A malignant humour took possession of me. "What would they call you?"
I speculated. "The vicar would like Duffield. Too much like Duffer!
Difficult thing, a title." I ran my mind over various possibilities.
"Why not take a leaf from a socialist tract I came upon yesterday. Chap
says we're all getting delocalised. Beautiful word--delocalised! Why not
be the first delocalised peer? That gives you--Tono-Bungay! There is a
Bungay, you know. Lord Tono of Bungay--in bottles everywhere. Eh?"
My uncle astonished me by losing his temper.
"Damn it. George, you don't seem to see I'm serious! You're always
sneering at Tono-Bungay! As though it was some sort of swindle. It was
perfec'ly legitimate trade, perfec'ly legitimate. Good value and a
good article.... When I come up here and tell you plans and exchange
idees--you sneer at me. You do. You don't see--it's a big thing. It's
a big thing. You got to get used to new circumstances. You got to face
what lies before us. You got to drop that tone."
IX
My uncle was not altogether swallowed up in business and ambition.
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