We had no sooner arrived when a hobbit, whom I learned later was the Mayor’s assistant, came scurrying out the door, looking about frantically as if not sure what to do next, or who to look for.
"Ho there, Tom!" the Mayor called. "You look a tad upset. What is the matter?"
"Ah, Mayor Whitfoot!" the excited hobbit said. "Just the hobbit I was looking for! I fear the problem is worse than first thought, Sir."
Now, Mayor Whitfoot became the one that looked confused. “But when I spoke to the repair crew earlier today, they assured me that everything was under control, that there was nothing to worry about.”
Tom’s nervous demeanor remained unchanged as he shook his head. “Well Sir, they have found out differently. They’ve come to the conclusion that part of the Town Hole, especially the part containing your office is too dangerous for you to use. It appears that it’s ....well....it’s on the verge of collapsing! The Town Hole being built into the chalky hills of the White Downs and all-"
“Nonsense!” Will scoffed in mild annoyance. “You don’t need to give me a geography lesson! I’m quite aware of topography of this area! The Town Hole has stood for years without threat of collapse and it will stand a good many more!” With that pronouncement, the good Mayor proceeded to head for the front door.
“Sir...” Tom began, his brow wrinkled with concern, “It may not be wise to ...” But the Mayor’s bulk had already disappeared inside.
“Oh dear.” said Tom, as he fished his handkerchief from his waistcoat and mopped his forehead.
With a determined look on his face, Paladin started after the Mayor. “Stay here.” He ordered.
I’m not sure the directive was aimed at exclusively at Pippin or if Tom and I were included in that command. No matter, for Pippin wasted no time in following after his father.
“Pippin, wait!” I called, to no avail.
“Oh dear.” I heard Tom say again as I, in turn, followed after Pip with Tom puffing and mopping excitedly along behind.
We followed the sound of voices and caught up with Pippin in the Mayor’s office. Whereupon Paladin bestowed a frown upon his son, and me, before turning his attention back to a small crack in the office ceiling.
“You mean to tell me that this little crack is causing all the fuss?” Will asked Tom incredulously.
If anyone had asked my opinion, which they didn’t, fortunately, I would have been inclined to agree with the Mayor. The crack didn't seem to be that bad. It was neither very wide nor very long.
"Sir, that crack is just the beginning. If you’ll recall, this particular crack wasn’t even here when you left for the day. It appeared after the workers repaired the other one.” Tom gestured to a patched spot on the ceiling about two feet away from the latest fissure.
Will looked at Tom, then at Paladin, then back up at the small crack. Then he shook his head in disbelief. "I still can’t believe something so tiny ...Pshaw!” he scoffed again. “There is no possible way the roof is about to collapse. Why, the worse cracks were three rooms over from here!"
"I know that, Sir," Tom was as apologetic as he could be, but the urgency was still in his voice. "But I really think we should vacate the premises and stay out until the workers give the ‘all clear’! "
"Nonsense!" Will said again, taking a tone with Tom similar to one used when speaking to a child. "Why, I can prove to you that this ceiling is fine. Here!" he lifted up his walking stick over his head and began to jab at the crack. "See? Not a thing wrong with it!" the Mayor announced with a self-satisfied smile, which faded quickly at the sound that followed his final triumphant thrust. The sound was tiny at first, like someone snapping a dry twig. Then it became reminiscent to small pebbles slowly being loosed one by one, then gradually picking up speed.
Tom shrieked and fled the room. Mayor Whitfoot was still staring at the ceiling in astonishment, as bit by bit, plaster began raining down at an alarming rate, to the accompaniment of a noise that had now become a low rumble.
"Mayor," Paladin shouted, at the same time shoving Pippin and me from the room. "Get out of there! This instant!"
Pippin hesitated. “What about Father?”
“He’ll get out all right!” I replied, hoping my words proved true. “Come on!” I tugged at Pip’s sleeve, compelling him to move. Just before we turned to go, we caught a glimpse of Paladin as he made one last attempt to drag the still incredulous Mayor from the room. However, it is no easy task to prompt someone of Will Whitfoot’s considerable bulk and stubbornness to move quickly.
The rumbling crescendoed and this time there was no hesitation. We beat a speedy retreat down the hall and outside, clearing the hole just as there was an earsplitting crash behind us. We turned, relieved to see that Paladin was on our heels. But there was no sign of Mayor Whitfoot.
The Mayor’s assistant, Tom, however, was frantically wringing his hands and his handkerchief in turn. All the while, muttering, “Oh dear...oh dear....oh dear....”
Clouds of thick, white dust, billowed out of the door of the Town Hole, threatening to cover the gathering crowd of onlookers. Paladin took a step, intent on going back inside for his friend. I put a hand on his arm. “ Do you think it’s safe, yet?”
He started to answer but was interrupted by the sound of a hacking cough. The dust was already beginning to settle, and framed in what remained of the Town Hole doorway, stood an image in white chalk that could have passed for a statue of the Mayor, except this image was coughing and gagging....
"Will!" Paladin shouted, a mixture of relief and concern in his voice. "Are you all right?"
Mayor Whitfoot blinked and rubbed his eyes trying to focus on the direction of Paladin’s voice, as his eyes were so full of chalk dust that it was impossible for him to see clearly. It was a bit difficult to discern his answer to Paladin’s question for all the coughing and sputtering that accompanied it.
With the Town Hole in a shambles, every able-bodied hobbit was called upon to help dig through the rubble and find all known (and quite a few forgotten) documents, furniture and what not, including the Mayor's hat and his walking stick.
The Mayor spent his time, walking back and forth, shouting orders as well as asking if anyone had found his hat. At one point, Pippin looked up at the Mayor from where we were working together in the clean up. "When is Mayor Whitfoot going to get cleaned up?" he asked his father. "He looks like one of Pervinca’s flour dumplings!"
One of the other hobbits looked up. "Why he's right. Ol' Will does look like a dumpling!"
I fear as I finish this entry, my dear Cousin Pippin has helped to pin a new appellation on our beloved mayor. I can almost still hear some of the patrons in the common room of the Rose & Thorn, roaring with laughter over the Mayor's latest predicament and his new nickname, " Flour Dumpling."
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