Mayor Will Whitfoot liked to claim that he had "set Mr. Frodo Baggins on the first steps, you might say, toward being the great professional investigator he is today." Most people smiled when they heard this, but it was actually true, for Mayor Whitfoot had been the first person to consult Frodo on a private and confidential case that didn't involve murder.

"Only think where you'd be, Frodo, if you hadn't taken my advice when I called upon you about my Lad," the Mayor said cheerfully to his guest that summer afternoon. Frodo had accompanied Sam to Michel Delving for the Lithetide pony races, but while his friend had joined the Mayor's son Lad and Frodo's cousin Milo Burrows at the races, Frodo had come to the Mayor's Hall at the Mayor's invitation. The two sat now in the Mayor's study. "You recall what I said?" Mayor Whitfoot repeated his advice to Frodo, even though Frodo remembered it well: "I said that investigating was as good a profession as any for a young hobbit, and a clever lad like you was the just the sort to do it properly."

"I've never regretted following your advice, sir," Frodo said politely.

"No, I daresay not! If it hadn't been for that, you might never have been called to more important tasks than tended to my Lad's difficulties, which you managed to sort out very well indeed."

"Angelica managed that as much as I did, if not more."

"To be sure she did." Mayor Whitfoot nodded his head. "She knew what she was after, and got it. I can't say it was the best way for a respectable girl to go about catching a husband, but it worked out right for everybody in the end. Lad's got a good wife to look after him, and we've got as pretty a daughter-in-law as anybody could ask for, and a granddaughter as pretty as her mother, so I have no reason to complain. And you've gone on to serve the Thain himself, and the young Master of Buckland, though he's a friend and close cousin of yours. We've even heard tell how you were called to aid this great King that lives so far away, and solved a murder or two for him. You've done well for yourself by these investigations."

"Indeed, sir," Frodo agreed. "This line of work has made all the difference in my life these past few years."

His life had been changed in so many ways that he could never make clear to Mayor Whitfoot. For the most part, the Shire remained ignorant of the role he had played in the Great War of the Ring--was barely aware of the war at all--and Frodo was content that it should be so. But he was famous as a detective throughout the Shire, and beyond. Frodo had never sought this fame, but he was glad of the chance to put his intellectual abilities to good use and to aid people in need. Now that the Red Book was nearly finished, he was planning to write down accounts of some of his more interesting cases. Most important of all, he had been summoned back to Gondor at Aragorn's request to solve a series of murders last spring, and in the midst of his investigations had been given a new chance at life. His health, which had been fading rapidly since the quest, was beginning to recover. Although he would have to leave his home forever to be healed completely, he now had years in the Shire to look forward to and he meant to make the most of them.

He asked the Mayor, "Is it something of the same sort you wish to discuss now, sir? Something about Lad?"

Mayor Whitfoot smiled. "Ah, you are clever to guess that! You're quite right, Frodo. Then as now, I'm worried about my Lad."

"It's not the same- ah- problem?"

"I should hope not! He adores Angelica and dotes on little Willa. I'm certain he hasn't a thought of straying, and I'd hate to see any son of mine disgrace his family in such a way." The Mayor considered the question for a moment, then explained, "Lad's got some secret he's keeping from Angelica as well as his mother and me. I've asked him for myself what's wrong and he insists it's nothing, but he's troubled--I can see it. There's something preying on his mind. Have you seen himself since you came to town?"

"Only for a minute or two, when Milo, Sam, and I met him at the fairfields." Frodo hadn't noticed anything in particular at the time, but now that he thought about it, he recalled that Lad had been glancing about the crowd while he'd greeted them, as if he were keeping an eye out for someone else.

"You were so good to help us before, and I hoped you might agree to do so again," said Mayor Whitfoot. "We are, after all, kinsmen by marriage now."

"I would agree to help even if that weren't so," said Frodo. "I'll see if I can find out what's troubling Lad, and if there's anything I can do about it."

The Mayor allowed that this was all he could expect. "I've invited Lad and Angelica to join us for dinner, as you and Mr. Gamgee will be here. You can have a word with Lad then."

As they left the Mayor's study, Mrs. Whitfoot and Frodo's cousin Angelica were coming down the hallway toward the best sitting room. Angelica was leading her little daughter Willa by the hand, and her second pregnancy was beginning to show beneath her loosely-laced bodice. When she saw Frodo, Angelica smiled.

"Frodo, hello!" She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and lifted up the little girl so that Willa could give Uncle Frodo a peck as well. "I heard that you were coming to Michel Delving with Sam and Uncle Milo for Lithetide, but I didn't expect to see you 'til dinner-time."

"You must be the only young gentleman in all of Michel Delving who isn't out on the fairfields today," said Mrs. Whitfoot. "I'm certain Will would rather be out there now himself, if he didn't have business to keep him shut up in his study."

"In my position, my dear, business must sometimes take precedence," Mayor Whitfoot said importantly, although the business of a mayor primarily consisted of attending banquets, opening festivals, and occasionally appointing postmasters and high shirriffs. "There is my re-election this autumn to plan for, and this year the competition will be fierce. I can always go out tomorrow. That's the big day, after all. I won't keep you from enjoying the sport yourself, Frodo."

Angelica looked curious at the suggestion that Frodo had 'business' with the Mayor. "Oh, Frodo doesn't care much for racing," she told her in-laws.

"I've never been much of a gamer," Frodo explained, with a note of apology. He knew his was a very unhobbity attitude to take; Mayor and Mrs. Whitfoot both looked mildly shocked at Angelica's announcement. "I've seen Milo's and Lad's pony win a half-dozen times before. No doubt it will win again tomorrow."

"We certainly hope it will!" said the Mayor. "But Fleetfoot hasn't done so well this spring."

"I can't get excited over watching races either," said Angelica, "but that black-and-white pony of Lad's and Uncle Milo's has made their fortunes for them, so I can't complain of all the time it takes them away. Mother Whitfoot and I have been arranging an alternate entertainment for us 'racing-widows' tomorrow, while the pony-fanciers are out on the fairfields."

"We'll be holding a crafts fair in the market-place. There'll be contests for baking and picklings and preserves, the best flowers, weaving and quilting," added Mrs. Whitfoot. "Quite a number of ladies are keen to compete."

"You'll likely be the only young gentleman there as well, Frodo, and just as bored, but you're welcome to join us," Angelica invited him.

Frodo said he would be delighted. He might be called to follow Lad down to the fairfields tomorrow to keep an eye on him and find out what was wrong, but perhaps Sam could take that duty and look less suspicious doing so. Sam and Lad had become good friends since the Mayor had appointed Sam as Chief Shirriff for Bywater and their mutual family interests as young husbands and doting fathers had brought them together.

Other ladies of the town were expected to join Angelica and Mrs. Whitfoot to discuss arrangements for the crafts fair, and they duly arrived in time for tea. The presence of the famous detective roused their curiosity; the ladies were all certain that Frodo must be here to conduct an investigation, but since he said nothing of it, they soon stopped casting hints about how fascinating his work must be and settled down to their business. Only Angelica continued to glance at him speculatively.

After the ladies had gone home and the last race of that afternoon had been run, Lad came to the Mayor's Hall, bringing Sam with him.

"Where's Uncle Milo?" asked Angelica. "You might've brought him along, dear. Your parents wouldn't mind another guest at the table tonight."

