill. Mr. Lotho said Ted had cheated him, and he threatened revenge. He had hard words with the Proudfoots awhile ago, with Old Mr. Odo and his grandson Sancho over a prank of the lad's."
"He's has some words with your dad too," Nibs added, "for sticking up for Mr. Frodo when you were away, and not giving over the keys to Bag End. You know Mr. Lotho never forgave or forgot that."
Sam did know it, but he hadn't known that Lotho was continuing to bother his father about it all these months later.
"I suppose he figured that if he and his mum were in the house when Mr. Frodo returned, they wouldn't have to give it back," said Tom.
The trio's mugs were empty. Although he hadn't finished his own ale, Sam offered to fetch the next round. It was only decent to pay for the information he'd been given. He headed for the bar, but hesitated when he saw that Rosie, Tom's and Nibs' sister, was now tending the taps. She hadn't been there when he'd come in, and he'd hoped she would not be working at the Dragon this evening. He always felt shy and awkward whenever he had to speak to her. He'd never made any promises to her--never once spoken to her as a suitor--but somehow he couldn't help feeling that by choosing to stay with Frodo, he had done her a wrong.
Summoning his nerve, he stepped forward. "Four halves, please," he said, and put the pennies down on the bar.
Rosie scooped up the coins, popped them into her apron pocket, and turned to the huge kegs stacked against the back wall. "We don't see you as much as we used to, Sam Gamgee," she said while she filled the mugs. "Even since you come home from your adventures. The lads missed you, and so did I."
"I've got other things to do these days," Sam answered gruffly, at once apologetic and defensive. "I can't spend my time sitting 'round the Green Dragon anymore."
Rosie nodded. "How's Mr. Frodo? I've heard tell he's been sick abed."
"That's right, and I've got to look after 'm. I'd be there now, only..." He turned to look at his friends at the table, waiting for their ales. He told himself that what he was doing tonight was looking after Frodo--protecting his good name, which was just as important as seeing that Frodo kept warm, well-fed, and rested. Nevertheless, he felt a sudden yearning to return home right away. He'd gotten enough news to take back to Frodo for one night.
"Maybe we'll see more of you once he's well again?" Rosie said hopefully as she set the mugs down on the bar.
"Maybe," Sam mumbled. "Thanks, Rose." He gathered up the four mugs and took them over to the table to distribute to his friends, ignoring the teasing remarks from Tom and Nibs about how long he'd been in conversation with their sister.
Sam set the fourth mug down at the center of the table. "There," he said. "The first one to finish his mug can have that. I've got to be leaving."
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