Party Hangovers in Hobbiton by MirienSilowende

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Party Hangovers in Hobbiton

 

 

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Party Hangovers in Hobbiton

 

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I’d like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” 

 

The Green Dragon was packed that evening, with Hobbits draped and squeezed into every chair, onto every bench, perch and settle and one or two were even leaning in through the open windows. Thankfully the evenings were still warm in September so nobody minded. They simply poked their curly heads in to listen to the conversations and rested their tankards on the windowsills. It seemed like every Hobbit in Hobbiton had come to discuss the subject of Mister Bilbo Baggins, Esq. Only two nights before the Party had happened, and the news had spread far and wide ever since. 

Tonight there were two items on the Shire agenda: One was the Disappearance which had mystified even the smartest minds for the last two days. The other was the Speech. They had gone over the minutiae of that Speech for hours but not a one could fathom out what he meant by it. 

The Proudfoots were huddled together near the door over tankards of stout, their faces as dark as their ales. “It ain’t right, Pa,” Odo said. “I don’t know what he meant but I don’t think he meant good by it! He meant to insult us. Mark my words.” And he nodded seriously as he grasped the handle of his tankard with his big hands. His father snorted. “Bilbo Baggins has always been too big for his boots, Son. I’m not surprised in the least by all this insulting going on. Now, tell me again. What did he say?” 

Odo screwed up his face as he tried to remember. Ponto Brownlock, who had been listening in from just behind them, leaned familiarly on Odo’s shoulder. “He said, I don’t know half of you, half as well as I’d like. That’s an insult, isn’t it!” 

Bodo Proudfoot repeated the words silently, his mouth moving as he recited them. “Half of you… he don’t know half of you… half as well… Naw that’s a compliment you big oaf,” he laughed. “Half of you, he wants to know better, see?” 

Odo and Ponto looked doubtfully at each other. “But which half are we, Pa?” Odo said. Ponto nodded dutifully. “Yes, which half are we?” 

“Which half? What are you blathering about? You’re a whole, a Hobbit, like, you woolly-pated rascal. Have you had too much ale?” 

“No, Pa!” they both chorused. “Are we the half he wants to know better, or the half he doesn’t!” 

“Oh, hmm,” he said, and he scratched his beard in confusion. “Oh, hmm,” he said again and he reached for his stout, taking a long pull. He paused, wiping his mouth. “Well, you’re the good half, I reckon,” he said at last. “You have to be, because I’m wed to Bilbo’s Aunt Linda. How can he consider us to be the bad half? He wants to know you better. You’re the good half. Aye.” 

“So who’s the bad half?” interjected Nibs Cotton, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation. They all turned to look at him and he got even redder, clutching his drink. “Well if you’re the good half, then there has to be a bad half that he doesn’t want to know. Who be they then?” 

“He has a point,” rumbled Old Bodo as he sat back in his seat. “I have a theory about that, but I don’t like to speak ill of my relatives, like. You’ll have to just speculate a while.” 

“Well I think he was insulting us,” continued Odo, getting back into his stride now he had an audience. “What else did he say? I don’t know half of you half as well as I’d like, and what then? What was it?” He looked over at his father and he shrugged, a great motion that made his chins jiggle. “Don’t look at me, lad, I was suffering with the gout that day and I didn’t even go!” 

Milo Burrows leaned over conspiratorially from the next table, his pipe hanging from his mouth. He was red in the face, having an evening with his friends instead of putting little Minto to bed. He was making the most of it. “Well,” he slurred slightly then hiccupped. “He said, did Mr Bilbo…” 

“Well?” came the reply from six impatient Hobbits. “What did he say?” 

Milo blinked owlishly. “He said, I like half of you… half as well as you deserve. Is that an insult?” 

The Hobbits picked up their drinks in unison, chewing over the phrase. This time it was Olo, Odo’s son, who spoke first. “That’s got to be an insult. No, a compliment,” he hastily corrected.

