What Filby meets the infamous Firobrus Clayhanger, his archnemesis. Who Filby Pott (#29680)..........himself Firobrus Clayhanger (#???)...himself, WhiteroseAs the sun makes its way slowly into the sky the Bridge Inn begins to come alive. Shirriffs come for a morning pick-me-up, locals walk in for a hearty breakfast, and guests waking up show for a spot of tea. One of these guests is Filby Pott who, having stayed the night at the inn, walks yawning down the stairs in the back for a warm plate of bacon and eggs. Nodding to the barmaid, Jacaranda Goodbody, the Pott sits down and waves a server over, giving the lad his order and sending him to tell the cook.
Firobrus and... who is that older hobbit lady? Well, they're both sitting at a table, their food already in front of them, talking. This could be some juicy gossip!
A few moments pass before the serving boy comes back to Filby with a bit of bacon and a nice plate of fried eggs, for which Filby eagerly pays. The old hobbit picks up a fork and, rather slobbishly, digs in. In a few minutes all that remains of the dish is the platter and a few scraps of fat.
The old lady shoots one small disdainful look at Filby, then goes back to her discussion with Firobrus. They appear to be talking about the Dryad business in Buckland.
Filby looks over to the old lady, snorting audibly. He calls over the serving boy again. "A cup of tea, no sugar or milk. Don't hurry, I have plenty of time." Glancing at Firobrus and his friend again he mumbles, "Queer Bucklanders and their baseless superstitions..."
Firobrus looks over at the snorter, but says nothing. This time, you catch specific words, "I'm on the case. It won't continue for long, not if I can help it. I'll catch the criminal, and I'll make them pay." He scoops up some bacon into his mouth.
"Bloody fools," Filby mutters to himself. "What's the matter, Clayhanger," the old curmudgeon shouts, "Scared of a little Dryad? You can keep your queer Buckland!" A few patrons look at the rude hobbit in surprise, though none of them say anything as he's so old and 'respectable'...
Firobrus quickly says, "Excuse me," to the hobbit lady, then proceeds to stand up and walks over to Filby's table. "What was that, good sir," he says as he takes a seat across from Filby, " I am not scared of a Dryad, for there is no Dryad."
Filby laughs. "And it took you this long to figure that out? Haw, haw, haw! Any hobbit with half a mind to him knows that there's no such thing!" The codger crosses his arms and smirks smugly.
Firobrus nods, "I bet it took you a long while to realize it, Mr. Pott. I knew as soon as I heard the news that it wasn't a Dryad, but would people listen? No."
"Oh, and how do you know this, Clayhanger?" Filby sticks his nose into the air at Firobrus. "For your information --I-- don't believe in such foolish superstitions and fairy tales!" The Pott sits up, arms folded confidently, his nose pointing straight up.
Firobrus nods, "I suppose you don't, not having an imagination. I don't either, but I happen to have an imagination. Oh well, some people are just beyond hope." He shrugs and stands up, walking back towards his table, to the lady, both of them grinning, though you can't see Firobrus's smile, his back being turned toward you.
Filby looks after Firobrus as he walks back to his table and shouts, "Imagination? Who needs imagination when you're rich, FILTHY RICH!!!" He crosses his arms again and sits confidently in his seat.
The lady's turn to speak has come, and she takes full advantage of it as Firobrus sits down, "You're right on both counts, filthy and rich. When was the last time you took a bath, sir,"she asks, pretending to smell something terrible. The lady and Firobrus finish their breakfast, and stand to leave.
Filby calls out after Firobrus, "Well at least --I-- can... oh never mind, it's not worth it..."