"SHHHHHHHHH…" the grizzled, old man wagged a gnarled finger at the younger–and much shorter–hobbit. He glared intently with his watery brown eyes for just a second, then began brushing furious at his grey and white beard where an ember had fallen from his pipe and began sending small but acrid curls of burning hair smoke into that area of the great library. A moment later, the fire out and most of his frizzy beard intact, Mister Horn returned to his reading, hand-ground spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.

"In my day stupid hobbits was kept in the fields, hoeing potaters like proper members of a lesser race," he mumbled through his teeth which were clenched around a long-stemmed briar pipe. Slowly, the pointed grey hat began to slide of the side of his head, nearly displacing a barn owl known as "Who". The perpetually startled-looking bird became indignant and hissed at the wizard as he struggled to set it right again.

"You know I can hear you when you say things like that. Being old and feeble-minded does not excuse you from a requirement for a certain amount of civility to others," the dapper hobbit said conversationally. It was obvious that he wasn't really angry at the aged wizard, in spite of the geezer's  cross attitude and his sometimes-disturbing lack of personal hygiene. "I don't know what you really expect to find in here, but we know all we need to know about how those olden heroes killed Orcus. At least I know all I need to know about it, and that is that only the paladin lived. I love Pelor as much as the next hobbit, and far better than you I might add, but I don't intend to die to pad the credentials of his golden-haired boy."

"Damnit Neb!" Mister Horn jabbed his pipe at the hobbit for emphasis, "I…" 

Suddenly the wizard got a surprised look on his wrinkled face, his thin lips pursed in a prolonged 'O'. After a moment he scratched his left eyebrow with his pipe stem–an unfortunate habit as it left one bushy brow streaked with brown while the other was nearly snowy white–then shook his head and popped the pipe back in his mouth. He glanced once again at the paper in his hand then lay it down atop a stack of others.

"I need to visit the jakes again," he mumbled, sounding a little embarrassed. He turned his head as if looking for someone and then focused his gaze on the hobbit. "Can you show me to the jakes Neb? I haven't been since this morning and my bladder isn't made of iron!" He brandished the pipe as if to punctuate the concept that his bladder was indeed not constructed of ferrous metal, which would have been unfortunate, considering the properties of iron and the purpose for which a bladder is utilized. Such are the thoughts that go through the mind of a hobbit continuously.

"You've been six times a'ready today and it isn't time for lunch yet," Neb said patiently, and a bit slowly, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing or maybe a little daft, "I'll find someone to escort you."

The diminutive man put two fingers in his mouth and blew out a piercing shriek of a whistle. From a hundred directions in three dimensions, a veritable chorus of "Shhhhhh" noises erupted. The library in Tir was almost as vertical as it was horizontal, and badly infested with nattering busy-bodies who didn't know when to mind their business, but it worked in Neb's favor in this case, as he knew it would.

Within a matter of seconds, a tall fellow with extravagantly arching eyebrows and the rich purple robes of an elven under-librarian glided toward them. He did not appear to move his feet; he looked like he was standing on a patch of rug that someone was dragging about. The under-librarian glided right up to them and frowned down his long, superior nose. 

"Lord Neb," the thin man said in a nasally, refined voice intended to convey the pedigree of his education, "I must request that you refrain from further loud noises whilst visiting the Tirian Library. It is a simple courtesy to our many patrons that each… person maintain the proper decorum. If you would like I can make available a private chamber for your use where you will not be required to remain as silent as is expected in the open library."

"Why that'd be finer than frog hair," Neb said, affecting his most wild-eyed-hobbit-mad-man look, "but what I need first is someone to show this old, crusty badger to the jakes, Jake."

Primly, the under-librarian offered his arm to the wizard, who struggled to gain his feet. "My name, Lord Neb, is 'Jacques'. You need only say it slightly louder than a whisper, assuming you are able to modulate your voice down that far, and I shall be at your service."

"We don't stand by all that formality back at Brian Patch Bottom where I hale from," the hobbit quipped in his most down-home voice, "but I do surely appreciate your serving us Jake. A fellow could get used to this kind of treatment."

"Let us sincerely hope not," the slender elf said quietly as he glided off with the wobbly Mister Horn on his arm.

After the wizard had turned the corner on the way to the privvy and was safely away, the hobbit rushed over to the stack of papers Mister Horn had been shuffling through and began a rapid search through the tottering pile of vellum and parchment. Within minutes, he'd located at least a dozen relevant scrolls and quickly, carefully arranged them at the top of the heap in such a way as to make them look as disorderly as the rest of the material.

He looked around furtively, then scampered back to his chair, put his feet back on the polished burlwood table and drew a satisfying mouthful of smoke from his own pipe, just as Jacques and Mister Horn came gliding/ambling back from their adventure.

"It's hard to be your research assistant when you're always on the verge of wetting yourself," Neb remarked dryly as the creaky wizard slowly settled back into his seat. "Now why don't you see if you can find something that matters in that scrapheap you've gathered before Jacques comes back to relocate us away from the respectable folks?"

"Stupid hobbits can't even treat their betters with respect like they did back in my day," Mister Horn muttered… then stopped. "Great Googly Moogly… I think I've found it. Look here Neb!" he shook some papers at the hobbit. "Who is wetting himself now, eh?"

The hobbit chuckled for a moment. "Well then Mister Dustytoots, you are definitely a library haunt of extraordinary capabilities."

"And don't you forget," Mister Horn grinned victoriously, "and don't you for…"

A moment later the old man shook his head and scratched his left eyebrow with his pipe stem, an unfortunate habit.