The Hobbit

longer,” he said crossly, “say so at once and have done! I might refuse. I have got you out of two messes already,
     which were hardly in the original bargain, so that I am, I think, already owed some reward. But ‘third time pays for all’
     as my father used to say, and somehow I don’t think I shall refuse. Perhaps I have begun to trust my luck more than I used
     to in the old days”—he meant last spring before he left his own house, but it seemed centuries ago—“but anyway I think I will go and have
     a peep at once and get it over. Now who is coming with me?”
    He did not expect a chorus of volunteers, so he was not disappointed. Fili and Kili looked uncomfortable and stood on one
     leg, but the others made no pretence of offering—except old Balin, the lookout man, who was rather fond of the hobbit. He
     said he would come inside at least and perhaps a bit of the way too, ready to call for help if necessary.
    The most that can be said for the dwarves is this: they intended to pay Bilbo really handsomely for his services; they had
     brought him to do a nasty job for them, and they did not mind the poor little fellow doing it if he would; but they would
     all have done their best to get him out of trouble, if he got into it, as they did in the case of the trolls at the beginning
     of their adventures before they had any particular reasons for being grateful to him. There it is: dwarves are not heroes,
     but calculating folk with a great idea of the value of money; some are tricky and treacherous and pretty bad lots; some are
     not, but are decent enough people like Thorin and Company, if you don’t expect too much.
    The stars were coming out behind him in a pale sky barred with black when the hobbit crept through the enchanted door and
     stole into the Mountain. It was far easier going than he expected. This was no goblin entrance, or rough wood-elves’ cave.
     It was a passage made by dwarves, at the height of their wealth and skill: straight as a ruler, smooth-floored and smooth-sided,
     going with a gentle never-varying slope direct—to some distant end in the blackness below.
    After a while Balin bade Bilbo “Good luck!” and stopped where he could still see the faint outline of the door, and by a trick
     of the echoes of the tunnel hear the rustle of the whispering voices of the others just outside. Then the hobbit slipped on
     his ring, and warned by the echoes to take more than hobbit’s care to make no sound, he crept noiselessly down, down, down
     into the dark. He was trembling with fear, but his little face was set and grim. Already he was a very different hobbit from
     the one that had run out without a pocket-handkerchief from Bag-End long ago. He had not had a pocket-handkerchief for ages.
     He loosened his dagger in its sheath, tightened his belt, and went on.
    “Now you are in for it at last, Bilbo Baggins,” he said to himself. “You went and put your foot right in it that night of
     the party, and now you have got to pull it out and pay for it! Dear me, what a fool I was and am!” said the least Tookish
     part of him. “I have absolutely no use for dragon-guarded treasures, and the whole lot could stay here for ever, if only I
     could wake up and find this beastly tunnel was my own front-hall at home!”
    He did not wake up of course, but went still on and on, till all sign of the door behind had faded away. He was altogether
     alone. Soon he thought it was beginning to feel warm. “Is that a kind of a glow I seem to see coming right ahead down there?”
     he thought.
    It was. As he went forward it grew and grew, till there was no doubt about it. It was a red light steadily getting redder and redder. Also it was now undoubtedly hot in the tunnel. Wisps of vapour floated up and past him
     and he began to sweat. A sound, too, began to throb in his ears, a sort of bubbling like the noise of a large pot galloping
     on the fire, mixed with a rumble as of a gigantic tom-cat purring. This grew to the unmistakable gurgling noise of some vast
     animal snoring in its sleep down there in the red glow in front of him.
    It was at this point that Bilbo stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that
     happened afterwards were as nothing compared to it. He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the
     vast danger that lay in wait. At any rate after a short halt go on he did; and you can picture him coming to the end of