The evening is falling upon Michel Delving, and in the Western Busniess
District, where lawyers and the like find their vocations, many are
still
busy. The yellow light from the windows of their little officies spills
onto
the earth of the road, and hobbits move about behind curtains.
In the Shire Chronicle Office, one of the staff writers, Miss Acanthus
Bolger, sits at her desk, amidst a flurry of papers, with an inkwell
and
paper in hand. She frequently pauses between writing, and bites the
end of
her ink feather in thought, knitting her reddish eyebrows together
as she
does so. Having the front office--since it is her name that sells the
most
papers and garners the most gossip--she has a good view of the front
door,
and every so often, she glances up to see who's moving about. Besides
Acanthus, however, the office is rather quiet...
"Tomboooo! Tombo? TOMBO!"
Rubella Baggins' cackling voice precedes the old shrew, the piercing
wail
breaking the serenity of the Chronicle Office. Soon after, she herself
waddles in from the street. She holds her oak cane firmly in one hand,
knuckles white, and taps it impatiently against the door frame. Whack,
whack, whack.
"Is Tombo Baggins in here? He is a disgrace to the family. . . I sent
him
here ahead of me and told him I'd catch up to him after I finished
telling
Livonia Pott how horrible she looked in that flamboyant purple dress.
Has
that scamp run off again? Lads these days are nothing but trouble.
. ."
"It isn't just the lads that are trouble, madam," says Acanthus, not
looking
up from her work. She dips the nib of her pen into the inkwell, and
scribbles something down quickly. Blinking up to the new entrant to
her
office, and smiles subtly. "Good evening," she says. "You're speaking
of
Tombo Baggins, I suppose? Yes, he is among a myriad of young hobbits
and
hobbit lasses who seem to think themselves above and beyond the teachings
of
their elders," she says with a pert sigh. Acanthus puts down her quill
and
folds her hands together. "I'm afraid you won't find Tombo here, but
certainly, certainly, you will find someone of like mind. I am Acanthus
Bolger, madam, and it is a pleasure to meet you." Acanthus speaks in
a
rather low voice, but it is brassy, and filled with confidence. She
smiles
up at Rubella.
Rubella's fading eyebrows arch up in surprise, but she does not crack
a
smile. "*THE* Acanthus Bolger?" she asks, settling herself down into
a
nearby chair. Her pudgy hand lays the cane across her lap, her fingers
still
tightly coiled around it. "Yes, we are like-minded. I oft read your
articles- the only sensible thing in the paper these days, really.
Everything else is just filthy gossip. Who was seen kissing whom behind
the
inn, and who stole whose hen. . . It's simply scandalous. I think it
all
just gives the young lads and lasses more encouragement! Do you know
that
Tombo actually told me he was proud to see his love for that tart Emerald
Burrows announced in the paper! Scandalous!"
She shakes her head, her lips making a firm line across her thick face.
Acanthus lets out a little sigh, and shakes her head in empathy with
Rubella. "Yes. Scandalous. It's hardly the appropriate word for it.
My
fellow writers seem to think that simply reporting what they see withing
making comment is a noble thing to do. What it does is perpetuates
the idea
that these kinds of things are acceptible in any way--which they are
*not*.
My goodness, even my cousin, Wren Bolger, had the audacity to... to...
insinuate, nay, insist, that I was writing rubbish!" she says, her
chubby
cheeks flushing crimson. She shakes her head, and her red curls shuffle
a
bit. "It's... disgraceful that our newspaper lets them publish. Simple
facts
do not sell papers. Simple facts are... for simple minds! Yes--I like
that."
Acanthus takes a moment to scribble that saying down on her paper,
and
smiles. "Good, now--Mrs--I don't believe I got your name, now did I?"
Tombo walks in with a frown on his face and a worried one. He see's
Rubella
and walks up to her and says, "Are you my teacher?"
"Rubella Baggins, at your service. I agree completely. You cannot expect
hobbits to continually exhibit good manners if you do not reinforce
them!
Take Tombo for instance. Why just this morning I had to-"
She is abruptly interrupted by the appearance of the exact hobbit in
question. "Why of course I am, child? Do you have oatmeal for brains?
