Returning from the Shire, Frodo must explain himself and his adventures to the Gaffer.
"...That's what started all the mischief," the Gaffer rambled on, hands on his hips, "... chasing Black Men up mountains, though what for he don't make clear..."
Frodo grimaced and took a long pull on his tankard. Even after all his adventures, that tongue still withered his ears.
"...Just like your uncle, burg'ling dragons..."
Burgling... burgling dragons?
Frodo wiped away snorted ale. But those words held truth. Bilbo had burgled dragons. A regular there-and-back-again adventure. And now... now Bilbo was safe. Free.
"... and ruined my taters!"
Frodo smiled at his neighbour, chuckling. "I shall do my best to make amends."