His family peered at him and Milo leaned so far he almost fell off the bench. “Which one is it?” they said. 

“Well, it’s a compliment,” he said cautiously. “He likes us half as well as we deserve. So we deserve twice as much, see?” 

They did not see. A mutinous silence fell on the table. Olo grimaced as he tried to work it out. “Look, imagine you go to Madame Bolger’s bakery. And you buy two cakes. If she says that’s half as much as you deserve, that means you deserve four cakes, right?” 

This logic seemed to work, and their faces brightened up at the idea of cake. “We deserve four cakes. Right!” 

“So, Bilbo thinks we deserve that,” he finished lamely. 

“Cake?” asked Old Bodo in confusion. “No, Grandpa,” Olo retorted. “He means we deserve more, like. Like.” He picked his tankard up again quickly, hiding his face in it. “And I deserve more drink!” he said hastily, raising his arm up in the air. The barmaid bustled past, taking it from his hands to refill it. A little abashed, he lowered his hand and looked around. They were staring at him. 

“But what about the less than half bit?” asked his father, Odo. “What if we’re the less than half?” 

“But that’s the good bit, right, Odo,” answered Nibs. “I like less than half of you, half as well as you deserve. You want to be in the less than half bit!” 

Odo blinked. “Right,” he said. “Well whichever bit we’re in, we’re in that. Right?” 

“Right,” they agreed. 

“But who’s in the more than half?” wondered Milo, still leaning towards the table. “Who didn’t deserve to be liked?” 

The Hobbits on Milo’s table were listening now and Fredegar Bolger laughed stoutly. “Who doesn’t deserve to be liked? Well I can tell you that Master Bilbo didn’t like his cousins, Lobelia and Otho. They’re definitely in the more than half!” 

His companions nodded and grunted in affirmation, having heard this story before. Odo hadn’t and he squinted over at Fatty Bolger for a moment. “How do you know, then?” 

He straightened up with pride. “Well, I’m best friends with Master Frodo, you know, and he tells me these things. But in any case I’ve seen it. Lobelia stamped up with a face like a slapped trout and Bilbo hid behind the umbrella stand!” 

The table roared with laughter and Old Bodo slapped his legs with his hands. “Oh that’s a good story, young Fatty,” he laughed. “That calls for another drink!” 

He gestured to the barmaid and then waved expansively to the tables. “Drinks all round, love,” he roared, “and one for your good self, too. Keep them coming!” 

He turned his chair carefully, the legs making a low screeching sound on the floor as he moved. “Well then,” he said. “If we have more than half that he didn’t like, as Master Bilbo himself said, why did he invite them to his party? Riddle me that, Master Fatty!” 

Fatty looked stumped. His eyes fidgeted from Bodo to his companions and back again. “Well,” he ventured cautiously. “You know what they say. You can pick your friends but you sure can’t pick your family!” 

“Ha!” roared Old Bodo again, turning puce as he laughed. His face jiggled with merriment. Tears of laughter rolled down his face. “Well I can safely say that you’re in the less than half Fatty. You’re definitely one to be liked. You can’t pick your family!” 

The drinks came then, tankards clinking as they landed on the table. Bodo gestured to them. “Come on, sup up now lads. Lets have one for the road, eh! Now, lets not have more talk about Master Bilbo and his compliments. We’re all in the good half and that’s all to be said for it.” He turned back to Milo who was squinting blankly at his new drink. “How’s that wee lad of yours, Milo? What’s his name? Minty? Pinto?” 

Milo looked up. “Minto,” he said. “We named him after Peony’s great-Uncle on her mother’s side.” 

“Ah, lovely, lovely,” Old Bodo said. “And you’re out for a night instead of being tied to your wife’s apron-strings. Quite right. Quite right. Lets have another! Barmaid!” 

Milo blinked owlishly and smiled, feeling faintly green around the gills. But the party was not yet over in The Green Dragon. They all sat and drank and sang until the Sun started to rise faintly over Hobbiton again.