Mr. Julius Bannockburn hung up his hat with a bang and stepped angrily
into the drawing-room.
Mrs. Bannockburn was comfortably seated in an arm-chair, with the
tea-table at her side and a fire blazing.
"That's right," she said placidly, ignoring her husband's very obvious
mental disarray,--"just in time for a cup of tea."
"No tea for me," he said darkly.
"Oh, yes. It'll do you good," she replied, and poured some out.
"By the way, how much do you give for this tea?" Mr. Bannockburn sharply
inquired.
"Two-and-eight," she replied.
He grunted. "I get excellent tea in the City which retails at two
shillings a pound," he said. "Better than this."
"Well, dear," said Mrs. Bannockburn, "you don't often have this. This is
my tea. You prefer Indian."
"And why so many different kinds of cake?" Mr. Bannockburn went on.
"You wouldn't grudge me those?" she answered. "Surely, even with the
war, little things like that might go on?"
Mr. Bannockburn sent his eyes round the room on a tour of critical
exploration.
"Yes," he continued, "and how can you do with a fire--at any rate such a
fire--on a day like this? The room is like an oven." He scowled
murderously at the innocent flames and opened the window.
"I felt distinctly chilly," said Mrs. Bannockburn. "Besides, a fire is
so much more cheerful."
"Cheerful!" said Mr. Bannockburn with a snarl. "I'm glad something is
cheerful."
"My dear," said his wife soothingly, "you're over-worried. You've had a
hard day at the office. But I've got something to show you that will
make you happy again." She smiled gaily.
"Happy!" Mr. Bannockburn echoed with abysmal bitterness. "Happy!" He
groaned.
"Yes, happy," said his wife. "Now drink your tea," she added, "and then
light a cigar and tell me all about it."
"Cigars!" said. Mr. Bannockburn; "I've done with cigars. At any rate
with Havanas. We're on the brink of ruin, I tell you."
"Not any longer," said his wife with a little confident laugh. "That's
all right now. Taking the new name was to settle that, you know."
Mr. Bannockburn was attempting to eat a cake, but at these words he gave
it up. He struck a match angrily and lit a cigar--a Havana. "Well, what
is it you want to show me?" he asked.
"The cards," she said. "They look splendid. Here," and she handed a
visiting-card across the table and drew his attention to the delicate
copper-plate in which their new name had been inscribed: "Mrs. Julius
Bannockburn."
Mr. Bannockburn scowled afresh. "How many of these have you ordered?" he
asked anxiously.
"Five hundred for each of us," she replied. "And they're done. They all
came this morning."
Mr. Bannockburn groaned again. "What ridiculous haste!" he said. "Where
was all the hurry?"
Mrs. Bannockburn laughed. "Well, I must say!" she exclaimed. "You to
complain of things being done quickly! I've done all you told me," she
continued. "Everything. I sent a notice to the Post Office about the
telephone directory, telling them to alter the name. I sent to KELLY'S
about the London Directory. I told all the tradespeople. I got the
cards. I even went further and ordered a few silver labels for your
walking-sticks and umbrellas. I thought you would like that."
Mr. Bannockburn puffed at his cigar and said nothing.
"Aren't I a good head clerk?" she went on. "But, after all, when one
does change one's name it is wise to go right through with it, isn't
it?"
"Yes," said her husband ominously, "when one does change one's name."
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Bannockburn asked sharply. "Has anything gone
wrong?"
"Everything," he said. "I've had a notice forbidding changes of name
altogether. Everyone has had it."
"When did you get it?" his wife inquired with a flutter.
"To-day."
"Then it's all right," she said excitedly. "We made the change several
days ago."
"Yes," replied her husband, "but the notice goes on to say that everyone
who has changed since the war began must revert to the name he had
before the war commenced. You can't get away from that."
"But we paid for it," Mrs. Bannockburn exclaimed. "We paid for it. Why
did they take our money?"
"They didn't know then," said her lord. "It's only just decided by this
infernal Government."
Mrs. Bannockburn turned white. "This is terrible," she said. "And how
unfair! How grossly unfair! It's not as if we were Germans. I'm not a
German at all, and you are merely a German's son, and British to the
core. Of course they'll give the money back?"
"It says nothing about that," replied the Briton.
"How very unlike England!" she said.
"Yes," he agreed; "but the point is, apart from the horrible expense of
it all, that here we are, saddled with a name which is bound to keep
customers away and which we thought we had got rid of for ever. It's
horrible. It's wrong. It's a shame." He paced the room furiously.
Mrs. Bannockburn--or, as we now should say, Mrs. Blumenbach--looked in
the fire for a few moments in silence. "Well," she said at last, "we
must make the best of it, I suppose; we're not paupers anyway, and
things are never so bad as one fears. After all, we haven't been to so
very much expense. A few cards and so forth. You, dear, can hardly have
spent a penny over it."
"Eh," said Mr. Blumenbach sharply--"what?"
"I said that the cost to which we have gone since we changed our name is
very trifling," his wife repeated. "You yourself have been put to no
expense at all, except perhaps office paper."
Mr. Blumenbach looked suspiciously at her and resumed his walk. "No,
no," he said; "that's fortunate certainly."
At this moment a servant entered bringing the post, which included a
long roll of paper addressed to "Mrs. Julius Bannockburn."
"I wonder what this can be," she remarked as she reached for a
paper-knife.
Her husband snatched it and held it behind him. "Oh, I know all about
that," he said; "it's a mistake. It's meant for me, not you."
"But it's addressed to me," said his wife. "Please let me have it."
Mr. Blumenbach for a moment flashed lightning. "Oh, all right," he said,
"take it. I might as well confess to my folly, and, after all, I did it
as a pleasant surprise for you, even though it's a failure. But I heard
about some heraldic fellow, and I got him to draw me up a Bannockburn
pedigree. A Scotch one, you know. I was going to have it framed in the
hall. Burn the thing without looking at it."
"Was it--was it--very expensive?" his wife asked tremblingly.
"Fifty pounds," he said, half in pride at his own recklessness and half
as though having a tooth out.
"Fifty pounds!" Mrs. Blumenbach moaned, and burst into tears.
* * * * *
Illustration: _Lady (diligent reader of spy articles and exposures of
Anglo-German businesses) to alien window-cleaner._ "LOOK HERE: YOU
NEEDN'T COME ANY MORE."
_Window Cleaner._ "ENDIRELY BRIDISCH GOMBANY, LADY."
_Lady._ "YES, I DARESAY. BUT FOR ALL I KNOW YOU MIGHT BE PART OF THE
FLOWER OF THE GERMAN ARMY."
* * * * *