"There's B.B. too," put in little Lucy Clarke, nervously seeking to pour oil on troubled waters, "two B's arter your name, I think it is, tho' mebbe I'm wrong."
"Two B's or not two B's!" observed Mr. Royle, and laughed loudly when he found that no one else did. I wondered why. I doubt if any one present saw the point except my Great-Aunt and Grandmother and Brother Quappleworthy. It was many years before I did.
"Good, sir, good," said the latter worldlily, "a quotation from the works of Shakespeare, if I mistake not."
"Shakespeare!" shrieked Miss Salvation, as though uttering some lewd word, "I'm surprised at 'ee, 'avin' the chick to mention such a sinner's name in a Christian 'ouse; an 'eathen play-actin' sinner, now wallerin' in everlastin' torment for his sins."
"How do you know he is?" asked my Grandmother quietly.
"And 'ow du 'ee know 'e isn't? A Papis' too."
Blessed are the peacemakers, so Lucy Clarke tried again.
"I don't think 'tis B.B. at all after all; 'tis D.D., two D's arter your name in a manner o' spaikin'."
"Yes, it's D.D.," said Aunt Jael. "All the big preachers in the Establishment print it after their names; not but what their preaching is poor enough. Letters after your name don't put either a tongue into your head or the knowledge of God into your heart. I've no patience with D.D.'s."
"None," echoed the table.