The Conciliation Bill which was intended to give the Parliamentary Vote to a little over one million women had passed its Second reading on July 12, 1910, by a majority of 110 votes; in spite of the bitter opposition of the Premier, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Home Secretary, the President of the Board of Trade, and the Secretary for the Colonies.  The Premier’s arguments against it were, firstly, that “Women were Women”—­this of course was a deplorable fact—­and that “the balance of power might fall into their hands without the physical force necessary to impose their decisions, etc., etc.”; and finally “that in Force lay the ultimate appeal” (rather a dangerous incitement to the sincere militants).  The Chancellor of the Exchequer took up a more subtle attitude than the undisguised, grumpy hostility of his leader.

His arguments at the time reminded me of an episode in East Africa thirty years ago.  A certain independent Chief tolerated the presence on his territory of a plucky band of missionary pioneers.  He did not care about Christianity but he liked the trade goods the missionaries brought to purchase food and pay for labour in the erection of a station.  These trade goods they kept in a storehouse made of wattle and daub.  But this temporary building was not proof against cunning attempts at burglary on the part of the natives.  The missionaries at length went to the Chief (who was clothed shamelessly in the stolen calicoes) and sought redress.  “All right,” said the potentate, who kept a fretful realm in awe, “But you have no proof it is my people who break in and steal.  You just catch one in the act, and then you’ll see what I’ll do.”

So the Oxford and Cambridge athletic missionaries sat up night after night under some camouflage and at last their patience was rewarded by the capture of a naked, oily-skinned negro who emerged from a tunnel he had dug under the store-foundations.  Then they bore him off to the Yao chieftain.

“Now we know where we are,” said the Chief.  “You’ve proved your complaint.  We’ll have him burnt to death, after lunch, in the market place.  I presume you’ve brought a lunch-basket?”

“Oh no!” said the horrified propagandists:  “We don’t want such a penalty as that...”

“Very good” said the Chief, “then we’ll behead him...”  “No!  No!”

“Crucify him?”—­“No!  No!”—­“Peg him down over a Driver Ants’ nest?” “No!  No!”

“Then, if you don’t want any rational punishment, he shall go free.”  And free he went.