The Mayor and Mrs. Whitfoot agreed that this was so, but Lad explained, "I left him at the Fairview. He's got young Mosco with him, you know, and Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took are there too. We met them on the fields. I didn't like to bring so many unexpected guests, seeing as we weren't dining at home tonight. They'll be just as happy having their dinner at the inn."

Sam scowled at the mention of Merry Brandybuck. The Mayor and his family didn't notice it, and wouldn't have understood it if they had, but Frodo knew very well what it meant.

Over dinner, after Angelica had asked Sam about Rosie and Elanor and heard that they were well, the subject inevitably turned to the races. "How did your pony do today, Lad?" asked the Mayor.

Lad shook his head. "Fleet ran three races, but he only won the first."

He appeared deeply worried by this, and even his father's consoling, "Well, it's a disappointment, to be sure, but he'll pick up his hooves and show his old form tomorrow," didn't lift his spirits. Lad remained brooding and preoccupied throughout the meal, and Frodo had no opportunity to have a private word with him until after the table had been cleared. As the group left the dining room, Lad announced he was stepping outdoors for a quick pipe.

"A good idea," said Mayor Whitfoot. "I daresay all you lads could do with a pipeful after such a fine meal." He nodded and lifted his eyebrows encouragingly at Frodo. Frodo took the hint, and followed Lad out into the garden.

Lad sat on a bench on the slope above the front door of the Mayor's Hall, staring out through the cool, still twilight over the rolling chalk downs of Michel Delving and the lights in the doorways and windows of the neighboring smials. Frodo went up to join him. When he took his own pipe from his jacket pocket, Lad struck a match for him and, as he held it out, asked, "You've been here all afternoon, haven't you, Frodo? Father asked you to come?"

"That's right," Frodo answered after taking in a few deep draws, and letting out a puff of smoke.

"To talk about me?"

"He can see you've been troubled lately, and he's worried for you, Lad."

"Yes, I know." Lad sat back with a loud sigh. "I'm a grown and married hobbit, and I can handle my own affairs, thank you. But Father can't help his prying, as if I were still a silly child who was always getting into mischief and couldn't manage to get himself out. And now he's sent you to pry as well."

"He means well. Since I have been set this task, it will save me a lot of effort in sneaking and prying if I ask you what's wrong directly, and you're good enough to answer me honestly," Frodo responded. "Is it so awful, Lad? Can't you go to your father? He'd be happy to help."

"I couldn't tell Father. Here, you won't tell him or Mother... or Angelica?" Lad sounded particularly apprehensive about this last prospect.

"I can be very discreet, when required. Sam and I, both, have kept people's secrets before," Frodo added as his friend came out to join them. "If you don't wish your father to hear the details of what's troubling you, I needn't repeat them. I can simply say that the matter has been settled satisfactorily. There's no reason to bring Angelica into it at all. Is it a problem of money?" He knew that Angelica kept her husband on a strict allowance for his gambling and racing interests.

"Well, I've lost money, of course," Lad answered. "You've heard how our pony Fleetfoot hasn't been running as well as he used to--not only today, but all this season. He's been a great disappointment, just as Father says, not only to me and Milo, but to other people who've put wagers on him and thought they'd get an easy win. And they didn't." He was quiet for a few minutes while he smoked his pipe. "Most of 'em take it well enough, but there's these lads, brothers. I couldn't call 'em friends of mine, but I've known 'em since we were little lads. They're as keen on the ponies as I am."

"And they've taken their losses badly?" Frodo prompted.

"After the last races, three weeks' past, when Fleetfoot did as bad as he ever had, they came to me and said I must be holding him back--deliberately nobbling my own pony!"

"Now why'd they say such a thing?" asked Sam. "You're not betting against him."

"No, of course not!" Lad huffed. "They say it's a trick, to raise the stakes. You see, if Fleet loses often enough, people will stop putting money on him to win, and that will bring up higher odds. Those that do wager on him when he isn't a good choice will get more if he does win after all. Something of the sort happened this morning, only Fleet's still among the favorites." He could see that Frodo looked confused by this explanation. "You don't know much about how wagers are made, do you?"

Frodo admitted that he didn't.

"Well, there's simple wagers between friends. Let's say, as an example, you think Godolpho Brownlock's pony Windchaser is going to win the next race, and I say my Fleet's going to and we lay a bet with each other on it. We'd both put down a gold piece, or what you will, so long as it matches one for one, and the winner takes all. That's the usual thing, but there's also brokers on the field during the races that take wagers from all who have the money, and they play a more complicated game. Now, a favorite pony like our Fleetfoot, who wins often, might get you one gold coin for each one you put down, but a slower pony that isn't as sure to win so often will bring in more when it does beat out the favorites. You might win three gold pieces for every one wagered, or five, or even ten. It's a risk, but it can bring you a lot of money once in awhile if you have your luck with you. There's a fine art of calculation that the brokers make to decide how likely it is for each pony in a race to win. They know all the ins and outs as well as us riders and pony-owners and base their odds accordingly."

Frodo was impressed. Most hobbits were barely capable of working out more than the simplest sums without counting up on their fingers, but it seemed that when it was a matter of games, even the least mathematical hobbits could perform amazing feats. "So these- ah-acquaintances of yours accuse you of holding Fleetfoot back in order to make more money off him in the end?"

"Yes, that's it exactly." Lad nodded. "They say Fleet had better begin winning before the brokers' odds against him start to rise. More than that, they want the money they've lost, plus what they say they should've won. I'm to pay it up, or else they'll make an official charge. Any hint of trickery or dishonesty on the race course could ruin us. We'd never be allowed to run a pony again--not me alone, but Milo too. But how can I pay them? If I do, it looks like I'm admitting to being guilty. Besides, I don't have the kind of money they're asking for. I've lost on Fleet too, and Angelica knows how much I have to spend on ponies to the penny. You know how she feels since Milo got himself into such terrible trouble over his gaming debts. Now how, Frodo, can you help me with that?"

"Can I meet with them?" asked Frodo. "They'll be at the races all day tomorrow, as will you, but perhaps you can find a time to bring them to me at some place where we can speak confidentially."

Lad nodded. "What do you mean to do?"

"Give them a talking-to. If they intend to make accusations and defame your good name, they ought to provide proof. I shall demand it. If they can't--and I assume they haven't got any--then we've got them. I will promise as much trouble for them as they mean to make for you. It may frighten them off simply to see that you've brought in professional help. When you see these persons tomorrow, tell them I wish to see them, and we'll make whatever arrangements are necessary to see that they won't make spurious charges against you."

Lad didn't look entirely convinced, but he agreed to do as Frodo asked.

Sam didn't say anything until after they had left the Mayor's Hall and seen Lad and Angelica off down a side-lane to their own home with their little daughter asleep in Lad's arms. After they had waved their farewells and the Whitfoots had gone out of sight, the other two turned and headed along the high street. Sam said, "You might've managed that better," with a gentle note of reproach, for he was reluctant to criticize Frodo. "You don't know what you're getting into with these racing folk. Some of 'em take it awful serious. It's no game. I've seen folk get angry as a nest of hornets sometimes when the pony they pick comes up slow."

"It was the best solution I could find to a delicate situation," answered Frodo. "It's not the sort of detective work we're used to, but I thought I could at least act as Lad's advocate and see that he isn't slandered. If I can make these brutes listen to reason, then Lad's problem is solved. If they won't... Well, if it comes to it, surely people will take my word for Lad's character over a pair of unsavory creatures who bear a grudge against him. Have you seen these brothers Lad was talking about, by the way?"

