[ colour rises to Sam's cheeks, and he shakes his head, once, twice, three times, in seeming denial of Boromir's words. his own next words are mumbled, addressed to the bundle of wood in his arms, at first, with all the embarrassment Sam feels at the situation. ]

Well, I don't know anything about that, sir. [ he almost lifts a hand to scratch at his ear awkwardly, before remembering that his hands are currently occupied. he lifts his head again instead to look up at Boromir in the eye. ] Begging your pardon, Boromir, as I know you mean well, but I wasn't meant for no high places or airs. It'd be enough for me if Mr. Frodo was able to do the job and come home safe and sound, as it were. It's him as would deserve the praise for it all, anyhow, for all I wouldn't say no to my old man being able to live all comfortable and quiet-like.

[ they must do things so strangely away in Gondor, Sam thinks, if Boromir reckons that someone like Sam Gamgee would deserve to be raised near enough as high as Boromir himself must be. but Sam - Sam is content with his station in life, and in any case it's not him that's carrying the Enemy's Ring. as plain as plain can be, it's Mr. Frodo, along with Strider, Gandalf, and the rest of the fine folk in their fellowship, that are the heroes here. ]