“Stop looking at me like that, like I’m going to fall dead any moment,” snapped Frodo to Sam, still pressing his shoulder where the orc-cheiftain had struck. It must be revealed that he is very edgy because of the troublesome pain.
“Yes, Mr Frodo,” replied Sam, a slight shock in his voice and his tone queer. “How on earth did you survive that blow, Mr.Frodo? You are not made of steel…”
“Of course not!” said Frodo impatiently, “I told you that old Bilbo gave me the mithril-coat, and I am always wearing it.”
“Oh,” said Sam, “you mean this coat?” And he held up the glittering mithril-coat in his hands. The gems shone like stars on it, and the rings clinked like music.
“Absolutely yes,” replied Frodo carelessly. “Wait!” He stopped suddenly in his path. “That means that I’m never wearing it at all!!”
“I thought it was too heavy for you, Mr.Frodo, so I carried it for you. Oh Frodo! What is that red patch on your cloak? It doesn’t look like ketchup…”
Well,Frodo,better luck next time!