"Not so's I'd know 'em," Sam admitted. "There's lots of tough-looking folk hanging about the races. I didn't see Lad talking to anybody like that today, but I wasn't with him every minute. Lad rides in the races, and I was a-sitting off on the sides with Milo and his little lad most of the time. D'you want me to keep an eye out tomorrow?"

"Would you, Sam? I'll be seeing them later in the day, but until then, you can see that Lad comes to no harm." They had reached the center of Michel Delving, and Frodo realized that Sam was not heading toward the eastward road and the fairfields which lay on the outskirts of town. "Aren't we staying at the Fairview Inn?" The Fairview was on the road across from the fairgrounds.

"I got us a room at the White Chestnut," Sam explained, and waved a hand to indicate the smaller and older inn on the far side of the market square. The square itself was full of tables and booths with covered wares for tomorrow's crafts fair as if it were a market day. "They're all crowded up by the fairfields tonight, and as you was at his Mayorship's house, I thought you'd rather come here than walk a mile outside o' town. This un's closer, and quieter too."

These were all plausible excuses, but Frodo wasn't fooled. He knew the true reason for this choice: Sam was trying to keep him away from Merry. It seemed that Sam would never be able to forget that he and Merry had been lovers for a year, nor forgive it.

"Will you be going out to the races yourself, Frodo?" Sam asked once they had entered the White Chestnut.

"I might pop in early on," Frodo replied. "I may be able to make arrangements with Lad before the first races begin." Then he added impishly, "I certainly want to say hello to Pip and Merry. I haven't seen them in ages." It had been three months since he'd left them in Buckland. From his cousins' occasional letters, he knew that Pippin was staying on at Crickhollow after he'd left the cottage empty and the two were settling into their old ways, much as he and Sam had.

After this announcement, Sam gave Frodo an uneasy glance or two as they went to their room. It wasn't until the door was shut and they were alone that he asked, "D'you want to see Master Merry so bad as that?"

"Yes, I do, but not in the way you think." He didn't wish Sam to feel jealous, but Frodo meant to make it clear that even if he and Merry had parted as lovers, they were still good friends and he intended to see Merry as a friend whenever he pleased. "Sam, you're being very silly about this. Are you afraid that if I so much as see Merry again, I'll want to go back to him?"

Sam didn't answer, but Frodo knew it was so.

"You're wrong," he said. "All that's over and done with. I made my choice, when I realized you were right about us spending what time I had left together."

Sam still looked a little doubtful. "You're not sorry you did?"

"No, not at all," Frodo assured him. "But I suppose the only way I can prove that to you is to show you."

If there was anything he missed by giving up his relationship with Merry, it was their openness. For a few months, he had known the freedom of living his life without secrets. In Minas Tirith, all their old friends had known what he and Merry were to each other and had accepted it. Their family in Buckland had likewise known and, for the most part, hadn't disapproved. Frodo had even been able to tell a few acquaintances about himself without embarrassment. It was an exhilarating experience.

When he'd agreed to return to Sam, he'd left that freedom behind. There was no way that they could make the true nature of their relationship public without scandal and disgrace--and that would harm Sam even more than himself. Hobbiton had heard the gossip about him and Merry; Frodo knew that his Baggins relatives and neighbors were wondering about him, perhaps recalling old gossip about his friendship with Sam, but as long as he gave them no evidence of the truth, they could only whisper and make guesses, and even this must die down in time. By returning to Sam, he must live in secret again. He and Sam could never walk down the high street arm in arm as a couple. He could never kiss Sam when they were out where others might see. But these were sacrifices he was willing to make for the sake of the private life they had together.

He held out his arms to invite Sam to him. "Now come to bed."

The next morning, Frodo accompanied Sam to the fairfields. This long, flat expanse, which lay on the eastern end of town beyond the last of the downs, was where hobbits from all over the Shire congregated every seven years to elect their mayor, where harvest fairs were held in the autumns, and where pony were raced on Highdays and holidays during the summer months. The huge Lithetide crowd of racing fanciers had not yet assembled, and they easily located Milo, Merry, and Pippin, with Milo's eldest son, fifteen-year-old Mosco, who was just beginning to take an interest in racing himself. This little party, having finished their breakfast at the inn just across the road, had come out early to find a choice spot beneath the trees along the fence to claim as their own for the day. When they saw Sam and Frodo, they shouted out "Haloo!" and waved their arms. Merry got up to meet them halfway, and gave Frodo a fierce hug.

"Everybody at Brandy Hall misses you," Merry told Frodo as they walked back to join the others; Sam trailed behind them, scowling. "Uncle Dino has nobody to play golf with anymore. Pippin tries, and so does Dodi, but they aren't very good at it. Mother's especially sorry you went away. You know she and the aunties always thought you were a good influence on me."

"And I'm not!" Pippin piped up, and when Frodo came closer, gave him a hug too. "I've tried to be respectable, for Merry's sake. No going out to Bucklebury and getting too drunk to walk home, the way we used to. No parties, except for at Dodi's and Issy's. Luckily, we don't have to worry so much about our reputations here in Michel Delving where there aren't any relatives to disapprove. Milo's very good about minding his own business."

"Oh, I don't care at all what you lads get up to," Milo replied, "as long as you don't pry into my private affairs, I'll be glad to stay out of yours." Further greetings were exchanged between Milo, Mosco, Frodo, and Sam, and they all settled down onto the blankets spread on the grass.

"We'll be going down to Tuckborough after the races are over, but I can't stay away from Brandy Hall too long," said Merry. "Uncle Merry's looking after things for me while I'm gone. Why don't you come for a visit when I get home, Frodo? And Sam too, of course," he quickly included Frodo's companion, who was watching the two of them closely. "Mother will be so happy to have you back again, if only for a few days, and Melly's still at the Hall with her baby and I'm sure she'd love to see you."

"We don't know when she's going back to Evvy," Pippin added. "Nobody likes to ask."

"Are you joining us today, Frodo?" asked Milo.

"No, I only came in hopes of seeing Lad before the races begin." Frodo looked around the field, but Lad was not in sight. "Where is he?"

"We haven't seen him yet. He's probably at the stables, tending Fleetfoot. We're only in one race this morning, and another in the afternoon."

"I've heard your pony hasn't been doing so well lately. Are you worried about his chances of winning today?"

"Oh, our Fleet's still a good, fast pony," Milo replied with a lack of concern that Frodo believed was genuine. "He hasn't gone lame, and he's not off his feed. He's a sensitive creature--all the best racing ponies are. It's been a long winter, and I'm sure he'll pick up when he gets used to running again. This holiday is a great occasion, but I've decided it's best not to push him to do too much before he's ready. There's still plenty of time this season."

"A lot of people must be upset over his performance of late," Frodo ventured.

"What if they are?" responded Milo. "There's no surety in gambling. I've learned that too well from my own bouts of bad luck! There's no point in grumbling when you lose. It won't win you your money back. You can only give it up, or try again and hope for better luck the next time."

"You haven't been... troubled by poor losers?"

"Oh, an angry look or two after a race," Milo laughed.

"No one's threatened you?"

Milo laughed again, but gave Frodo a curious look as he answered, "Of course not! Most hobbits behave themselves better than that, and the rest of us at the races wouldn't put up with it."

