"As you wish, Master Volo," Milo conceded. "Tarry no longer. Molly awaits with two tankards of ale and a roast."

And with that the travelers were escorted to their place of honor, so that Milo could return to the other concerns of the house-however, not without instructing Molly to keep their tankards full and plates piled high.

The way to any critic's heart, the majordomo thought, was obviously through his stomach, or some other appetite that Molly could no doubt satisfy.

Passepout had just finished his third roast, and Molly was safely and cozily ensconced on Volo's lap, when the tavern's din was broken by a familiar herald.

"Hello, everybody."

"Gnorm!" the crowd roared.

"Time's a-wasting, and my throat is parched," declared the phantom proprietor.

Milo instantly appeared at his side, a full tankard in hand, which Gnorm proceeded to empty as the innkeeper whispered in his ear about their recently arrived honored guests.

Refilled tankard in hand, Gnorm hastened over to their table.

"Volo, you vagabond devil," he saluted, quickly adding, "no, don't get up. I see you have your lap filled. And you must be Passepout, son of Catinflas and Idle, the famous thespians."

"Oh! You've heard of them!" Passepout beamed from behind his grease-stained cheeks.

"Nope," Gnorm answered. Taking a chair and turning back to Volo, he continued, "So what do you think of what we've done to the place since last you've come this way?"

"What can I say?" Volo answered, gesturing Molly to forgo her throne for a few moments so that the circulation could return to his legs, and he and Gnorm could talk for awhile, all the while assuring her that her seat would be saved. "You've improved on perfection."

"Worthy of, let's say, four pipes and five tankards in that guide of yours?" the phantom proprietor queried.