"Par," said Wilfred Wimp, "what's a alleybi? A marble?"
"No, my lad," said Grodman, "it means being somewhere else when you're supposed to be somewhere."
"Ah, playing truant," said Wilfred, self-consciously; his schoolmaster had often proved an alibi against him. "Then Denzil will be hanged."
Was it a prophecy? Wimp accepted it as such; as an oracle from the gods bidding him mistrust Grodman. Out of the mouths of little children issueth wisdom; sometimes even when they are not saying their lessons.
"When I was in my cradle, a century ago," said Wimp's grandmother-in-law, "men were hanged for stealing horses."
They silenced her with snapdragon performances.
Wimp was busy thinking how to get at Grodman's factotum.
Grodman was busy thinking how to get at Wimp's domestic.
Neither received any of the usual messages from the Christmas Bells.