Frodo was certain that Milo hadn't been bothered by the same people who were threatening Lad. Was this simply because Milo wouldn't put up with threats, as he'd claimed he wouldn't? And if it was so serious a breach of proper racing behavior, why did Lad?

The crowds began to grow thicker. Ponies and their riders were assembling at the end of the course to start the first race of the morning, but Frodo had still not seen Lad. He made his farewells to his cousins, promising to join them for dinner, and left Sam with them. He returned to the market square, which was now crowded with women managing booths and tables full of knitted and crocheted works, embroidered cushions and samplers, woven wicker baskets, painted china and other arts and crafts. There were also potted flowers and jars of jams, pickles, and preserves in abundance. Frodo wandered from exhibit to exhibit, accepting free samples of wares when they were offered and purchasing a few gifts for Elanor and Rosie.

He hoped that Sam would send Lad to find him at the White Chestnut at lunch-time, but it was well before midday when Lad appeared in the square, flanked by a pair of large, young hobbits Frodo didn't know. Lad wore a particularly glum expression, and Frodo asked, "How did Fleetfoot do this morning?" already anticipating the answer.

"He lost," said Lad, then introduced his surly-looking companions. "Frodo, this is Ulfodo Longchalk, and his brother Udo. I've brought them, just as you asked me to. I told them what you said."

Frodo suggested they go into the inn, where they could speak more privately. Now that he had met these 'racing toughs' who were making so much trouble for Lad, he was surprised by them. They were not working-class hobbits of the lowest social order and roughest manners, as Frodo had imagined; although he had never met them before, he recognized the name of Longchalk as that of a prominent, local gentlehobbit, a rival of Mayor Whitfoot's. Mr. Longchalk had stood up against the Mayor in the last two elections, and lost both times. These youths must be his sons.

Inside the inn, the common room was bustling with ladies taking mid-morning refreshment. At Frodo's request, the four of them were shown into a small sitting-room near the room he and Sam were staying in.

"So you're Mr. Baggins, the famous detective," said Udo as he took a seat on the settle before an unlit fireplace. His brother stood by the door. "I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I can't under these circumstances."

"You should be investigating this cousin of yours," said Ulfodo.

"Frodo isn't my cousin," Lad told them.

"You're married to his cousin, aren't you?" Ulfodo responded. "The lovely former Miss Baggins of Hobbiton. Cousins-in-law, if not in blood. It's the same thing."

"Perhaps that's why he's on your side, Lad," added his brother.

"I'm not on anyone's 'side,'" Frodo protested. They had scarcely begun, but already he felt as if the conversation were heading in the wrong direction and slipping away from him. "I only want what's just and fair for everyone concerned. You can't go around making unfounded accusations against Lad." He tried to head the conversation in the direction he had planned. "If you have any proof that Lad's pony's recent losses have been anything but pure matters of chance, bring it forward."

"Otherwise, shut your mouths and leave me be!" said Lad, growing bolder now that he had reinforcements with him.

"You can't call it true or just when the fastest pony in this part of the Shire suddenly runs slow," Ulfodo replied.

"What exactly is it you think Lad's done?" asked Frodo. "You must surely think it's his doing alone. I've spoken with my cousin, Milo Burrows, and he knows nothing of you and your accusations."

"A lad like Lad, who knows everything there is to know about ponies and their ways, must have all sorts of clever tricks up his sleeve to make a pony go faster or slower as he pleases," said Udo. "Whatever he's up to, it's going to stop."

Frodo didn't like the sound of this. "What do you mean?"

Udo explained, "After this morning's loss, the odds on that so-called Fleetfoot can only go up before the holiday's done. Don't think we haven't guessed what'll happen then, when nobody but Lad and his best friends will wager on that pony's winning. Well, you won't get your win today, Lad. You've run your last race, and here you'll sit 'til it's over and done with."

"You won't get past us, not 'til we see our money," his brother added. "We've lost lots of money because of this trickery, and it's only fair we get it back. I'm sorry you've been caught up in this, Mr. Baggins, but if you're standing by Lad and taking his part, we can't have you running out to warn Mr. Burrows and yours and Lad's other friends. Unless you'll pay what Lad owes us. It's all the same."

"Think it over," said Udo, and rose from his seat. The two brothers went out, shutting the door abruptly.

Frodo immediately leapt up to follow. When he tried the door, he found it apparently barricaded from the outside.

"Have they locked us in?" asked Lad.

"No, but there's a chair or bench or something against the other side." He gave the door a shove. "Come help me."

Lad rose to help him push, but they were firmly shut in until the inn servant who had brought them to the room, hearing the banging, came to pull the chair away and free them. The Longchalk brothers were not in sight in the windowless corridor.

"Did you see the two gentlemen who came in with us?" Frodo asked the servant.

"Yes, sir. They went out."

"Where-?" Lad wondered, as puzzled as Frodo by this odd action following the Longchalks' ultimatum. Were they prisoners? If they were, where had their captors gone?

They walked down to the end of the hallway, to the point where the tunnel widened out into the entry-way outside the common room. From there, they could see Ulfodo stationed at the inn's front door, watching. When he saw them, he scowled and moved to block the way out.

Lad sank back against the curving wall of the tunnel with a groan. "Udo's probably at the back door," he said in dismay. "They said we wouldn't get past them, and they meant it."

"Don't despair. There's another way out," Frodo told him, and put a hand on Lad's arm. "Come with me." He turned and quickly went back down the hall to the room he and Sam were staying in, Lad at his heels. Once he'd unlocked the door, Frodo went in and crossed to the window on the opposite side of the room; he unlatched the casement and opened it to climb out.

The inn only had a few rooms, all on the same side of the hill it tunneled through, and the row of round windows opened onto a steep, grassy slope. Below was a narrow lane, and in it stood another hobbit whom Frodo didn't know. At the sound of the window opening, this hobbit looked up and came to stand directly beneath them.

"Who is that?" Frodo asked Lad.

"That's Urgo Longchalk, their elder brother."

"I'm so sorry about this, Frodo," Lad apologized after they'd gone into the common room. Lad had bought an ale and ordered a bite of lunch for them both while Frodo had looked around for other exits from the inn, and found Udo was at the stable-yard gate, keeping an eye on the kitchen door. There was no way out except past one of the Longchalks. "I never meant to get you into trouble too."

"It isn't your fault, Lad," Frodo consoled him. "I got myself into this. Who would have guessed they'd behave so badly?"

"What do we do now?"

"We might fight our way out," Frodo suggested. "There are three of them, but they've spread themselves out around the inn. We might take on one of them alone. I'm no brawler, but if we go out the window, I think I can hold off Urgo long enough for you to fly before his brothers notice you've gone."

"I couldn't run off and leave you to face them alone!" Lad protested. "I'd never forgive myself if you were hurt for my sake, Frodo--and Sam would certainly never forgive me either! I know how he protects you. Besides, if we get into a fight, it'll cause a public commotion. With all these ladies around, Mother and Angelica hear of it and I won't be able to keep the truth from them. Or anybody else, for the Longchalks are sure to talk once they see we've escaped them."

"Very well." Frodo gave the problem more thought. "I don't like surrendering to bullies," he said at last with a sigh, "but since we can't stand up to them without making the whole matter public, the only choice is to give in. I'm afraid you'll have to pay them, Lad, and hope they'll keep their mouths shut."

"But, Frodo, I told you I don't have that kind of money at hand-"

"I'll lend it to you."

