Fog on the Stove-top
Frodo fingered the ring that hung from a chain around his neck. He had been scouring Bag End for hours, searching for
anything that could be used as a replacement wheel. He felt tired, weary.
"Any luck, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked, entering the room Frodo had been searching.
"No, Sam," replied Frodo.
"Well, Mister Bilbo's asking for you. I've a feeling he has something up his sleeve, yet."
Frodo followed Sam down the corridor towards Bilbo's study. They both stopped, though, when they came to the kitchen doorway, out of which a steady stream of smoke was pouring forth.
Frodo waved his hand in front of his face and coughed. "What's going on in here?" he called. He could see a figure moving towards him through the cloud of soot, and was not surprised to discover it was Pippin, looking a bit ashen-faced.
"I wanted to help out," he explained. "So I went to the pantry for a bit of a snack, to help me think, but all I could find were those biscuits - you know, Sam's recipe, they're always hard as a rock. And then I thought, you know, they're round, too! So I measured one of the other wheels, and baked an enormous biscuit. I did the math, and everything. It's an hour for 6 servings, and as this was at least 30 servings, I did it for five hours." Here he paused to rub some soot out of his eye. "Did I count wrong?"