Over half-pints of the Dragon's best bitter.
'Twas bad enough when the Ruffians did no work, or so we thought back then. Pimple styled himself the Chief, and they styled themselves his Men, taking in his name such goods as they'd not worked for, bullying and clouting any who stood in their way. By Afteryule they were all but sucking our blood, they squeezed us so hard, and we thought things couldn't worsen.
Then they set to work, closing the inns, driving hobbits from their holes, locking folks up and laying hands on whom they pleased; we found ourselves wishing for the days they'd merely been lazy.