“But I deny it,” he shouted. “I deny it most passionately. I deny it with every fibre of my being.”
For a moment I stood aghast. Hitherto I had been conciliatory. But here was a question upon which there could be no compromise.
“But, Ezekiel Stool,” I said, “as man to man—nay, as Xtian gentleman to Xtian gentleman—do you mean to tell me that you are prepared to deny that the word Yew-tree begins with a Y?”
“No, I don’t,” he said, “I deny it completely. I deny it with all the vehemence at my command.”
But I held up my hand.
“Just a moment,” I said. “This is a matter, Ezekiel, upon which I must be absolutely clear. Do you mean to deny that the word does begin with a Y? Or do you mean to deny that you meant to tell me that you were prepared to deny that it did?”
“I deny it all,” said Ezekiel. “I deny the whole thing.”
“But, my dear Ezekiel,” I said, “that is impossible.”
“But how can it be impossible,” he said, “if I’ve just done it?”
“Because the two alternatives,” I replied, “are contradictory.”