I've
been looking all over for you! Next time don't run off unexpectedly.
It's
very rude. A young gentlehobbit should be dependable, reliable, and
punctual!"
Tombo takes off his hood and opens his eyes wied and says, "Do all the
Baggins have to be mean." then he takes off his cloak
A rather insidious look comes over the face of Acanthus Bolger as she
sits
at her desk and watches the scene unfold before her. Her little blue
eyes
narrow considerably, and she smirks, blinking slowly. "The Bagginses
are no
meaner than the Brandybucks are commonplace," says Acanthus to Tombo,
in her
smooth, low voice. "The Baggins family is an old one, and a respectable
one
at that--if you can ignore that inane old Bilbo Baggins and his reclusive
nephew, that is--but that's another story. Everyone knows that they
are the
exception. Your family is not mean--they only wish to instruct you
in the
way that is necessary to have you flourish in Shire society. You should
thank your lucky stars that is it your family that points out your
flaws,
and not someone else..." Her words are almost a threat, and she smiles
at
Rubella.
Tombo nods at her
Tombo says, "Ok, well lets hurry up and get this done with.
Rubella returns Acanthus' sly smile, glancing around Tombo and at the
ladyhobbit. "Yes, you listen to Miss Bolger, dear," she adds, her voice
sharp yet scratchy. "She knows what she is talking about. You're lucky
to
have me to teach you your manners. This one incident, despite how dramatic
it was, can be put behind us and forgotten if you improve you behavior.
One
day people may even refer to Tombo Baggins as an exemplary gentlehobbit.
A
lifetime of social errors and a despairing lack of etiquette, however,
cannot be overlooked."
Tombo, it appears, finds the words of Rubella and Acanthus to be much
too
threatening. He hightails it out of the Shire Chronicle Office at top
speed.
Acanthus finds this appalling, and raises her eyebrow in disgust. "How
shocking," she says in a hoarse whisper. "I do hope you don't mind,
Mrs.
Baggins, but I will not be able to let that incident go without mention
in
our next issue. As always I will not use his proper name, that is indecent.
But that little upstart must be taught a lesson. My great-grandfather's
mother was a Baggins, and though the name may be not as close to me
as
Bolger, I do consider it a personal injury when little tyrants like
him
think themselves better than anyone else in the entire Shire. Of course,
he's not even close to being as bad as that Emerald. She is a story
in
herself. I could write a novel. The lads are expected to be a little...
headstrong and careless... but her behaviour is... beyond all decencly."
Rubella's face burns a brilliant red as if she, herself were personally
offended. It even looks as if her bottom lip has begun to tremble!
"Honestly! She makes me ashamed to be a hobbit. If I had done half
of what
she merely purports, my mother would have arisen from her grave and
beat me
with her pancake girdle until I turned bluer than raspberry jam. Please,
write the most scathing article you can muster! We need to take actions
to
repair the crumbling manners of our youth!"
"Scathing, madam, is my specialty," says Acanthus with a sly grin that
spreads its way slowly across her face. She sighs gently and holds
out a
piece of paper. "Why just today I've been writing a piece about the
vandalism that happened at the Lucky Tucky Inn. Some deviant thought
it
necessary to drape the entire door with black paint. Can you imagine
the
gall of this hobbit? I was so horrified I didn't knwo what to do. So
I took
to pen and paper and wrote the following:
'A hobbit who cannot go through life without being a menace to society,
i.e.
vandalising long held historical marks in the Shire, should be throw
into
the Lockholes. Hobbits who perform these acts of violence are a danger
to
their entire community--and before they completely ruin the name of
their
family, they should be thrown away.'
Acanthus nods at her work, and puts the paper down. "So you see a few
words
go a long way. I am thankful my mother found it fit to give me a proper
education, but I fear she is of a dying race. It seems parents in our
community fail to punish and instruct their children. If I must be
a
martyr--a woman who must carry the flag of righteousness--so it must
be."
