There is not the slightest occasion to remember it.
The name is far and away too long, and too tall for ordinary use. Twice only have I taken it to church with me, namely, on the day of my baptism, and on my wedding morn. On both these occasions it was written on a bit of paper, and folded up for future use.
On the first occasion it was carefully carried in my father’s waistcoat pocket, and I brought it home.
On the second occasion it was carefully carried in my own waistcoat pocket, and brought home by one far dearer to me than even a father.
But as regards a name or names rather, my brother did not fare a bit better than I did.
Rupert Domville Ffoljambe-Foley Jillard Jones!
That is my brother’s name in full. And, indeed, I think it will be readily admitted that his was a harder case than even mine, and seeing that I was the elder, this seemed scarcely fair.
Reginald Augustus John Fitzmaurice Jones! Only fancy a spirited young man having to make his way in life, and drag through existence with such a name as that tagged on to him. For one young man even it would be bad enough, but there were two of us, and we always drove in couple.
What a deal maiden aunts have to account for, as often as not! Yes, it was all owing to Aunt Serapheema, and even to this day I cannot help thinking she owes us a very ample apology.
Here is how it occurred: