‘Ah!’ said Sam. ‘But he says your beer is always good.’ ‘He says?’ ‘Of course he does. He’s Strider. The chief of the Rangers. Haven’t you got that into your head yet?’ It went in at last, and Butterbur’s face was a study in wonder. The eyes in his broad face grew round, and his mouth opened wide, and he gasped. ‘Strider!’ he exclaimed when he got back his breath. ‘Him with a crown and all and a golden cup! Well, what are we coming to?’
