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Fordogrim was overwhelmed by the enthusiastic response of the Inn’s patrons to his proposed contest. A flurry of feet carried an army of hands out into the yard and the mugs were soon being piled up upon the restored bar with such rapidity that he had no hope of keeping score. Oh dear, he began to worry, however am I going to decide who the winner is? Will I have to give a cask to each of the helpers? A quick count showed him that even this would be impossible.
A silence fell on the yard as the last of the mugs were placed upon the bar and all eyes turned to Fordogrim for his decision. A bird called in the distance and the sun shone down upon the crowd as though she too were expecting a free cask of ale. Fordogrim put on a brave face and stepped forward to meet the crowd. He held his chin up (the better to look into their faces) and with practised nonchalance began to address them. “My friends and customers!” he said. “There’s not words enough as can express my gratitude for your help, so as I like to say, when words fail let the beer do the speaking! Step up for your free sample of my wares!” But there was a chorus of voices from those who wanted to know who had won the mug stacking contest, and thus the free cask of beer. Fordogrim smacked his forehead with an apparent display of absent-mindedness. “Why, yes, of course the winner of the contest. Why it was a well-fought battle, and there’s no mistake – there wasn’t but a few of you who stacked a right amount of mugs. And to tell the truth, but it was such a race that I found it that hard to keep track of who it was who stacked the most.” A ripple of unhappy surprise – even some anger – went through the crowd, but Fordogrim pressed ahead as though nothing were wrong. “Have no fear, no fear, we can determine a winner yet. Most of you had the good sense to stack your mugs together, so if we can rest upon the honesty of the good folk gathered here we can lay this to rest right fair and square. Now, as far as I can tell there’s three stacks as are the tallest – who is it as made them up?”
It was quickly determined that the three stacks in question were the work of a Dwarf named Ibun, the hobbit Robin Sandheaver and a lass named Rowan. At Fordogrim’s rather dramatic insistence the three finalists stood forth. “Now,” he cried “we shall a-count the number of mugs in each stack to determine the day’s winner!” But at this there was an outcry from some of the crowd that Ibun and Rowan had been helped in their stacks by other folk, while Robin had made his on his own. Fordogrim saw which way the wind was blowing and raised his hands. “My friends, my friends, please…PLEASE! This is a friendly Inn, known throughout the Shire for its conviviality” (he threw that word in to slow the crowd down, most of whom would have to work it out for themselves) “let’s not a-ruin that reputation with harsh words. My beer is back for your drinking pleasure so help yourselves to it – drink up! In the meantime these three champion stackers and I will step aside and settle amongst ourselves who the winner may be!”
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