|
With a loud cackle and a slap of her thigh, Ruthven let out a hearty laugh.
"You're a sure bet, Master Falco," she said, "to be a dog's second breakfast, if it's delivering the post you're about."
"Mind your tongue, you old bat," he retorted. "Why, I bet you'd be in a pickle trying to read the mail and deliver it correctly--a sour pickle."
"It would depend on my minding my p's for pickle and q's for fair quarter, shortling. Is it pictures that you hobbits post on your mail, so you's can read it? 'Cause lordy I didn't think there was muckle book larning your way. Cans you all read and write?"
Falco's face turned a redder shade of tone and the hairs on his considerable ears stood out as he contemplated a whitering blast to this insult at the integrity of his beloved Shire. Imagine someone suggesting hobbits couldn't read nor write when they had a Shire Post!
"Each family, I'll have you know, missus rag-tag-thankee-bag, has its own mark or rune, and we knows them well. And we hire the most competent writer, we do. They are what ye call it, amanuseits."
"Whoa, Falco," interjected Gareth. 'I think the word you be wanting is amanadueler, what challenges people to obey the rules and codes and right thinking."
"No, no," suggested Harreld. "It is an amanaduial who writes other people's words down."
This was too much for the ladies at the table. Both Linnéa and Ćoelhild were brought out of their shy modesty and began tittering ever so quietly, but they did their best to hold their faces steady so as not to incur Falco's wrath, nor wound his feelings.
"I do believe," intoned Brokhelm civily, "that the word in question is 'amanuensis' is it not?
"Well, that is not one which belongs to the Westron dialect spoken in the Shire," offerred Eodwine. "Is not 'amanuensis' a derivation from the Sindarin 'lover of words'?
"Now lookee 'ere," said Falco. "Just who is master of words here?"
"He is," offerred Bethberry with a large grin, pointing at Eodwine.
"What's happened to Gob and Twiddle?" moaned Gudryn.
|