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"Well, well, you have no money," said Falco, and his tone clearly implied the rest of his unspoken thoughts: this great fellow of the Big Folk, those Big Folk who thought they owned the Shire and everyone in it, was poor and shiftless and could get no work. Falco went on, speaking gruffly, but with a little twinkle in his eye that was directed towards Marigold. "I suppose you would consider it beneath your dignity to accept any assistance from a foolish little hobbit like me, but... I'm well-to-do, in fact, very well-to-do, and I can hardly find enough ways to spend my money. I would not dare let you leave the Shire and think that we hobbits were not willing to help one who is in need. In short, young man - " Falco felt superior with that adjective " - I will offer to pay whatever you owe, as you cannot do it yourself."
Marigold's little heart thrilled at Falco's gracious offer, and she felt that, despite all his grumpiness, he was not such a mean old hobbit after all, for she had been thinking so that morning. Feeling that somehow she must try to give this Man a good impression of hobbit kindness, as well, she leaned towards him, tugged at his sleeve, and gazed up at him with big earnest eyes. "Mr. Snaveling," she said, wondering why he had such a very odd name, "I am very sorry I called you awful yesterday. I don't think you're awful. I think you're a very..." What was he? She could call him 'nice' when she didn't know him very well yet. "I think you're a very interesting Man," she said, and, to make up for the deficiency of words, she gave him what she considered her charming smile of good-will, and sat back again in her chair.
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