"My dear Mr. Payne," said my deceased uncle\'s lawyer with an emphatic wag of his forefinger, "I assure you there\'s no help for it. The language of the will is perfectly simple and explicit. Either you must do as your late uncle desired, or you must let the property go to the representative of his deceased wife\'s family."

"But surely, Blenkinsopp," I said deprecatingly, "we might get the Court of Chancery to set it aside, as being contrary to public policy, or something of that sort. I know you can get the Court of Chancery to affirm almost anything you ask them, especially if it\'s something a little abstruse and out of the common; it gratifies the Court\'s opinion of its own acumen. Now, clearly, it\'s contrary to public policy that a man should go and make his own nephew ridiculous by his last will and testament, isn\'t it?"

Mr. Blenkinsopp shook his head vigorously. "Bless my soul, Mr. Payne," he answered, helping himself to a comprehensive pinch from his snuff-box (an odious habit, confined, I believe, at the present day to family solicitors), "bless my soul, my dear sir, the thing\'s simply impossible. Here\'s your uncle, the late Anthony Aikin, Esquire, deceased, a person of sound mind and an adult male above the age of twenty-one years—to be quite accurate, ?tatis[Pg 113] su?, seventy-eight—makes his will, and duly attests the same in the presence of two witnesses; everything quite in order: not a single point open to exception in any way. Well, he gives and bequeaths to his nephew, Theodore Payne, gentleman—that\'s you—after a few unimportant legacies, the bulk of his real and personal estate, provided only that you adopt the surname of Aikin, prefixed before and in addition to your own surname of Payne. But,—and this is very important,—if you don\'t choose to adopt and use the said surname of Aikin, in the manner hereinbefore recited, then and in that case, my dear sir—why, then and in that case, as clear as currant jelly, the whole said residue of his real and personal estate is to go to the heir or heirs-at-law of the late Amelia Maria Susannah Aikin, wife of the said Anthony Aikin, Esquire, deceased. Nothing could be simpler or plainer in any way, and there\'s really nothing on earth for you to do except to choose between the two alternatives so clearly set before you by your deceased uncle."

"But look here, you know, Blenkinsopp," I said appealingly, "no fellow can really be expected to go and call himself Aikin-Payne, now can he? It\'s positively too ridiculous. Mightn\'t I stick the Payne before the Aikin, and call myself Payne-Aikin, eh? That wouldn\'t be quite so absurdly suggestive of a perpetual toothache. But Aikin-Payne! Why, the comic papers would take it up immediately. Every footman in London would grin audibly when he announced me. I fancy I hear the fellows this very moment: flinging open the door with a violent attempt at seriousness, and shouting out, \'Mr. Haching-Pain, ha, ha, ha!\' with a loud guffaw behind the lintel. It would be simply unendurable!"

"My dear sir," answered the unsympathetic Blenkinsopp (most unsympathetic profession, an attorney\'s, really), "the law doesn\'t take into consideration the question of the probable conduct of footmen. It must be Aikin-Payne[Pg 114] or nothing. I admit the collocation does sound a little ridiculous, to be sure; but your uncle\'s will is perfectly unequivocal upon the subject—in fact, ahem! I drew it up myself, to say the truth; and unl............