"I couldn't-"

"Nonsense, Lad," Frodo insisted. As the Mayor and Longchalks had pointed out for very different reasons, he was related to Lad by marriage now and felt a family obligation toward him. "I won't make a nuisance of myself about expecting to be paid back. Pay me when you can, and don't worry about it."

"That awfully decent of you, Frodo," Lad said. "Do you have that much money with you?"

"No," Frodo admitted. He only had a few coins in his pockets. Sam kept more money for their traveling expenses and whatever wagers he might make in a small purse, but he had taken that with him this morning. "We must send a message to Sam somehow. He has our extra money, and can ride home to get more if it becomes necessary. One of us might try to slip out without the Longchalks seeing."

"If we could! If Fleetfloot would only win this afternoon, that would put an end to all my problems," said Lad. "The winnings from that would be enough and if the odds against him haven't gone too high, no one would believe the Longchalks that I've been holding him back. But I won't be there to ride him."

"If you don't show up, will Milo take the pony from the race?"

"He might. Or he might ride Fleet himself. Milo's quite a rider-" Lad stopped abruptly at the sight of something beyond Frodo, and groaned, "Oh, golly! As if I weren't in trouble enough today. There's Angelica!"

Frodo turned to find his cousin standing in the hallway outside the common room, looking around herself. Lad ducked under the table before his wife saw him where he distinctly shouldn't be at this time of day.

"It's all right, Lad," Frodo said as he rose from the apparently empty table. "I'll talk to her." He went out to intercept Angelica before she entered the common room.

"Frodo!" Angelica looked pleased when she saw him. "I was hoping to find you. We need an impartial judge for some of the contests this afternoon. Will you do it? No one could call you partial to any of the ladies."

"I'll be happy to," Frodo promised, "but there's an important errand I must attend to first." He confided in her reluctantly. "I must leave this inn for a little while, right away... but I can't."

"Whyever not?"

"I'm being prevented." He nodded toward Ulfodo Longchalk, loitering just beyond the front door with his back turned to them. "There's another at the stable gate, and a third under the bedroom windows, ensuring I can't get past any way I try."

"But why-?" Angelica began to ask, then frowned suddenly and put her hands on her hips. "Frodo, does this have something to do with Lad and whatever trouble he's been keeping to himself lately? He won't tell me, won't admit there's anything wrong, but I know that's why you were shut up with Father Whitfoot in his study yesterday. You've no concern in mayoral 'business'--I refuse to believe it!" She lowered her voice. "Lad hasn't gotten himself into debt to these louts, has he? He knows I won't allow that." She glanced at Ulfodo, and Frodo was afraid that she was going to go out and confront him.

"It isn't gambling debts," he told her. "It's something else."

"What then?"

"I can't say. I promised Lad I wouldn't. A gentlehobbit has to keep his word. Surely you understand that. But if you help me get out of here, Angelica, it will help Lad out of his difficulties too."

Angelica looked somewhat doubtful, but she agreed. "What can I do?"

Frodo considered the problem. "I might slip out past them if I had some disguise. Perhaps if I had a cloak or large hat..." But Frodo saw instantly that these wouldn't do; on a warm summer's day, such a costume would only draw attention to himself and rouse the Longchalks' suspicions before he had gone more than a few steps. He would be caught. "What else might I disguise myself as?"

Angelica smiled. "You could walk out of here easily if you were me."

"You mean, you'd go in my place?" Could he ask her to find Sam and deliver a message to him? Frodo didn't think the errand would place his cousin in danger, but how much could he tell her without breaking Lad's confidence? Say too much, and Lad would surely be in greater trouble with his wife than he was with the Longchalk brothers.

"No," she answered. "I meant that you might go as me."

Sam lost sight of Lad immediately after Fleetfoot's morning race. Lad had been talking with two hobbits at the far end of the field as he climbed off the pony, but they were gone before Sam could cross the length of the racing course to meet them. It didn't worry him much--he assumed that they'd gone to meet Frodo, and Lad wasn't required to run his pony again until after lunch--but he thought it best to leave the fairfield to follow and be sure that everything went well. He was still concerned that Frodo would get himself into trouble by intervening in Lad's problem; Frodo meant well, as he always did, but he didn't know what these racing toughs could be like.

As he approached the White Chestnut, he saw one of the hobbits he'd glimpsed with Lad leaning on the curved jamb open front door of the inn, smoking a pipe. Lad and the other one must be inside with Frodo.

Before Sam could make his way across the market square to enter the inn, a young lady in a blue dress with a large straw hat tied closely around the sides of her head, following behind a group of chattering ladies as if she were one of them, darted out of the front door past the hobbit lounging there. Keeping her face carefully averted from sight, she came up to Sam and took him by the arm. For a startled, confused moment, Sam thought it was Angelica, but before he could say a word, an astonishing thing happened: this strange young lady leaned close and warm lips brushed his cheek. An all-too familiar voice whispered in his ear, "Behave naturally, Sam. Don't draw attention to us."

Sam turned to peer at the face under the hat's brim. In spite of the injunction to behave naturally, he couldn't help nearly blurting out, "Fr-!"

Fingers gently pressed over his mouth to silence him before he spoke the name. "Hush! I'll explain it as soon as I can." And, holding the bewildered Sam's arm with unladylike firmness, his companion escorted him swiftly across the square.

When they were several hundred yards away from the inn and heading down the high street, Sam asked, "Frodo, what's going on? Why are you dressed like that?"

Frodo glanced over his shoulder to be sure they hadn't been noticed or followed. "It's rather a long story. Let's find a private place where we can talk. I've got a lot to tell you."

At the nearest lane, they turned and left the high street; the lane wound between the hummocks of several smials dug into the downs, then sloped steeply down toward the broad stream at bottom. They crossed the stream and followed a footpath on the opposite bank that led westward out of town, until they eventually came to a grove of trees with a bench made of a split log at its center. This was obviously a common trysting-place for courting couples, but no one was in sight today.

Frodo sat down on the bench and undid the ribbons tied beneath his chin to take the hat off and set it down beside himself. While he recited the key points of his encounter with the Longchalks, and how his attempt to deal with them had turned out, Sam plunked himself down onto the grass at Frodo's feet and gaped up at him in a state of dazzled wonderment. Now that he could see Frodo's face, his appearance was even more astonishing.

"I knew I had to get out and find you, Sam, but those Longchalk brothers were keeping watch to see that Lad and I couldn't leave," Frodo concluded his tale. "You saw the one standing guard at the door, and the other was at the stable-yard gate. I couldn't even climb out a window. If Angelica hadn't come in, I might be sitting there still, with no hope of sneaking out. Fortunately, there were so many women in and out of the inn today that one more would go unnoticed. I was just working up my nerve to go out, when I saw you."

Sam realized now why he had at first mistaken Frodo for Angelica: the dress was one he'd seen her wear many times: a skirt of becoming robin's-egg blue with a lace-work blouse and darker blue bodice, laced more tightly around Frodo's slender waist and flat chest than around Angelica's buxom figure. The ends of Frodo's hair had been curled into little ringlets; Angelica had probably done that for him. Until now, Sam hadn't noticed how much the two cousins resembled each other. Dressed this way, Frodo might almost be Angelica's sister. "And where's Angelica now?" he asked.

"I left her in our room. We had to go there to change clothes, of course, after Angelica borrowed this nice, big hat from a friend of hers who was having lunch in the common room."

