Goodness knows what the striking of matches and the smell of tobacco would have brought on him out of dark holes in that horrible place. Just as well for him, as he agreed when he came to his senses. Then he felt for matches and he could not find any at all, and that shattered his hopes completely. Then he felt for his pouch, and there was some tobacco in it, and that was something more. It was not broken, and that was something. The truth was he had been lying quiet, out of sight and out of mind, in a very dark corner for a long while. He could not think what to do nor could he think what had happened or why he had been left behind or why, if he had been left behind, the goblins had not caught him or even why his head was so sore. He thought of himself frying bacon and eggs in his own kitchen at home - for he could feel inside that it was high time for some meal or other but that only made him miserabler. He did not go much further, but sat down on the cold floor and gave himself up to complete miserableness, for a long while. He put the ring in his pocket almost without thinking certainly it did not seem of any particular use at the moment. It was a turning point in his career, but he did not know it. He guessed as well as he could, and crawled along for a good way, till suddenly his hand met what felt like a tiny ring of cold metal lying on the floor of the tunnel. His head was swimming, and he was far from certain even of the direction they had been going in when he had his fall. Very slowly he got up and groped about on all fours, till he touched the wall of the tunnel but neither up nor down it could he find anything: nothing at all, no sign of goblins, no sign of dwarves. Just imagine his fright! He could hear nothing, see nothing, and he could feel nothing except the stone of the floor. When Bilbo opened his eyes, he wondered if he had for it was just as dark as with them shut.
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