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Dick pattered in and out of the kitchen and behind the bar, filling new orders and often returning half the time simply because he had forgotten something before. Finally, he found a moment to stand still, briefly. Nothing seemed out of place. The guests were standing and sitting, some singling, others in small groups, all looking just a tad bit gloomy. But who wouldn’t, with the outside dark as evening and thunder rolling and thundering.
“Excuse me, sir,” a hobbit said, approaching the bar. “I’d like a pint of your finest ale.”
Dick smiled immediately. “Of course! Right away!” He bent and whipped out a mug as quick as a blink of an eye and began to fill it from the ale-butt just behind him. He was setting it on the bar top when the door blew open violently and in staggered a tiny creature, barely recognizable for a hobbit with a hat pulled low over his eyes and his little coat soaked and streaming with rain water.
“Shut the door, Fred!” Dick shouted to be heard over the great noise and thunder of the rain outside. “Shut the door and quit letting the wet in!”
“Sorry, Pops!” the hobbit child said. He lifted the brim of the hat to grin at his father before turning and using both hands to shut the door.
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