"Didn't Lad see this?"

"Oh, no. He was hiding from his wife. He didn't want her to know what was going on, remember, although Angelica's no fool and knew very well that there was some mischief about." Frodo sat forward, elbows on his knees. "Listen, Sam, we'll need your help to get out of this fix. When is the next race Fleetfoot runs in?"

"That'll be the first after lunch, in just about an hour." Sam's eyes went wide. "Only, Lad won't be there to ride 'm!"

"Yes, that's just what those Longchalks intend, to see the pony taken out of the betting. When you go back to the fairfields, you must see that he does run. Tell Milo Lad has been detained and he'll have to ride- No," Frodo stopped as a better idea occurred to him. "Tell him that Mosco should ride. The boy is old enough now, and he's his father's son. He knows how to sit a pony as well as any youngster in the Shire, and he's light enough that he may give Fleetfoot the advantage he needs to win. Tell Milo."

Sam nodded.

"I want you to wager whatever money you have with you on that race. Have Merry and Pippin do so too. If Fleetfoot does win, bring your winnings back to me at the White Chestnut."

"What if Fleetfoot doesn't win?" asked Sam.

Frodo sighed. "Then I will just have to think of something else."

As he sat back again, he crossed his legs, revealing a froth of lace-edged petticoats and pantalets--more than a lady would show. Sam had seen plenty of lacey undergarments in his lifetime. He'd grown up in a tiny bungalow with three sisters who left their laundry out to dry everywhere, and he'd been married for more than two years. He'd never found women's clothing especially fascinating or exciting before, but the sight of Frodo wearing these things made his heart beat faster. He couldn't help staring.

"I have to go back to the inn soon," Frodo continued. "I don't want to leave Lad and Angelica waiting and wondering what's happened to me. No matter how the race turns out, come there to find me."

"I wouldn't leave you there in a muddle in any case," Sam answered.

"Dearest Sam." Then Frodo noticed the way Sam was staring at him. "What is it?" he asked. "Do I look so odd, Sam? I know I must, dressed in these clothes." He tugged at the skirt. "I feel very silly."

"No," Sam responded quickly. "You don't look odd at all. You look... beautiful. I never saw you look so pretty."

Frodo stared back at him, then laughed. "I wanted to look passable as a girl--not better!" He regarded Sam thoughtfully for a moment; a small smile flickered on the corner of his mouth and a impish look appeared in his eyes. "Oh, very well." He stood up. "We still have a little time before we have to go back."

He ruffled up the skirt and petticoats, reaching beneath them into the small of his back until, to Sam's astonishment, he undid the waistband of the pantalets and they dropped about his ankles.

"What're you doing?"

"Precisely what you were hoping I'd do, Sam," Frodo answered as he stepped out of the pantalets, then picked them up to toss them onto the bench. "Don't deny it. I can see it in the way you've been looking at me--You'd like to try this out." He sat down again. "You'd better give me your coat to put beneath me, otherwise I'll get splinters in hard-to-explain places."

Sam glanced fretfully out through the gaps in the trees around them at the empty fields and downs beyond. "What if somebody comes along and sees?"

"I don't think that's likely. Everyone's over at the races or in town at the fair, and if somebody should happen along, they won't intrude. They won't know who we are. I'm sure this sort of thing goes on all the time in this secluded little spot. It's just made for it." Hiking his skirts high onto his thighs, Frodo patted a bare knee. "Come on, then. We don't have that much time, and we may never have another such opportunity."

Thus summoned, Sam crawled swiftly over to the foot of the bench. Frodo took his hand, and placed it on his knee where his own hand had been a minute before. As they began to kiss, Sam let his hand travel slowly up Frodo's flank. A caress bestowed a hundred times or more, but that he should do it this once up beneath layers of rustling, starched petticoats made the touch all the more thrilling for them both.

Frodo laughed, "That tickles!"

As he wriggled to move closer, Sam slid both hands beneath his bottom--remembering what Frodo had said about splinters--and tried to lift him up off the bench, and at the same time shove the skirts up out of the way. Then he lost his balance; his hands slipped and he fell backwards onto the grass, petticoats in his face as Frodo landed atop him. Sam puffed to blow the cloth from his face and struggled to untangle his fingers, which had been caught in the eyelets of the lace, when Frodo's hands quickly closed over his.

"Take care, Sam!" Frodo said and placed a light kiss on the exposed tip of his nose. "Hold still. You'll tear it, and Angelica will never forgive me if I muss up her best clothes."

Sam went out for a quick wash up at the stream, still dazed by what had happened. Frodo had taken him by surprise before, but he'd never taken Sam in such an astonishing way. Frodo had ridden him joyously, fully clothed without a ribbon unlaced, burying him beneath billows of blue and white. Sam almost felt as if he were drowning and could only hang on for dear love and life. Like most of Frodo's recent flights of wildness, it had been wonderfully thrilling and somewhat frightening.

When Sam returned to the grove, Frodo was reclining on his coat on the grass, gazing up through the circle of trees at the sky and smiling softly, contentedly. With his tousled ringlets flung out around his head, face flushed and eyes dreamy, he looked even more beautiful; and Sam forgot his misgivings and said the first thing that came to his mind:

"I wish I could marry you."

Frodo laughed and sat up. Sam offered him a handkerchief, dampened in the water, so he could wash up too. "I've wished so myself, many times," Frodo said. "Imagine how lovely it would be not to worry about hiding and keeping what we feel for each other always secret. We could do this sort of thing all the time."

"Married folk don't do such things!" Sam replied, scandalized. "Not out-of-doors where anybody might come along. They get into bed every night, proper and decent-like."

"Pity," said Frodo as he began to put himself back into order. "Not that I've any objection to a bed, but this was rather more exciting." He glanced up into Sam's shocked face. "Didn't you think so too?"

"It was," Sam admitted, "and 'm not sorry we did it, only- well- you never used to behave like this afore you went away. Afore-" He hesitated, but Frodo understood.

"Not before I took up with Merry?" he finished the sentence for Sam as he stepped back into his pantalets and smoothed down his skirts, completely unperturbed. When he glanced up at Sam, there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I assure you, dear Sam, Merry and I never did anything like this. He tied my wrists to the bedpost once or twice, but that was as much to prevent me from sleep-walking as to have a bit of fun."

Sam couldn't imagine how Frodo could call being tied up 'fun'--he'd felt far too helpless with his hands bound in lace--but something else that Frodo said made him forget his jealousy. "When did you sleep-walk, Frodo? Was it when you was in Minas Tirith?"

"Yes, that's right. I kept waking in the middle of night to find myself wandering the street in front of Gandalf's house in my shift. Once, I even woke in the tunnels under the citadel, and had no idea how I came to be there. There was the ghost of an Elf... I've told you something of that tale, Sam. I'll have to go through my notes and make a proper story of it, once I finish writing the tale of our quest." He picked up the straw hat from the bench and put it back on, tying the wide blue ribbons under his chin. "We ought to go now. You don't want to be late for Fleetfoot's race."

He took Sam by the hand and they walked back into town. On the edge of the market square, Frodo turned and said, "If we were married, I could do this all time too, but this may be my only chance." He threw his arms around Sam's neck and kissed him boldly, there in broad daylight with people all around. No one gave them a second glance. "Best of luck, darling," he said after he let Sam go. "I'll be at the White Chestnut, and myself again, when you come back."