"Someone vandalized the inn!?!" Although the phrase is barely gasped
out,
Rubella's face does not exhibit the same surprise. Instead she seems
as if
she has been expecting this to happen at any moment. "The situation
in the
Shire is even more dire than I thought! And it was a hobbit? Not just
another of those irate dwarves intent on hacking up every historical
monument they see in the name of a frothy ale? Scandalous! Beyond
scandalous! I cannot stress it enough. . ."
She shakes her head once more, tsking her tongue against her teeth.
"I do
not have the far reach you and the Chronicle have, but I do what I
can, one
young lad at a time. If I had to put up with a whole class full of
rambunctious, snotty children like my cousin Olga does, I think I would
go
mad, but I try to make my contribution to society. . ."
"And those contributions are most appreciated, Mrs. Baggins," says Acanthus,
as she stacks a few of her papers and puts them off to the side. There
is a
small sketch in a frame on her desk and she turns it around to show
Rubella,
as she says, "It starts in the family... and that is the most important
thing." The sketch is of an old woman, proabably the most hideous looking
hobbit woman imaginable. She has wrinkles on every part of her face,
and
crossed eyes. There are no lips to speak of, and she has immense ears,
which
are hardly covered by her lack of hair on her head. "My mother," sighs
Acanthus, a tinge of sadness in her voice. "Lovely, wasn't she? Yes,
well,
she has gone to a better place... but once, she was... a grand woman.
A
brilliant woman. Matilda Bolger, nee Boffin--a spectacular cook, mother,
and
pinnacle of moral strength. Had it not been for her, I would have not
turned
out so well. We need more Matilda Bolgers in our world, if you ask
me."
"Yes she does seem like a. . . stern taskmistress." Rubella flinches
slightly, but quickly covers it up with a cough. "Ack, sorry about
that. I
have a chronic cough that even the warm weather can't soothe. This
disheartening talk seems to be making it flare up again. . . like I
was
saying, it's a shame we can't control the children these days. The
Gauche
Stamp just doesn't scare a lad like it used to. Why, I remember when
my
cousin Henry was seen chatting alone with a lady in the Green Dragon.
He had
just turned 33 and thought that eant he could do anything he wanted.
The OLC
threatened him with the Stamp, and he turned his act around immediately!
Renounced the young lady, and wrote a lady of apology to her family.
That's
the kind of spirit we need to reinstitute in our youth."
"The younger generation, aye," says Acanthus, rubbing her temple with
her
hand. "That is just the sort of thing I remember when I was a child,
and a
young lass... though I have been past 33 for quite some time now, I
have
found that there is a lack of gentlehobbits that are... let's just
say, up
the standards of what my mother would have wanted." Acanthus looks
up at
Rubella through her watery blue eyes and manages a smile, "But do not
lose
heart, Mrs. Baggins--there are yet some in our generation and above
who
beleive in the power of a good Gauche stamp, a few scathing letters,
and of
course, if needs be, a few hours in the Lockholes."
"Hopefully so." Rubella sighs, shifting her wait in her chair. She squirms
uncomfortably, unable to fit the entirety of her thighs onto the wooden
seat. "I despair to think of what the Shire would be like if we didn't
have
those few honorable souls to carry on the great traditions of our ancestors.
I do hope I am not keeping you from your work, Miss Bolger. I know
how
important what you do is."
"Interrupting?" asks Acanthus with a light laugh. She bats her hand
in the
air. "Why never! No person of good repute coming to speak with me on
amicable terms is ever an imposition. I have work, of course, but making
connections with others is so much more important. I have an utmost
respect
for your family and it literally thrills me to be able to hear from
the
source what goes on. Truly, it is an honour," reiterates the Bolger
journalist, smiling toothily. "I could only wish my remaining family
relatives would uphold the values that you and yours are so desperately
trying to do."
"I wish you luck in trying to tame the ills in the Shire, Miss Bolger."
Rubella rises, letting the tip of her cane fall to the floor hit the
ground
with a soft tap. "I must take my leave of you now, however. I have
to go
speak to Ponto about the disgraceful behavior of Tombo, running away
without
the least word! It was a pleasure to meet you, and if ever again you
wish to
speak on the state of our youth, do drop by my hole in Hobbiton. I
always
have tea and tarts prepared for unexpected company." She nods a farewell,
and then hobbles out of the door.