The scene was Maida Vale--in the home of Julius Blumenbach, an
Englishman of one generation.
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Blumenbach on his return from his office, "it
won't do. The time has come to take the plunge. We have often talked
about it, but now we must act. Only this morning I received five letters
closing the account--all because of the name."
"You know I have urged it on you often enough," said Mrs. Blumenbach.
"And not only have I thought it necessary, but my relatives have urged
it too."
Mr. Blumenbach repressed a gesture of impatience. "I know, I know," he
said. "Well, we must do it. _The Times_ has a dozen notices of changed
names every day."
"The question is what shall the new one be?" his wife replied. "We must
remember it's not only for ourselves and the business, but it will be so
much better for the boys, too, when they go to Eton. A good name--but
what?"
"That's it," said Mr. Blumenbach. "That's the difficulty. Now I've got a
little list here. I have been jotting down names that took my fancy for
some time past. Of course there are many people who merely translate
their German names, but I think we ought to go farther than that. We
ought to be thorough while we are about it."
"Yes, and let us be very careful," said Mrs. Blumenbach. "It's a great
responsibility--a critical moment. It's almost as critical as--for a
woman--marriage. Let us take a really nice name."
"Of course," said her husband. "That goes without saying."
"Yes," she continued, "but a name that goes well with 'Sir' or 'Lady.'
You never know, you know."
"I don't see, myself, that 'Sir Julius Blumenbach' would sound so bad,"
said her husband; "I've heard worse."
"But 'Sir Julius Kitchener,' for example, would sound better," said Mrs.
Blumenbach.
Mr. Blumenbach started. "You don't really suggest--" he began.
"No, I don't," she replied. "But I want you to see that while we're
about it we may as well be thorough. If at the present moment we have a
name which is disliked here, how much wiser, when taking another, to
choose one which is popular!"
"True," Mr. Blumenbach said. "But 'Kitchener.' Isn't that----"
"Too far? Perhaps so," said his wife. "Then what about 'French'?"
"A little too short," said her husband. "I favour three syllables."
"Then 'Smith-Dorrien'?"
"Oh, let's be shy of hyphens," he replied.
"Why?" she asked. "I've always had rather a partiality for them. They're
very classy in England, too, as you would know if you were as English as
I am."
"I am English!" said Mr. Blumenbach fiercely.
"Yes, dear, but not quite so---- Still, let us pass that over. The point
is----"
"No hyphens, anyway," said Mr. Blumenbach. "They're dangerous. They
carry too much family history. No, a straightforward plain name is best.
Like, say, 'Macdonald.'"
"Scotch?"
"Yes, why not?"
"I hadn't been thinking that way," said Mrs. Blumenbach, "but I
agree--why not 'Sir Julius Macdonald'? Yes, that's all right."
"Or 'Mackenzie'?" said Mr. Blumenbach, consulting his list.
"I prefer 'Macdonald.'"
"Or 'Macintosh'?"
"No, no."
"Or 'Abercrombie'?"
"Too long."
"'Lauder'?"
"No, I think not."
"He's very popular."
"I know; but the music-hall? No," said Mrs. Blumenbach, taking up a pen,
"let it be 'Macdonald.'" She traced the name. "Good heavens!" she
exclaimed suddenly, dropping the pen and pushing away the paper with a
gesture of finality, "of course it can't be that."
"Why ever not?" Mr. Blumenbach insisted.
"Fancy you not knowing!" Mrs. Blumenbach replied. "You of all people!
Why, think of the linen and the silver--all the monograms. Everything
would have to be marked afresh. It must begin with B, of course."
"Of course," said Mr. Blumenbach, mopping his brow as the terrible truth
broke on him, "of course! What an idiot I have been! Of course it must
begin with B. The expense!"
"But fancy you not thinking of that!" Mrs. Blumenbach insisted.
"Yes, fancy. It's worry over the war. I'm not myself."
"Poor dear! You can't be," said his wife. "Well, what shall we do now?"
"It's all right," said Mr. Blumenbach. "I'll go to the British Museum to
look out the B's in the Edinburgh Directory."
"Do, dear, do!" said his wife, and he hurried for his hat. "Just to
think of you not thinking of that!" she repeated, as he bade her
farewell.
"Yes, indeed!" he replied. "But it's the war, I'm sure. I'm sure it's
the war."
Later in the day he returned, a potential Sir Julius Bannockburn.
* * * * *
Illustration: _Enthusiast_ (_explaining the situation_). "LET THIS 'ERE
MEAT-AXE BE THE RUSSIANS A-COMIN' IN ON THE EAST; THE CARVIN'-KNIFE'S
THE FRENCHIES ALONG 'ERE; OUR BOYS IS THE MUSTARD-POT; AND 'ERE'S THE
GERMANS--THIS 'ERE PLATE O' TRIPE."
* * * * *