After he saw Sam off on the eastward road toward the fairfields, Frodo turned to go into the inn. As he made his way across the crowded square, a voice called out, "Cousin!"

Frodo didn't look up until the cry was repeated. A chubby, fair-haired hobbit was headed purposefully toward him, grinning. She was wearing a pair of Sam's trousers and a loose-fitted jacket and waistcoat so that she looked pudgy rather than pregnant and her bright curls had been tucked up beneath under a purloined hat, but he would recognize Angelica anywhere.

"My dear Miss Baggins!" Angelica said once they were close enough for conversation and looked him up and down, appreciating her own work. "How sweet you look, but you've rumpled my dress. You haven't been sitting on grass in it, have you?"

"No, I've been very careful."

"I've been looking all over for you. I even went down to the fairfields. I got tired of sitting in your dressing-gown, waiting for you to come back. I was going to put on the clothes you left off, but they were too tight. I hope Sam doesn't mind I've borrowed some of his things. It was an interesting experience, being a boy among the boys. I've never worn trousers before--I'm thinking of having a pair made for riding when I get my figure back."

"It's been an interesting experience for me as well," Frodo confessed. "And I owe it entirely to you. Thank you."

"Did it work? Did you find Sam?"

In spite of his boldness a few minutes earlier, Frodo was relieved that Angelica hadn't seen him kiss Sam. She was the one person in Michel Delving who would know the truth if she saw it. "Yes, I spoken to him, and everything's been arranged.

"Then we've done all we can for Lad? Shall we go back and change?"

Arm in arm, they went into the inn, past the watchful gaze of Ulfodo Longchalk. A short while later, Frodo emerged from his room in his usual clothes and returned to the common room; most of the ladies had finished their lunches and returned to their business in the square, but Lad was still sitting at the same table with his third ale and the remains of a hearty meal. Ravenous after his adventures, Frodo ordered a bite of late lunch for himself as he joined his friend.

"You've been gone a good, long while," said Lad. "Did you get a message out?"

Frodo nodded. "Sam knows just what to do." He told Lad all he had asked Sam to do on their behalf.

"Mosco's to ride?" Lad repeated. "D'you think he's up to it?"

"It was your friend, young Myrtle Broombindle, who made me think of it," answered Frodo. "I remember seeing her ride in the jumps, and if a girl of seventeen can do it, why not a boy of fifteen? Milo himself said at that time that he'd put Mosco in the races if he could ride half as well as she did, but Mosco needn't jump over logs and streams and things. He only needs to hold on and keep his seat, and he can manage that quite well. Milo's had him on ponies since he was of an age to sit upright in the saddle."

"Myrtle's still running the jumps. She near one-and-twenty now and the best lady-rider I've even seen, barring my 'Gelica. As a matter of fact, Myrtle's riding the jump-course later this afternoon. I'd hoped to be there..." Lad looked wistful. "I suppose we can now only wait for Sam to show up, and hope he's been successful."

"Oh, I think the matter will turn out quite successfully, one way or another," Frodo assured him with renewed confidence. Since he'd left Sam, some interesting ideas had begun to turn in his head.

When Sam returned to the White Chestnut, his pockets were bulging with coins. Frodo and Lad had returned to the private sitting room where the Longchalks had left them by that time, and after the inn servant had shown him in, Sam took out the money by the handful and placed it on the table before them.

"Milo put Mosco on the pony, just as you said to, and the little lad rode 'm for all he was worth!" he explained. "They came in nose 'n' tail ahead of everybody else. We all put every bit o' spending money we had on the race, and you see how it turned out."

"Did you tell them why it was important?" asked Frodo.

Sam shook his head. "Only that Lad was in need of it. They guessed as you was in some sort o' trouble, Lad, when you went off this morning and didn't come back--Milo's had his suspicions awhile now--and figured that if they did as Frodo wanted, he'd get you out of it right enough. It's enough money, isn't it?"

"More than enough." Frodo was touched that his cousins had so much faith in his abilities; he hoped he would be able to live up to their expectations. "Thank you, Sam. Will you do one last thing, please? The Longchalk brothers are just outside. Will you fetch them for us, and say that Lad and I are ready to deal with them."

By the time Sam returned with Udo, Ulfodo, and Urgo in tow, Frodo had arranged the coins on the table in a row of neat stacks. The Longchalks' eyes went wide at the sight, and Udo grinned.

"There it is," said Frodo, with a gestures over the glinting, gold and silver stacks. "All the money you could ask for in recompense you for your trouble... and you won't get your hands on a penny of it."

The three brothers gaped at him. So did Sam and Lad.

"What do you mean?" said Udo. "You've got the money. Just give it to us, and that'll be the end of it."

"No, I don't think that would be the end of it. Since our last interview," Frodo explained, "I've had time to think things over, just as you suggested. I've wondered what you lads might really be up to. Your behavior throughout this business has been so very odd, I can't simply say it's because you're angry and disappointed over losing at the races."

"We are so!" insisted Ulfodo. "I'm very angry, and disappointed."

"Nonsense. If you truly had suspicions that Lad was up to something, why not make the matter public? That's what righteously outraged and honest hobbits would do. As a matter of fact, we have an officer of the law right here with us." Frodo indicated Sam, who had little idea what Frodo was up to, but had moved to stand before the door with his arms folded and a no-nonsense look on his face. "Chief Shirriff Gamgee is out of his usual jurisdiction, but I'm certain he'd be happy to hear your complaint and bring it to the proper authorities."

The Longchalks regarded Sam warily and said nothing.

"I didn't think so," said Frodo. "You've no charge to bring against Lad. That's not what you're after. Why make your suspicions public when you can resort to this quiet sort of blackmail--and make no mistake, blackmail it is. And yet I don't believe it's the money you're after. I should've seen the truth the moment Lad introduced you to me. Your father's run against Mayor Whitfoot in the last elections, hasn't he? It wouldn't surprise me to learn that he plans to stand again in the upcoming election this autumn."

"So he is!" Lad exclaimed triumphantly.

"What if he is? What's that got to do with anything?" demanded Udo, but he seemed less intimidating; he and his brothers were defensive now.

"It has everything to do with it," Frodo answered. "Once I saw that, I began to imagine the terrific scandal you could make up out of nothing by accusing Lad of trickery on the race course. If the Mayor's own son were disgraced, it might tell against the Mayor himself and spoil his chances of being re-elected to his office. But you couldn't go around making unfounded accusations. A rumor of misconduct wouldn't hold on its own, even if Fleetfoot continued to lose. That's the reason for these threats and demands for money, isn't it? The worst thing we could do is give in to them. Lad was quite right in the first place: paying for your silence would look like proof of guilt. Giving you one penny of this-" he ran his fingers up around one stack of coins, making them rattle softly, "would be the worst thing Lad could do."

"What if we go and tell now?" Ulfodo threatened.

"First, you'll have to get past Mr. Gamgee. He's fought greater foes than you on my behalf," Frodo threatened back. "Then if you're determined to try such tricks, you'll find yourselves in worse trouble than you hoped ever to make for Lad. I will make the whole ugly business public. I'll bring your conduct to the attention of everyone who takes an interest in racing within twenty miles of Michel Delving. Perhaps they'll believe you about Lad, and perhaps they'll believe me, but please be assured that I will do all I can to see that none of you sets foot on a racing course again. I will also tell your father what you've been up to--or does he know already?"

