“Well, an uncle is a sort of parent; probably the kid’s an orphan.”
There was silence for a minute while Peter digested this view of the matter. But still he was not quite satisfied, for presently he said: “Tod, would you believe in anyone called ‘Theopompus Buggins’?”
“Well, no, I’m not sure that I would,” Tod admitted. “Why?”
“D’you believe the Head will?”
“I never thought of that.”
“I think,” Peter suggested beguilingly, “that we had better have a commoner name, don’t you?”
“P’r’aps we had,” Tod sighed. “Let’s have Jones—Theopompus Jones, now.”
“Jones is all right,” Peter allowed graciously, “but I don’t fancy Theopompus much, it’s such a peculiar name.”
“It’s a splendid name,” Tod exclaimed huffily, “but of course if you think it’s too uncommon he can be ‘T. Jones, Esq.,’ or ‘John Jones’ if you insist upon it. How would you like ‘Peter Jones’?”
“T. Jones will do spiffingly,” Peter answered with some haste. “We’ll know his name is Theopompus right enough, and it don’t matter a hang to them whether he’s Theobald or Theophilus or anything; but I say, Tod, must he be an uncle?”