This last was a guess, but it struck true. Whether their father was a part of their scheme or the Longchalks were afraid that he would find out about it, the last of their belligerence and menace collapsed. They agreed to do as Frodo wanted.

"I'm sorry I had to put you to so much trouble, Sam," Frodo apologized as they gathered up the stacks of coins after the Longchalk brothers had been dismissed. "I didn't see what was truly going on until after we'd parted."

"Are you sure they won't carry tales?" asked Lad. "You made them promise they wouldn't, but all the same, Fleetfoot won at higher odds, just as they said I meant him to do..."

"Well, they can't hold you responsible for that. You were nowhere near the races at the time, due to their own interference, and the idea to have Mosco ride in your place was mine alone. No trickery of yours, Lad. I can't say certainly that they're hobbits to keep their word--I rather doubt they are--but I've made them see that they won't serve their father by sullying your good name," Frodo replied. "If they're fools enough to carry on with their threats out of spite, then I'll do just as I said. I am on your side in this, Lad, as well as after what's just and fair. In this case, they happen to be the same thing."

"Yes, I believe you are!" Lad said appreciatively. "I've never seen you so fierce before, Frodo. You quite frightened those bullies. I don't know how I can thank you. Come to dinner tonight, won't you, both of you? I'm sure Angelica won't mind."

As they went out, Angelica came into the inn. Lad froze at the sight of her, but they were standing in the middle of the entrance hall and there was nowhere to hide.

"There you are, Frodo!" Angelica greeted him first, then took in her husband with a glance and said innocently, "I didn't know you were here, dear. I thought you'd be off at the races 'til all hours. How did your pony do today?"

"He won!" said Lad, but didn't dare say more.

"How wonderful for you, darling! Are you and Sam going back to the fairfields right away? I've asked Frodo to judge a few competitions and need him now--that is, if you've finished that other business you were telling me about, Frodo. Is it done?"

"Yes," Frodo answered. "Everything's settled quite satisfactorily."

"Good, then you must come with me and settle who's the best quilter before an awful quarrel develops between Mrs. Deepdelve and Mrs. Talltrees." Angelica lay a hand on Frodo's arm. "Why don't you come along too, Sam?"

Lad returned to the fairfields, intending to catch the final races of the day before dinner-time and restore Pippin's, Merry's and Milo's winnings to them. Frodo went with Angelica to settle the dispute over quilting diplomatically, and judged several other competitions, with Sam giving his advice in matters of the finest flowers and the most tasty preserves.

At dusk, they all met again at Lad and Angelica's home. Lad had told his other guests something of his predicament and how Frodo had rescued him, but it wasn't until after dinner, when Angelica had gone into the nursery to put Willa to bed, that the group gathered around Frodo in the parlor to hear the entire story.

"The whole thing felt very odd and wrong to me when Lad first told me about it," Frodo explained. "These Longchalks didn't behave the way hobbits naturally would if they sincerely thought they'd been cheated in a game."

"Yes, that's so," said Milo. "They'd make a loud, public cry about it. They might want their money back, but they'd demand that loudly too."

"Exactly. When I learned that they never said a word to you, that seemed odder still. If they thought Lad was cheating, why not include you in their accusations as his partner, or let you know of their suspicions if they didn't think you were involved? When I met them, I thought it was possible they were behaving so unreasonably because they were angry. It seemed easiest to give them what they wanted and hope for the best, but once I'd had time to think, I saw things differently. I considered who they were, and who their father was, and I realized that that Lad had been right to refuse them in the first place. If he had, they would've used it against him to make the public scandal they hadn't been able to before."

"It wasn't particular cleverness on my part," Lad admitted. "I didn't have enough money to pay them off."

"I'm grateful for your help, all of you," said Frodo, "even if the money wasn't necessary in the end."

"Not to you, perhaps, but I was glad of the tip," said Pippin. "I haven't had my allowance since I went to Buckland."

"Not to mention the idea of having Mosco ride," said Milo. "I've never seen Fleetfoot fly so fast as he did with the little lad on his back! His hooves barely touched the turf. You liked running the race too, didn't you, Mosco?" His son agreed that it had been wonderful fun. "Then we must have you ride in all Fleetfoot's races hereafter. We'll keep you on 'til you get too chubby, my boy, then it'll be your brother Moro's turn, then Minto's if they've a taste for it."

"After that, my little ones will be big enough to ride," said Lad. "I'll get Willa her own pony soon, and train her up for it properly."

"Helping you out wasn't all Sam was doing today, was it?" Pippin said, smiling meaningfully.

"What d'you mean by that?" demanded Sam.

"Some of the lads sitting near us in the fields today, Grubby Tinsdale and his cousin Wags from Waymoot, came into town for luncheon. When we asked after Lad, they said they didn't see him, but they did see you, Sam, walking about by the old inn arm-in-arm with a lady."

"There wasn't no lady," Sam answered, but he was blushing deeply.

"They said they couldn't see her face, but a lady it was! Who was she, Sam?" Merry persisted in the same playful tone. "A new girl-friend, or an old one? Does Rosie know?"

They were only teasing, but Sam grew so red and flustered that the two looked puzzled and curious, and even Lad and Milo began to wonder what was going on.

"I doubt it was Sam they saw at all," Frodo came to the rescue, as much for his own sake as Sam's. If his cousins ever pried out the truth, he would never hear the end of it. "He isn't so well known in Michel Delving, and they might easily have mistaken someone else for him. I promise you, Sam was with me all the time he was in town today."

This put an end to the jokes, but his cousin continued to look curious. To Frodo's surprise, it was Lad who caught him by the arm as he and Sam were preparing to return to the inn for the night, and murmured confidentially, "You might as well admit it, Frodo. I know what you were really up to this afternoon."

Frodo stared at him and blanched. He'd been afraid that someone would be clever enough to figure things out, but he hadn't expected it to be Lad! "Do you?" he asked.

"Oh, I was slow, I admit, but I see it all now," Lad replied. "You had Angelica's help, didn't you?"

"Er- yes..."

"You never got out of the inn at all. You couldn't get past those Longchalks, and she was the one who took your message to Sam. Isn't that so?" Lad lowered his voice. "She was the lady Pip and Merry were teasing him about. I say, Frodo, you didn't tell her all about my problem, did you?"

"No," said Frodo, rallying, "not everything. Only that you weren't in debt. She'd guessed there was some trouble about, and suspected the worse. Once she knew you were in need of help, she was ready to do whatever she could. Angelica is a good egg, Lad. She may be strict about money and quick-tempered when she doesn't have things her way, but you can count on her in a crisis. You might tell her the whole truth now yourself. She's dying to know the rest of it." He had the feeling that Angelica wouldn't be at peace, or leave Lad in peace, until she had heard the whole story.

Lad agreed to confess all. "We'll keep your secret, Frodo," he assured him with a conspiratorial wink. "I understand how a great detective has to keep up his reputation, and if you want everybody to think you slipped out past the Longchalks by some clever trick, 'Gelica and I won't say otherwise. It'd be ungrateful of us, after all I've put you through today."

"That's very kind of you," said Frodo. After all, it was much better to let Lad think that this was indeed what had happened, and that the mysterious lady seen with Sam was his own wife. He hoped that no one would tell tales about that kiss in the square--it wouldn't do for Lad to suspect there was something scandalous between Sam and Angelica! He might then have to tell the truth.